Searching for Normality

The KHT's trainers were falling apart, so I gave her advance warning that we needed to go shopping.
"But I don't want trainers!" said she who has lived her life in trainers, "I want 'normal' shoes'!"
"What are 'normal' shoes?" I enquired
"You know, shoes that are...'normal'!"
"You have some shoes" I replied, "But you are in desperate need of trainers!"
"Yes, but I want normal shoes" was her reply
"Google and find me some pictures of normal shoes. Then I will know exactly what you want." I suggested.
So she did. She googled 'normal shoes' and Google rewarded her with trainers. I gave up a silent prayer to St. Google. As Google had disappointed her in her hour of need, she drew me a comic strip to illustrate our shopping trip, so that I wouldn't get it wrong, as parents so often do.

Firstly, we must buy the right footwear. Now she has trainers for indoor sport, life has got more complicated!

Please do not ask me what is in this picture, apart from trainers, because I have no idea!

Update - I asked and the KHT advised me that this was an illustration of trainers with velcro and trainers with laces  - not trainers with laces and bread rolls, as I had mistakenly thought...









She totally understands that you can have different styles of footwear for different occasions, even if her footwear of choice has always been trainers, or possibly wellies. Wellies are for wet weather...whereas smart shoes are for somewhere posh.









Slippers are for insulating your feet against a raging fire. The mystery is, how do the flowers on the mantlepiece survive when situated that close to such an inferno.  At least she has got the message about not wearing slippers outdoors, unlike DH, who is prone to fly out the back door without changing his footwear, especially when chasing off an intruding cat or if some other emergency has arisen. Maybe if I bought him slipper socks he might get the idea. But, somehow I do not think that DH is a slipper sock sort of man...









Casualty and Holby City are current obsessions, so we have to fit them in. I am not sure if the telly is going on or off...
















Then we have some guerilla carwashing, just to get wellies back in the script again...
The KHT does like her wellies and currently owns three pairs.












Finally, a decision is made to go shopping...















Entering the shoe shop

Update - the KHT advises me that this is actually the closet in our hallway, aka the shoe cupboard.











I thought this was the Shoe shop, but apparently, it is another picture of inside our Narnia-like shoe cupboard.  I hasten to add that this piece of furniture is approx. 1 metre high with just four shelves, but in the KHT's mind, it is obviously much larger. Either that or she has shrunk, significantly!








The KHT likes a good walk, so new trainers are essential.  However, you get one shot at buying her a pair of shoes. Normally she will try on one pair before her toleration levels are exhausted and she loses the ability to discern if they fit or not. Hence it is important that whatever she tries on first is likely to fit.  Fortunately, shoe shop assistants are very good at picking up what is required.  The KHT also has orthotic inserts, as she is inclined to walks on the inside of her foot, and requires footwear with a good structure.  The assistant brings down three pairs. Unusually, the KHT insists on trying them all on. A decision is made for a robust pair, perfect for the intended purpose.

Having solved the trainer issue, I invite her to go and look around the shop as her feet have now grown sufficiently for her to wear ladies shoes. She comes back with a pair of leather flowery shoes.  Whilst the assistant is in the stockroom she whispers
"In my book, it says that some people with disabilities need special footwear. Do I need 'special footwear"?
"No, you are fine with normal footwear."
"Phew!"
The shoes fit, are purchased and popped in a bag.  Now we have dealt with the essentials we can enjoy shopping.

We wander around a few shops and then I ask The KHT if she would like to go to the cinema. She looks at me suspiciously, the way teens do.
"What would we go and see?"
"There is a Nick Park film on."
Instant transformation as her face lights up.
"Early Man!" she replies, "That is a great film.
We head off to M&S for the customary pizza, before heading down to the delights of Vue Cinema.

Even the adverts are fascinating!

I had no idea what Early Man was going to be about, but I guessed my daughter would be a fan. I have to say we both thoroughly enjoyed the film. Sometimes when we go to see a film of her choice, after about an hour I am longing for the end and liberation from torment. However, this film was a delight, even though it was about football. Interestingly, it did feature footwear. Watch the film to find out how.

Goal!!!!!

Afterwards, we had the essential photo opportunity with the display.  Here the KHT has joined the football team.


















When we returned she showed her father a clean pair of heels, two pairs of clean heels to be precise.  Just don't tell the KHT that they both look like trainers...

Analogy busting Amazon

Sunday afternoon. The doorbell rings and a small packet from Amazon crash lands on the doormat.

The lens cap, from my new-at-Christmas lens, has been missing for about a fortnight. It wasn't lost, lost, as it had been misplaced somewhere between the kitchen table and the garden. For a week or so, I fooled myself that it would magically reappear - until finally, on Friday evening, I caved in and ordered a replacement. Two replacements, to be precise - just to ensure that my lens would not have to repeat the indignity of being caught capless, in the likely event of me misplacing the replacement.

Despite my protestations, DH did his best to avoid this happening again, by tying the replacement lens cap on to the camera. Oh, the shame! It is like being back in Juniors, and being the only one with your gloves still attached to a long string that goes up one arm and down the other. Just because your mother is fed up of you losing your gloves.

In the meantime, I decided that the cost of a lens cap was justified, as it was significantly cheaper than buying a new lens. I took the opportunity to purchase a filter to protect my lens, in the event of misplacing both the new lens covers. I chose a polaroid filter, and apparently, the effect changes as it is rotated. This could be fun!

Wednesday morning was so blustery, that I had to lift the blind in the bathroom to check the window was closed, but it was just the wind howling through the vent at the top. When I went downstairs, I could see that the primroses purchased the preceding day, had been blown off the garden table and had been unceremoniously deposited upside down on the patio. How rude!

Then we were off to a local school for Open the Book. Today we were acting out the story of Ruth. Unfortunately, the town was hit with a rather dramatic cloudburst, just as the children were arriving at school. We watched in awe, as the water from the school hall roof completely bypassed the gutters, in a dramatic suburban waterfall that was quite an education to observe.

In the afternoon we should have been invaded by what the KHT calls 'The Rugrats', but alas smallest granddaughter has succumbed to the vomiting her younger brother was enjoying a few days previously. Grandchildren are a delight, but not sufficiently so that we wished to share this particular ailment. Smallest granddaughter, aka, Little Miss Contrary, celebrated her third birthday on Monday and we were looking forward to playing with her present. Alas, that is on hold until she has recovered. All the best-laid plans...

Lost...and found - it goes around...

The rain had passed, so I decided to go and plant my precious primroses before they were blown away to another garden.  I put on my old gardening fleece, and to my great surprise, discovered the errant lens cover in the pocket. Well, I would never have thought of looking there. I had decided that the most likely places were my chaotic desk upstairs or the recycling bin.






That which was lost is now found!  However, as I am now the proud owner of not just one, or two, but three 62mm lens caps, we missed out the rejoicing bit - which just goes to show that all good analogies break down when Amazon enters into the equation.

Two of the primroses in situ.

Colours of the Day

This morning my husband casually slipped into the conversation that we had sufficient milk for breakfast. I am convinced that he has read yesterdays blog  <looks paranoid>.

This morning DH turned the shower on, and due to some pressure within the pipe, the shower head did a little wiggle. The water did not remain within the shower cubicle, as anticipated. Instead, it turned its full fury, first on DH, and secondly at the bathroom in general. Poor DH was so surprised at this unexpected baptism of unheated water, that he jumped, banging his head in the process. I slept blissfully through the whole episode.

Not being a morning person, I completely failed to observe his injury when I joined him at the breakfast table, or when he gave me a lift to work.

At lunchtime, I still did not spot his wound.

By mid-afternoon, he was so affronted by my failure in observation skills, that he made a point od drawing my attention to the lump that had developed on his forehead.
"The KHT spotted it straight away!" he announced and enlightened me on the shower-based soap  drama of the morning.
"Ah! That explains the VERY wet bathmat!" said I, in the tone of one who has spotted a crucial clue in an investigation.
"And the wet dressing gown on the door, and the towel in the wash basket - which I used to mop up the flood!" he replied, in the tone of one pointing out the additional evidence that another has failed to spot.
To cheer him up I took a photopgraph and added some sympathy...

This afternoon I found DH searching cookery books for alternatives to my tomato hit. (He MUST have read yesterday's blog.) Clearly wishing to reclaim the crown of 'best cook' - a title I am only too happy to relinquish!  In conversation today he discovered that, unlike most of the population, I really do not like fried onions. As he had planned to base his new season of gastronomic delights around fried onions, he was somewhat miffed.  Conveniently forgetting the red wine, paprika, turmeric or citric fruit he has eliminated from our catering, it is my dislike of onions that is proving to be the real stumbling block to him becoming a gastro chef...

Before Christmas, I vowed that in January I would purchase a new coat to supersede my comfy Old Purple Jacket, which was purchased in the sales, from a shop in Leamington that closed years ago. Back in the day, I paid around £20 for the jacket, so I think I have had my money's worth. A decade or so later and it is regrettably showing definite signs of ageing. The cuffs are looking rather worn and after years of being huddled around my body, the garment has become moulded to my shape - sadly saggy, battered and baggy. Old Purple Jacket is actually burgundy in colour, but everyone both thinks it is, and remembers it as, purple - until they take a second look. Maybe they just think I am old enough to wear that colour...

Yesterday morning we had a meeting at college to discuss the next stage in our daughter's education. Then we headed off to The Valley at Evesham, in search of a new bird feeder.  Whilst browsing a particular parrots paradise of brightness and glitter, I happened to spot a rather nice Black Coat.  I tried it on and it fitted. It was also vastly reduced, and then had an addition 15% discount deducted. Bargain!

Sold!

Black Coat and Old 'Purple' Jacket get acquainted

I do not expect Black Coat to last as long as the Old Purple Jacket, which shall be relegated to ringing jaunts. I do not imagine for one moment that the Black Coat will be as forgiving as Old Purple Jacket, which has been being scraped down numerous spiral staircases, through narrow corridors and dumped in dusty corners and still looked relatively respectable. Mind you, this rough treatment has probably contributed to its current shabby appearance and the definite signs of ageing it is evidencing.


By the evening DH's head is still looking slightly red. Meanwhile, we wait to see what colour that will go - black, purple, multicoloured, or will it just fade away...?

Thyme will tell.

Revenge of the Tinned Tomatoes

A lump of roast beef was residing in the refrigerator, so I reluctantly dug out the slow cooker, and started browning the meat.

Over the last few years, DH has discovered that his skin reacts if he eats certain foods, so we have adjusted our diet to avoid unnecessary irritation. Prior to this, if I was cooking beef, I would have just chucked some red wine and herbs into the slow cooker along with the meat, added some finely diced veg and left it to cook. Sadly, those days are gone. Red wine has joined turmeric and paprika on the blacklist of ingredients we now avoid using.

I am not a great fan of culinary activities, regarding them as a waste of time. Too many years of preparing meals, with no idea of when my husband would be home to consume them, then clearing up. Only to repeat the whole process, day after day, convinced me that it was a pretty pointless exercise. Following DH's retirement, I had a light bulb moment, when I suddenly realised what a valuable and flexible food toast was. As you can imagine, the suggestion of warmed up bread for the main meal of the day was not appreciated. DH suddenly remembered that he did know how to cook.  Since then, I have gradually managed to offload more and more responsibility for food preparation to DH. As he drives and I don't, he has also taken responsibility for the purchasing department as well, which is absolutely fine by me :)  

My husband shops to a list, and meticulously date checks. 
I am far more impulsive. THAT looks nice
 <chucks in trolley>. 
This explains why we are still eating 'Christmas food' threequarters of the way through January. Yes, chocolate coated meringues still lurk within one of the cupboards and the Christmas cake has only just been started on. I must confess these were just two of many impulse purchases of mine in December that we have yet to eat, and I don't even like fruitcake...

The downside to this is that when DH is shopping, if it isn't on the list, it doesn't get bought. 
Me - We don't have any milk
DH - It wasn't on the list
Me - But we ALWAYS buy milk. It doesn't need to be on a list. It jumps in the cart on its own...
As you can see both approaches have their merits...

Our approach to cooking is also different.  
He religiously follows instructions. 
I don't. 
He uses the timer on his phone to keep track of progress. When the timer goes off the food is served - regardless of whether it is cooked or not. 
Whereas I never note what time I started cooking, get engrossed in something else, and forget all about dinner until the smoke detector is activated - announcing my failure to the neighbourhood, yet again! 
As you can see both approaches have their downsides.

Back to the beef. By a miscalculation on my part, I am preparing the food to go in the slow cooker. I ponder on what to replace the red wine with - TINNED TOMS!
Just one problem. Tinned tomatoes now come in a can with a ring pull. Now I do not know what percentage of the UK cannot open tins using ring pulls. I googled and there are no stats available on this question. However, I do know that I am one of this unknown number of people, who have failed to acquire this skill. Often I end up inverting the tin and using an old-fashioned manual tin opener to access the contents. If my husband is around, I simply pass over the tin and we repeat the conversation on my inability to use ring pulls...
DH takes hold of the tin. He is sat at the dining table. An expanse of beautiful flowery tablecloth stretches out before him.
"Wouldn't you prefer to open the can on the draining board?" I enquire.
Husband makes a suitable noise of derision. After all, what could possibly go wrong?

DH applies pressure to the top of the tin, in a way that does not destroy the ring pull and opens the can. A jet of tomato juice fires up into the air, decorating DH's clean t-shirt and the surrounding area.  
DH is rather surprised by this unexpected baptism of chopped tomato.
I check the date on the can.  
Best before December 2015... 
Fortunately, the tablecloth is of a wipe clean variety. We clear up the mess and get a fresh can of tomatoes from the cupboard.
I could tell you that I didn't laugh, but, would I lie to you?
"I think that shirt had better go in the wash..." was all I said. 
DH undertook a quick date check of the food cupboard and identified another offending tin.

So far there have been no complaints about suffering from irritations post the consumption of beef-in-tom sauce - apart from the normal marital variance of opinion, so I think I have accidentally scored a culinary winner. I better return to my normal level of accidental incompetence, before DH gets the mistaken idea that I have any significant proficiency in the culinary department.

A Feathery Tale

Way back in September 2016, we went off into the Cotswolds on a church hunt.  We discovered the twin parishes of Eastleach Martin, and Eastleach Turville - two delightful churches separated by the River Leach - which can either be crossed by road or clapper bridge. Unfortunately, on this first visit, we were not able to go inside Eastleach Martin church, as it was closed and cordoned off awaiting repairs, following a lightning strike on 27th August, 2016.

September 2016

We vowed to return to this idyllic spot each quarter and take photographs to record how it appeared in different seasons. Our previous visit it was early autumn, when berries were ripe and vegetation was lush.  Unfortunately, the skies were grey and overcast, making the photos from this first visit look rather drab and dismal.

Despite our intention to take four lots of photos in a year, it was sixteen months before we managed to fit in a return visit!

January 2018

On the right is a second shot of the clapper bridge, taken on a sunny  day in January. The bench to the left of the bridge on the far side of the river,  is more clearly visible as the vegetation has died back, which also makes the river appear wider. The January sunshine makes the photos from our second visit look so much more alive and interesting, despite the bareness of trees and shrubs!



The first essential requirement when visiting small villages is finding somewhere to park that doesn't upset the locals/cause a traffic jam/damage a verge or result in any other antisocial behaviour. As people tend to travel to attend services these days most churches have an area close to a gate which has space for a few cars - some even have a field. In this village the parking is limited, but we managed to find somewhere to leave the car that hopefully didn't inconvenience anyone.

Eastleach is in effect one community with two churches, both with a similar floorplan. A visitor might wonder why two churches came to be built so close to each other. There is a rumour that the twin churches were built by feuding sisters. The truth is much more mundane - they were built to serve those living on the estates of different manors and just happen to be adjacent, as both were built close to the river, albeit on different sides.

We met a lady close to the gate of Eastleach Martin churchyard, who recommended that we visit the church as it was open.  She cannot have been a local, as she did not recall the closure of the previous year. Little did she know that we needed no encouragement to venture through the door.

Eastleach Martin church was a joy to behold and a photographers dream. With the January sunshine illuminating the building, there was just so much to photograph.  The small community does not have large enough congregations to require both churches.  Services are still regularly held at the church over the river, leaving this church entrusted to the Churches Conservation Trust as a reminder of a bygone age. Some churches in the care of the Trust are empty, others feel mothballed, but because there were still flowers placed in this church it still feels loved, a place where people still come to enjoy the tranquillity within this place of sacred sanctuary.









Inside the church were little quirks, like the wreaths that decorated the building.  The bells - three plus sanctus, were still in place - and the sallies looked to be in excellent condition.












Eastleach Martin is full of architectural gems like these carvings that enhance the arches.



Despite the presence of an electric organ, there was no evidence of any electricity within the building. We decided that they must bring a portable power unit with them when there was a service.










Next, we visited the sister church on the other side of the river, the church at Eastleach Turville.  Above the doorway is the most impressive stone carving of Christ in majesty











Last time we were here it was just around the time of their Harvest celebrations.













The decorations were very well done, festooning the church with the glories of creation.










Researching the church later I was amused to discover, that the ornately carved lectern had once been situated in Tewkesbury Abbey, and then for some years been utilised as a parrot stand. Apparently, after the demise of the bird the lectern was restored and returning to use within an ecclesiastical setting - hopefully that didn't ruffle too many feathers...

John Kebble, who inspired the Oxford Movement within the church of England, served as a curate here.


Burford was our destination for lunch. We noted that the prices have risen in our usual cafe. The food there is nice, but not exceptional. We came to the conclusion that there must be cheaper places to eat, even in this tourist hotspot. The foreign tourists may still cross the threshold, but we will look elsewhere. Look on the bright side, at least the parking is free!

In the meantime, we will certainly return to Eastleach.  Daffodils were in bud on the river bank so we would like to time our visit for a sunny day when they are at their glorious golden best.  The question is, will that be in 2018?

Haman's Horrible Hanging Machine

There was consternation in the camp last Wednesday during our Open the Book rehearsal.  We were scheduled to act out the story of Esther. The 'Open the Book' version condenses ten chapters down to a page and a half. If you are familiar with this story, you will know that the villain of the piece, Haman, dies rather sooner than he anticipates.  What is more, his demise comes on the very apparatus he had prepared for his enemies. Just one problem, how can we help the children, aged four to nine years, to understand this story of arrogance, hatred, potential genocide, personal ambition and death, without permanently traumatising them? Fortunately, the script interprets the pole on which our plotter planned to impale his victim, as Haman's horrible hanging machine. The snazzy name still leaves us with a death to act out. The guidebook advises a pantomime approach. Cue 'Oh no It doesn't!'

"We need to think 'Heath Robinson'!" I announce. The rest of the team look at me dubiously.
"Some cardboard cogs....and a rotating yellow duck fitted to the top of a pole!" I continue. By now they are convinced that I have lost the plot.
At the mention of the rotating duck, he who had volunteered to create our version of Haman's horrible hanging machine, hurriedly hands the task back to me
"You seem to have an idea, why don't you make it?"

Tuesday afternoon arrives, and DH remembers the task hanging over us, so to speak.
"What about this hanging machine? I don't understand how it is going to work?"
I try to explain.
"It doesn't need to actually work. It doesn't have to be capable of hanging anyone. It just needs to give the impression that it could do something. We are not really going to build a hanging machine, we are creating an illusion of a machine."  
I can tell that DH is still not convinced, but he humours me. I set to work, drawing cogs on some squares of tri-wall cardboard.
"Aren't you going to cut them out?" enquires DH.
"No!  Have you ever tried cutting this stuff? It is hard work! Scissors just dig into your hands whilst any progress is painfully slow. It also makes a horrible mess. The children can turn them even if they are still squares!"
I could have used a knife, but deep down I was afraid of accidentally cutting more than the cardboard, so I ducked out...

I find an online outline of a duck and put two sheets of bright yellow card into the paper tray of the printer. I copy the duck outline into a document. The image is then reversed and copied on to the second page. I send the file to the printer, and go and collect my beautifully printed pages....except they aren't! I have a duck both sides of one piece of bright yellow card and, to make things worse, the picture on the reverse is upside down!

Some of the parts of the whole

A few months back DH managed to get the wireless printing working on every computer in the universe household. The down-side of this achievement is that the default is now double-sided printing - unless you remember to untick the box... After twenty-five years of printing single-sided, I have consistantly failed to remember this additional quirk prior to pressing 'print'. DH smugly informs me that his computer no longer defaults to double-sided printing, as he has correctly cancelled this option sufficient times, for his computer to understand that he does not want it to print double-sided, unless he specifically instructs it to. I plead that there must be a way of setting the computer not to print double-sided. He claims that he does not know how to achieve this, and the only solution is for me to pay greater attention. You can imagine how well that went down...
I threaten the printer with Haman's horrible hanging machine and send a second copy of page two to the printer.

The ducks are then cut out, and attached to each other with my favourite craft item - double sided sticky tape, leaving a gap at the bottom to allow the pole to be inserted. A clothes airer and old curtain are added to the list of props, as is the heavyweight chain, which will clank into a metal container, providing added sound effects.  The demise of Haman will this take place out of sight, behind the curtain draped clothes airer, and three 'square' cogs, watched over by a rotating duck. Well, that was the plan...

On the day, the duck rotated, but the children with the cogs were so engrossed in the story, they forgot to rotate - did it matter? Nah!  Haman the horrible was hung, while hidden, by his 'Heath Robinson' hanging machine. No-one was traumatised, and moral of the story was that Esther took a risk, and saved her people.

Haman hoisted?

Later, I re-read the book of Esther, curious to know how the bible depicted Haman's demise. I then realised that according to the Book of Esther, horrible Haman was impaled on a 75 foot high pole. It made no mention of rotating, but all of a sudden the duck symbolised Haman in a way I had never foreseen.

Blasphemy in the Bookshop?

Forecast - wet, brightening later.

Today's brief was searching charity shops for material suitable for adapting into costumes for Open the Book.  We have some costumes, but not many. DH has recently dug out his clanky manual Singer sewing machine and rattled up a few from a pewter grey duvet set acquired from somewhere.

We scoured google maps, searching for a destination that may have what we wanted, but not at a price that would make it cheaper to visit Primark - a place I normally avoid, being unhappy at the use of child labour to manufacture cheap goods for the western market. The concept of upcycling also appeals to me. Why do we keep producing more, when there is so much already available? Alas, only one charity shop had any textiles, and their stock did not meet the criteria of shape, colour or material suitable for costume making. We decided that the material we were seeking probably came under the classification of unfit for resale. The assistant kindly offered to keep by anything suitable for our consideration. However, as we are in Lichfield so infrequently, it would make better sense if we were to approach one of our own local charity shops and come to a similar arrangement.

It is a couple of years since we last ventured to Lichfield. Normally the cathedral is our priority and the shops get a cursory inspection in the remainder of the time available. To be honest I had no recollection of the main shopping area. We considered several eating establishments, before opting for a cafe in a bakery. We lingered over lunch, having observed that passers-by were huddled beneath the protection of brollies and hoods against the increasingly inclement weather.

The Cathedral was warm and welcoming. I lit a candle for my friend, who is having a really tough time at the moment.  I deliberately put my candle on the back row way from all the other candles, to represent the separation she is feeling from everything she knows.  Despite all this, her light still shines. I know she is greatly valued and loved by many, even if she is not aware of this at the moment.

Further up the cathedral there was a prayer point, and I added prayers for a couple of people I know who would value prayer.









On previous visits to Lichfield, the  stained glass in the Lady Chapel had all been replaced by plain, as there was a large restoration project taking place.  Today we were able to see the glass, restored and replaced, and admire the beautiful hues, and stories they illustrated.







On leaving the cathedral, we discovered that the rain had not followed the advice of the forecasters, and far from being sunny, the rain was hammering down.  We quickly made our way across to the gift shop. In conversation with the sales assistant, my fellow traveller was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath when she confessed to knowing nothing about cricket - in fact, I suspect that doubting the virgin birth, or the resurrection, may have been met with less of a reaction...

As we left the gift shop the skies were clearing, giving beautiful reflections in Minster Pool.  We wandered back into town, as I needed to make an urgent purchase ahead of a birthday next week, as you do. I didn't get precisely what I wanted, but it will be more than sufficient.

There is clearly more to see in Lichfield, we plan to return with the KHT and visit the museum. Hopefully, the work upgrading St Mary's church to rehome the library will be complete.  There is also more parkland to explore. Today was just a taster, and not just of sourdough bread!

A Toastie in Towcester

Friday is the KHT's day off, so against her better judgement, she was dragged away from her gadgets and out into the wider world.  After the recent rain the ground was rather boggy, so we decided to head off to a town, preferably one with some independent shops that offered a variety of goods more interesting than those in the chain stores.  Our chosen destination was Towcester - a place I remembered visiting to ring about 30 years ago.  Towcester is east - we had a variety of routes to choose between, but we headed down the M40.  Last time we went, I vaguely recalled heading north, but it was a long time ago, and I remembered nothing about the town.

Most of the parking was for two hours. We found a car park that offered three hours free parking and set off, admiring the stone architecture of this small town.

We headed off towards the church - just one problem - having diverted to some shops and we found ourselves the wrong side of the busy A5.  My companion nipped across the road, I stood mesmerised by the traffic, until finally there was a lull and I was able to cross.










The church was still dressed for Christmas. An impressively tall Christmas tree dominated the nave, beautifully decorated in red and gold, which matched the welcome carpet at the entrance.  Wrapped presents and kings lurked on windowsills.  A substantial nativity scene was located in a side aisle. Meanwhile, an organ tutorial was taking place in this beautifully warmed church.

We wandered around the churchyard and could see the parkland the other side of the small River Tove, a tributary of the Ouse - a place to explore on a warmer, drier day.  An Antiques Fair in was taking place in the town hall. Old records, soft toys and bargain jewellery were on sale, but the only thing that tempted was the facilities.  A small farmers market was taking place, but I didn't fancy carrying food around with me.  We chose one of the several cafe's in the main street and ordered lunch - a warm cheese scone, a large egg and mayo baguette and a toastie in Towcester were our choices.






I had decided it would be nice to have a memento of our visit, but nothing had tempted me - apart from a birthday card for my husband.  However, in a small shopping arcade, we discovered a business that was a mixture of coffee shop and quirky gift shop.  A toy train wove its way beneath coffee tables.








On the wall were some small pieces of art - perfect for adding a bit of interest to the smallest room. We chose one. Now all I need to do is to find a picture framer.







Later, checking my ringing records I discovered that it was Kettering, not Towcester, I had rung at, way back in 1987!  Right county, wrong town. It also explains why we headed south today, not north!

Walking the Streets

On Wednesday we awoke to fog, which dissipated around lunch time, to give glorious blue skies and sunshine, only to reappear again as the temperature dropped.

In the evening it was the next instalment of the Mission-Shaped ministry course which has been running since September. We were the first to arrive and the Leaders informed us that we would be going outside later.  According to the handout we were looking at Evangelism.
"Great!", we thought, "They are going to expect us to go out and convert the locals."  We sat back, our arms crossed, and awaiting our impending doom.

Sure enough, we were sent out. As you would expect in groups of two or three.  However, our brief was to observe, not to convert, the local community, for which we were very grateful. They have no idea how lucky they were...

Off we went, to the left and right, exploring an urban High Street on a dark foggy January evening. Some of the retail premises were run by chains, but many of the stores appeared to be small independents.  Most had closed for the day and had their shutters firmly down, so you had to tip your head back to discover exactly what they would be purveyors of, if they were open.













Significant features of the High Street include bins and bollards. Here is DH standing waiting, as I take yet another photograph. There was also a skip at the side of the road - plenty to illustrate repentance and forgiveness  - getting rid of the rubbish in our lives.






We passed a small corner shop, the owner was sat inside, looking out in bemusement at procession of small groups of unfamiliar passers-by. A guy appeared out of one of the vaping shops, exuding a cloud of vapour. He looked at us - were we potential customers? Could we be converted to vaping? He decided not, and closed his shop door, locking it behind him as he left.

Quite a few of the Fast food outlets had illuminated "OPEN" signs, maybe there is something the churches could learn from that?

The Liberal Club, offered a very contemporary looking brick facade to the High Street. In contrast the Labour club located along a side street, looked run down, seedy and was shut. It looked as if it had been forgotten - perhaps a reflection on the demise of heavy industry within the Black Country over the past 50 years or so..



In the darkness - lights of hope shone out. Some were bright, casting illumination in otherwise darkened doorways - giving the message, do not lurk here. Some illuminations were more gentle, like the light that came from a decorative ornament on a windowsill.  Light shone out through windows, I especially liked the Spiderman curtains - the world needs more superheroes!

There were rows of homes that looked identical, but on closer inspection, there were subtle differences - like the numbers by the doors, or the hangings at the windows.

When we returned we reflected on how the areas compared to the areas we were working in.
Roller shutters - tick
Quiet at night - tick
In need of tlc - tick

Urban, suburban or rural Affluent neighbourhood or sink estate. Loneliness exists everywhere. There is potential for the church to work in all communities. Time to walk around my own neighbourhood and see what I can observe. At least I will get some exercise.

Perfect Answers

Me - Confession time - I have lost a Christmas present.  I know I have wrapped it up, but it isn't in the place that I thought I put it!
Disappointingly no-one was surprised at my predicament, but there was one ray of light...
Helpful person - That is because it is in the china cabinet!
How did they know?
Well, maybe the gift tag was a clue!
I am very grateful for their powers of observation as that saved me turning the place upside down, and a good job too, as I wouldn't have found it, so I wouldn't have known when to stop searching... Oh, it doesn't bear thinking about!

Great service at church this morning - with a surprisingly good attendance given the frost on the ground.  As it was the first service of 2018, the service leader asked what New Year's Resolutions people had made.
KHT - I am going to stop being ill!
Service Leader - How are you going to do that?
Me - Eat your greens?
Service Leader - So are you going to eat your fruit and veg?
KHT -  No! I am going to stay away from Mum and her lurgi! With that pronouncement, she moved a place away from her unhealthy mother. I did my best not to cough.

It was a beautiful day - deep and crisp and even - well actually, bright, boggy and bitterly cold!  At lunchtime, the sun shining into our kitchen made it lovely and toasty.  We had to open the door into the hall to cool the room down a bit, and warm up the hall before the thermostat kicked in and decided the house required additional heat!  Now the cat is not normally allowed free reign of the house and is restricted to the kitchen and utility. She kept looking askance at this unusually open doorway to see if she could sneak through, but to her disgust, we were keeping watch. Eventually, she stomped off outside to attack Donald Trump - the lesser well known Donald Trump the plant, not his more famous namesake.

I am sure you can work out why this particular piece of vegetation has been so named. It came as part of a landscaping package of interesting plants when the pond was installed. As it was not one we had picked ourselves we had no idea how it would develop. We nearly chucked it on the compost at the end of its first season, assuming by its colour that it had suffered a premature demise. We only realised the error of our ways when we observed a display of the very same plants in Kingsbridge. We were somewhat surprised to realise that it was actually was supposed to look dead even though it was still living. Poor Donald, was so very nearly murdered by the weapon of ignorance.

Temporary Art Installation

I wandered outside to inspect the progress of the spring bulbs. We fear, the snowdrops may have been lost in the last garden reshuffle, but the other bulbs seem to be doing well. Then I discovered it - partly thawed ice in the bird bath! Great joy! I removed the almost complete disc and put it on the table on the patio.

'Ice"

It was fascinating to see the ice instantly begin to melt, where it came in contact with parts of the table that had been warmed by the sun. Then the sun disappeared from view and the circle of ice stopped melting. Looking at the forecast it will be sometime late tomorrow morning before it finally defrosts. Meanwhile, we have our very own art installation, title 'Ice'. It appears to be a very accurate interpretation of frozen matter, complete with realistic-looking bubbles of air and the odd trapped leaf...








In the evening we went over to ring at the parish church.  It was well chilly.  By the time we came home the temperature had sunk to two degrees centigrade. By the time we passed the supermarket it had dropped to one degree.
"Watch as we cross the river," I said to the KHT, "It should drop to zero."
We watched, and it did.

Driving up the hill a cyclist appeared in front of us - no lights, reflective gear or helmet. He then crossed to the other side of the road, proceeding to ride up the rest of the hill on the wrong side of the road, facing any oncoming traffic.
"What sort of idiot is that?" asked DH incredulously.
"One who knows what a cyclist looks like" was the literal response of the KHT.

Epiphany Moment

KHT and the needle-bare tree

Just when I thought Christmas was done and dusted, my husband advises me that he has an exciting morning lined up for me and the KHT, helping to remove the Christmas tree from the church before the service tomorrow. The excitement didn't end there. The plan was that we would help him to stash all the Christmas gear up in the very cunningly hidden church loft. Some churches have an organ loft, but most churches don't have a loft for general storage. When we are out and about exploring churches, we often spy Christmas decorations tucked away at in the undercroft, or under the communion table.  Our is a modern church, without an undercroft, and nothing can be hidden under the Communion table, so we are very blessed to have a space under the roof where we can store items that are used less regularly. As Health and Safety regulations require more than one person to be present when a ladder is used, the KHT and I had been nominated to be ladder holders and box passers, as part of the grand ecclesiastical seasonal declutter.

The tree  - in all its apparent glory

After a month in church, the tree was looking rather sad beneath the deceptive glitz of tinsel and baubles. Many of the needles had already dropped.

Ooops!

There was a bit of an 'oops' moment, when the KHT misjudges how close she was to the box of decorations she had left balanced on the communion rail...













As the KHT and I removed the decorations there was the sound of pine needles falling to the floor. Echoed, rather unnervingly, by the sound of precipitation landing on the central skylight of the church. Though probably only rain, they sounded like needles of hail as they struck the polycarbonate roof.

Carpet on carpet

I had forgotten how hard it is to remove anything from a real christmas tree, without dislodging needles. By the time the tree was stripped, there was a green carpet on the green carpet...


DH picked up the cumbersome conifer and moved hastily towards the front door with his ungainly load, before he dropped it.  However, with the tree obscuring his vision, he failed to make it through the doorway the first time - showering the surrounding area with tiny green needles that cascaded from the desiccated tree.







The second attempt through the doorway was more successful and the tree made it through the opening -though it was clear to see where it had brushed against the door frame.












An assistant arrived to help stow the gear in the loft, which was great news. I got to work clearing up the debris.  I thought I better check the Dyson to see how full it was. To my horror it was full! Totally, absolutely and utterly full!  There didn't seem to be space to fit another needle!  I was so glad I thought to look before it overheated!  The carpet has been hoovered several times over Christmas, I think that no-one has thought to empty it.

The tree was second-hand, so it was probably already dropping needles when it arrived, but it was a great blessing and we have really appreciated its presence during the Christmas period.

Hoovering up pine needles is a thankless task - you hoover, turn around and more have magically appeared on what had appeared to be a clean floor.

Epiphany has come, but all the stars have been packed away.  The tree has been removed. The tinsel and lights, stored away.
















There was just one thing we forgot....


The nativity scene.

According to the Church of England, the season of Christmas does not end until Candlemas on the second day of February.  Technically the crib should stay until then.

An Epiphany moment.