West is Best

Sunday evening we analysed the weather. The forecast was for cold weather, but would it snow? The west looked the better option weather-wise, so we found an interesting looking church and headed off towards the border.

Mondays are days to take the lesser used route. By and large, we spurn the motorways, preferring the slower roads that allow us to soak in the winter-wide views, without becoming part of the permafrost. We took the meandering back road to Worcester. I took another sneaky shot of one of my favourite trees. Same miserable outline, but the sky is bright with hope rather than sullen with despair. 

When we reached Worcester the approach to Carrington Bridge was gridlocked. As we went past it looked as if there was a breakdown, which meant nothing could get off the roundabout. We diverted through the city, passing two men carrying a bookcase, and a lady wearing black and white trousers that managed to be loud, wide and ankle flapping, all in one attempt. Just two of the intriguing glimpses of life we see, as we pass by.

Onwards we continued, through the suburbs east of the Severn and onwards, past infinity the  Malverns and beyond. 

We headed for Westhide church, but as we passed by we were intrigued by both the spire and the name of Ocle Pychard church. Alas, it was locked. A sign in the churchyard instructed us not to walk on the grass. Maybe they had planted bulbs, but they didn't tell us why we shouldn't tread on the turf, so it just felt rather unwelcoming. We stamped the dust from our sandals boots, and moved on.

Next stop was the clumsy looking church at Westhide. From the outside the tower looks as big as the church. It has an unusual appearance but when the sun shone, you forgive all the weird proportions, and they just became part of its unique and idiosyncratic charm. 

Inside there was information about the refurbishment of the bells. Sadly they have been converted to a chime, hence the shortened rope ends. Interestingly, as the ropes were so far apart, you probably still need one person per bell, even to chime - unless you got them all swinging and ran madly around from one rope to the next...Bellringing is a skill - why not pass it on to the next generation?

A bell wheel had been hung on one of the walls, as a reminder of how things used to be done, in the good old days.

We visited another church, but sadly that was also locked.

Next was decision time. Would we divert to Hereford and find somewhere for a light lunch, or should we travel on to Oakchurch Farm Shop, further along the road to Presteigne? Outside the temperatures close to freezing, so we decided to go on to the farm shop, as we knew it would be warm. 

On the way into the farm shop I spotted some tayberries, so I made a mental note to get a couple for DH to plant on his allotment. At £7.99 each they were a lot cheaper than the ones he had been considering. We whizzed past the farm shop/deli, kitchenware, clothing, handbags to the cafe. We secured a table adjacent to the south-facing window, and allowed the sun warmth to soak into our February deep frozen bones. Even my normally sunshine adverse companion was happy to sit in the sun. 

I had dressed for warmth, not fashion, but somehow found myself trying on clothes. I found a rather nice jacket, which was reduced to half price in the sale. The jacket is blue and pink, which sounds rather loud, but it doesn't look blue or pink,  as by some miracle of design it appears to be purple. Colour works in weird ways.

We retraced our steps to the farm shop, where one can buy authentic muddy veg, just like DH grows on his allotment. Unfortunately, the tayberries I wanted to buy, were the wrong side of the sliding entrance doors. We were so near, but they were completely out of reach. I lurked close to the doors, peering out, trying to ascertain if anyone was about to enter. This would provide the opportunity for one of us to pop out and get the tayberries. However, all I managed to do was activate the alarm, by getting too close to the door whilst holding the jacket I intended to purchase! 

When we reached the tills I explained to the lady that I wanted some plants. 

"No problem," she said, "I will let you back in."

My companion went to get them, on the understanding the sales assistant would let her back in through the exit door, to save her walking all the way through the shop again. Then I got involved in a discussion with two of the sales assistants on how the skirt didn't really work. It looked fine with the jacket on, but not without, and you can't guarantee keeping the jacket on, in case you suffer from heat exhaustion.  Meanwhile, my companion is stood outside the door, with the tayberry plants, gesticulating wildly as it is rather c-c-c-c-cold out there. The assistant had forgotten all about her, so I went and let her in.

The sales assistant rang up my bill.

"Ah well, we saved money by avoiding the expensive cheesecakes in the cafe, and buying sweets instead, so I have been economising!" I rationalised...

We travelled home, crossing a bridge north of Worcester to avoid any further gridlock. Weather watching as we went, as we passed from one flurry into the next, in quick succession. It was all very wonderful.

DH was very appreciative of the tayberries. He probably will be appreciative of the jacket as well, in time...Meanwhile, in anticipation of the 'beast from the east', the plants are tucked up in the shed, until the ground warms up enough for them to be planted. Roll on spring!

Update - the other good news is that all four estate agents signs are now lying flat on the ground, including the one that had been tied to the road name sign.  

Now please, Estate Agents, come and take them away - before I plant tayberries next to them. I am sure they would make a great frame!

Irritations and Boiled Rice

I took advantage of the sunshine yesterday to wash the richly coloured orange, red and gold bedding and hang it outside to dry, replacing it with the more serene blue and white patterned set.

After days of suffering from increased skin irritation, DH had switched to a very plain diet (until I led him astray with birthday cake) desperately hoping that boiled rice and roasted chicken would be sufficient to kick his current allergic reactions into touch, but no such luck.

After a night when he was tormented by irritations, we were racking our brains for an answer.
"Was it the freshly laundered sheets?"
"The one milky drink consumed the previous day?"
"The coffee cake?"
"Is the Vick ointment he has been using to battle his catarrh, the culprit?"
We have absolutely no idea.

First thing this morning I rewashed the sheets I had joyfully dried yesterday, just in case any residue of detergent lingered, as that is a potential irritant. On the bright side, at least it was another beautiful, if cold, sunny day, so I was able to hang them back outdoors for that fresh suburban smell...

In the afternoon the KHT and I went to town. We explored a different approach to our usual one. The KHT does like exploring.












We visited some pokestops under the shadow of the mighty steeple of St Stephen's in the centre of town. Then popped into the book stop in church, and brightened the day of the volunteers on duty there.

Next stop was Max Spielmann, so the KHT could get some photos taken for passes. I think we brightened the day of the staff in there too!.











Before I had the chance to forget we headed off to Wilkinsons, in search of short wooden plant supports.  We didn't find any, but I did find some flat bamboo plant labels, that were an impressive 24cm long and perfect for making rods for a fishing game! We did several tours of the shopping centre, as you do.  The KHT purchased some books and creme eggs. I just hope she remembers to put the confectionary somewhere appropriate as she has given up sweets for Lent. Her room can get rather warm...

As someone who used buses regularly from the age of about ten upwards, I regard them as an inconvenient and unreliable form of transport. One irritating fact is that they stick to clearly defined routes, which are never quite where anyone wants to go. Another bone of contention is that they always seem to travel in threes. The bus routes seem to ensure that the bus behind always catches up the bus in front, unless, of course, the bus behind breaks down or crashes...

The KHT has been desperate to go on a bus for some time, so instead of walking home, which takes about in about half an hour, we stood in the arctic blast on Church Green waiting for the bus to arrive.
The KHT is very keen to travel by bus and eagerly demonstrated the importance of reading the timetable. For some reason, a bus to Leicester is listed as departing from this stop, which worries her a little, as a trip to Leicester was not on the schedule for today.
To while away the time I read the rest of the timetable.
"We must not get on the bus going to the hospital, it doesn't go near our house."
Fortunately, the bus we require arrives first.
"Two singles." I request
"Driver looks bemused "I adult. I child? £2.90"
I admit defeat and pay.  I tried...
The KHT panicked cos I forgot to collect the tickets.
I take the tickets.
We sit down. The KHT is seventh heaven, as we spend the next 35 minutes touring the town.
We get off the bus and still have half a mile to walk home...

For dinner DH has more roast chicken and boiled rice.  His allergies have reduced.
I change the serene blue and white bedding, for the twice-washed, richly patterned red, orange and gold set.
The KHT comes to see what I am doing.
"What's with all this laundry?
"Your father is suffering from skin irritations, so we are trying to solve the problem."
One of the books she purchased in town was a Mr Men book
"He is more like Mr Fussy!" she declared.
The KHT still needs to work on the empathy, I feel!

Meanwhile, pondering on the colours of the duvet covers - maybe DH is just allergic to serenity?

Hanging On

Today was DH's Happy Birthday. It was also the day that he booked the tin tent in for its annual service. If it was me making the arrangements, then a memorable date would be a useful aide-memoire, to avoid the embarrassment of the service engineer rolling up, only to discover the caravan was still in storage several miles away. DH is MUCH better at 'grown-up' stuff like this than I am, and no doubt entered the appointment in his diary as soon as it was arranged!

Yesterday I bought this 'Happy Birthday' paperweight from the Charity Shop at work, and plan to have fun taking photographs incorporating it - watch this space...  The only flaw to this plan is that paperweights are not light, so it will be interesting to see how many pictures I actually get round to taking, before I get fed up of lugging the weight around. Meanwhile, it made an interesting conversation piece at the breakfast table. Behind is the KHT's birthday present to her Dad - exquisitely wrapped in a style only the KHT can accomplish...




With the anticipated arrival of the 'Beast from the East' - very cold front - featuring prominently in my social media newsfeed all week. I decided to buy DH a storm glass, as I knew it would fascinate him, and as I suspected, he didn't know such things existed. We will be watching how the crystals develop in the next few days, and how that compares with the forecasts and the weather that arrives! It is currently residing in the hallway, but it will not be staying there. We have grandchildren...









I decided to reuse the bag which my birthday chocolates came in, on the basis that it was just too good to waste. As you can see DH was a little surprised by the wording, but he does like pink - well that is my excuse, and I am sticking to it!  I have already warned the KHT that it will come into service again when it is her birthday next month! Thus a brand new family tradition has been established in just a day!

Unfortunately, DH cannot share the chocolates that were the original contents of the bag, as he has decided to go on a plain diet, in an attempt to identify exactly what is causing him irritation - apart from me!  So I am savouring each and every piece of chocolate exquisiteness :) It regrettably means that despite having a freeish weekend going out for a meal would not be a good idea, though he did say he would happily put up with the side effects and enjoy a good meal.  However, he needs a solution, so we better put the plan to eat out on hold for the time being.

Whilst DH was at home awaiting the mobile caravan service, I went off shopping for craft supplies for the afterschool club we shall be running after half term. I estimate that we walked around Solihull town centre about three times. I did treat myself to 3 new pairs of socks at great expense (£3) and some new clothes hangers to alleviate the current hanger shortage. I bought about 40 new hangers about six months ago. I have no idea where they have all disappeared to!

I did, however, buy a very nice coffee cake to celebrate his birthday, on the grounds that if he decided that he couldn't possibly eat any he could be cheered up by watching the rest of us demolish his cake. As I expected, he happily ate a slice, having restricted himself to quite a plain and boring diet all day.

After we arrived home I went upstairs to hang the dry washing in the airing cupboard. I was just kicking myself for not bringing the new hangers upstairs, as I knew I required them. There on the settee in the spare room were a whole heap of hangers. I quizzed the KHT, who pleaded ignorance and blamed her Dad. I went downstairs to make further enquiries into the mystery of the appearing hangers.
"They were in my wardrobe" was all he said.

If this had happened yesterday I might have been tempted to gift wrap the hangers.  After all, it is the thought that counts!

Eulogy to a Faithful Servant

A forest has appeared at the entrance of our road. Although made of wood, this man-made plantation does not contribute any oxygen to the planet, as the wood is dead and the signs themselves are undoubtably in part plastic, or some sort of composite.

Their arrival was gradual.
First one appeared.
Then a second.
Followed shortly by a third, and so on.

They stand like a hastily recruited, mismatched guard of honour, that would look at home as the cast of a Beano cartoon, shouting out a warning to would-be purchasers,
"Everyone wants to leave! This is not the place to buy a house!"

I do not understand why estate agents litter our neighbourhood with these signs.
Does they make the place look attractive and aspirational?
No! 
The role of an Estate Agent is to market the area as desirable. Ironically, their signs make it feel anything but.

In reality, there are over 100 properties accessed down this road. It is inevitable that there will be a regular turnover in ownership. Does this mean that we will continually have to live with this clutter?
Let us send these irritating advertisements to Room 101!

We were speculating the other day, on how irritating it would be to see this view from our home, and how tempting it would be to help them fall over.  To our surprise the next day we noticed that the wind appeared to have done just that, for they lay flattened on the ground. Only the one tied on to the road sign remained in position.



We gave thanks to whatever, or whoever, had accomplished this dreadful deed. As the three houses whose signs had fallen were sold, we were quietly hopeful that they would be removed.

We were even more appreciative when we observed that they had been stacked up in a neat pile.





















Sadly our celebrations were premature, for the next day they had all been re-erected.



Maybe there will be a strong wind again tonight...

We walk home through the underpass where some well-meaning soul regularly feeds the rock doves that roost high up on a convenient ledge. Unfortunately, this means we have to walk through the inevitable detritus on our way home. The underpass is situated at the point where the highway widens for a junction, so the rain can never wash it clean. As it is a footpath it does not seem to get cleaned. Today there was a decapitated bird to add to the ambience.

"Oh no! He was such a lovely bird. He lived a good life." said the KHT mournfully.
"What? You do not know that bird!" I replied, somewhat startled.
"Well, that's what they say at funerals." replied the KHT.
What could I say? She was absolutely correct.  Then I thought, what has she been watching for her thoughts to take such a turn?

Then my thoughts turned to those irritating signs at the top of our road. What tribute could I pay to them?

Eulogy to an Estate Agents Board
Bravely they stood in all weathers,
Servant-hearted, they considered not themselves,
but kept faithful in their service to the end
Despite setbacks and unexpected low points, 
they soon recovered 
and continued the task to which they were appointed.
Until, duty done, they were called home.

When Cheeses Lets You Down

So there we were, discussing cheeses, as you do, when the KHT announced
"I am very disappointed!"
"Why?"
"Well you know I ate some Welsh Goats Cheese the other day?"
"Yes. Didn't you like it?"
"Yes, it was fine, but I thought it would turn me Welsh, and it didn't?"
"How did you expect to change to be Welsh?"
"You know, have a Welsh accent
and wear big puffed-out skirts and tall hats...
Wait, what clothes do Welsh people wear?"
"Normal ones"
"Well, I heard of a book 'You are what you eat, so I thought If I ate Welsh Goats Cheese it would turn me Welsh."
"You didn't think it would turn you into a goat?"
Apparently not. No if's or buts, then...

Other good news, Thanks to our trip to Malvern on Monday, which ended at Waitrose, Charlie Bingham was responsible for our evening Gastronomic delight, thanks to the reduced section in Waitrose....
In case you can't read the writing.
Husband "My three favourite things: steak, ale and pie."
Wife "And I'm supposed to be happy with fourth place?"
If this conversation happened in our house I would be the one very happy with beef, ale & pie, and my husband would be asking if he was supposed to be happy with fourth place...

It's the way we roll.

Mysteries of Malvern

Monday dawned as Mondays often do, grey and dreary, overcast and weary. We went west on a not-so-grand expedition to the posh granny town of Great Malvern

On the way, I took a quick photo of my favourite dying tree. If you think it looks bad now, you should see it in summer, when it is at its most ugliest - neither convincingly dead or alive. However, during the bleaker months, it acquires a certain striking desolate beauty, that emphasises the metrological variations of our climate. Today the dark skeleton of the branches contrasted with the murkiness of the sky, which made it look positively funereal. All that was missing were a few carrion circling overhead.

We stopped off at The Fold, a place we had often driven past, but never visited before. There are a range of retail units around a courtyard, with a thriving cafe at the heart. As it was Monday most of the units were closed. We did, however, discover a map detailing some interesting trails, which we will explore on a drier day.  It was too early to eat, so we moved on to Malvern for the main purpose of the day which was to investigate parking, ahead on a visit my chauffer is planning to make later in the week. A simple enough task one would have thought...




We discovered the recommended car park and read the signs.

Daytime Parking - a choice of 2 or 4 hours... or a week.
Well, it did say Long Stay, but that is a huge leap between £2 and £9...












By chance, we looked at the evening charges, no idea why. After all, it was only midday!
£1.50 for overnight - that seems quite reasonable.  Wait!  What is this charge I see before me?
'*Up to 24 hours £3 * Available at all times'
If it is available at all times, why is it listed under the evening charges?  Does it apply only if you pay after 4pm?
We note that the asterisk and note that 'available at all times' appears to have been added afterwards, either that or the graphics team were having a random day when they designed the sign. We require answers, so I tweet the question to Malvern Council.

We head off on a tour of alternative parking options, to research what the charges are on nearby car parks. Bad news. They all have identical signs. Arghh!

None the wiser we concentrate our efforts on finding somewhere to eat, ending up in a small quirky cafe with views of both the Priory and the passing traffic. Two major features of Great Malvern.

Afterwards we pop into some interesting and not so interesting shops. The KHT strikes gold with a purchase (which I cannot mention) and also buys a large purple box file in which to store her magazines. Who can argue with such a purchase!?  Sadly my favourite card shop, which had a fantastic range of quirky cards, has closed :(

We drown our sorrows in Waitrose cafe, before browsing their shelves of middle-class decadence. Tomorrow's tea is purchased, courtesy of the reduced section, along with carrots that Charles and Camilla must have planted, as they were from the Duchy of Cornwall. I imagine Charles, striding through fields of waving carrot tops, chatting to them as he passes by... Do not disillusion me...





Upon arriving home I check my twitter account in case there have been any developments.  I have several notifications
1. Malvern Town Council reply to my question by informing me that the car park is run by the District Council not the Town Council and that I should ask the District Council.  In other words, it is nothing to do with us, pal. (Why does Malvern need two councils?)
2. Then the Town Council again replied to let me know that that they had looked at Malvern Hills District Council's website and they weren't sure about the signs either...
Oh no! I have created a diplomatic incident between the town council and the Malvern Hills District Council. It is going to be pistols at dawn on Worcestershire Beacon!
3. Then the Malvern Hills team tweeted that they were checking with the Parking Department...
4. Then they both decided that it is officially £3 all day. Good to know that the Malvern Councils are speaking to each other.
Phew!
So if you are planning to go to Malvern, then I can now tell you that it is officially £3 to park all day, according to Twitter.
Meanwhile, if the Malvern Hills District Council could update their signs to avoid confusion, many visitors would be very grateful.

Alien Invasion

Sexing Aliens

The last few stragglers are leaving church.
ED (Elder Daughter) is in the process of rounding up her brood
DH to G3 (aged 8) "And that includes you!"
G3 (aged 8) is straight back at him
"Oh no it doesn't! I am coming to your house!"
DH looks at me for affirmation, as visions of an afternoon nap disappear.
I affirm that G3 (aged 8) has indeed invited herself for dinner. For some reason, G4 (aged 5) appears to have got out of bed the wrong side this morning. This way I am at least removing one potential source of conflict from the equation, for the short term anyway.

G3 (aged 8) is a free spirit and spurns the colouring sheets I offer, preferring to do her own designs. I have to confess that I was so preoccupied with the 'Zaphod Beeblebrox' element of the design, that I never got beyond asking the name of this curious creature. Rainbow Alien was the reply. With such a name I think I assumed that it was female, but upon closer inspection, I am having my doubts...

I often feel that the grandchildren live in a different world that overlaps with ours. They have different expectations, different habits. Technology is an integral part of their lives. G5 (aged 3) mastered using the photos app on an iPhone at a very early age. She is also ruthless if anyone should disturb her viewing of photographs or her favourite video of Granddad blowing down a piece of drainpipe.  The other day my phone rang, and she had hung up on the caller before I had time to register that my phone was ringing!

True to form the KHT disappeared as soon as she had consumed her lunch, leaving G3 (aged 8) to battle with her peas.
"Take your time, there is no hurry. Granddad and I will just enjoy a coffee before we do pudding..."
With cake and ice cream on the menu G3 (aged 8) had both time and incentive to chase those naughty peas, and we were clearly not in a hurry. At home, I suspect that she would have been able to get away without eating these troublesome vegetables. No such luck when dining with grandparents with alien expectations, and no younger siblings to act as a distraction. We did give her a spoon to help accomplish the task.






But who are the aliens? The grandparents, who grew up drawing on the back of recycled paper, or the grandchildren, who assume that all resources are in unlimited supply? Meanwhile, we will just enjoy glimpses into each other's worlds.

G3 (aged 8) spent a good portion of the afternoon watching a Spongebob movie with the KHT, before reappearing to eye up the box of chocolates I have been given.
"Plenty of Kitkats and lollies on offer. We probably have some biscuits too... Ask Granddad, he is the expert on such matters"

The chocolates are reserved for Grandma the Alien, and will be savoured at leisure.

You've been framed!

In the frame

On Saturday the calendar was suspiciously blank. No ringing, or any other church activity planned. No service to prepare for. A strangely quiet day. No wonder everyone was feeling a bit edgy at this unaccustomed leisure.

However, a picture had been dropped off at a framing shop in Evesham a couple of weeks ago. Yesterday we received notification that our masterpiece was now ready for collection, so we thought we had better go and retrieve it.

Evesham is a town we often drive round on the way to the Cotswolds, occasionally drive through (because it is a day when we can't be doing with all the roundabouts), but rarely visit. However, as we had some spare time after collecting our freshly framed picture, we decided to go for a wander along by the river.

Despite the coldness of the day, spring was definitely in the air as far as the cobs were concerned. They were definitely still in Valentine's Day mode. Lots of frantic feathery flutterings as the poor pen took off down the river, hotly pursued by a couple of would-be lovers, with amorous intentions.





Our wanderings took us from Waterside, over the stone bridge to Abbey Meadows, where we challenged the KHT to engage with some of the play equipment.





DH's muscle power was required to propel this particular peice of equipment. It needed to be turned several times in one direction, so it could then spin back in the other direction at a much faster speed. The KHT had a great time demonstrating that it is not possible to spin silently. We were then joined by a family with younger children. Their dad had a great time winding up the swing so his children could enjoy the sensation of being hurled through space. Being children the novelty soon wore off and they decided it was more fun to chase the seats. Unfortunately, despite being warned not to, the youngest child decided to chase one of the seats while it was in full flight. To her horror, the KHT collided with the child, who was unable to match the speed of the swing. The poor lad was swept off his feet and deposited on the floor. To add insult to injury he acquired a mouth full of wood chip in the process, as he was just getting ready for a most indignant yell when he landed facedown on the ground. 
"That will teach him" observed his mother, sympathetically.
No injury was sustained, other than to his pride. I reassured the KHT that it really wasn't her fault, and it was suggested that this would be a prudent moment to move on.
"Yes, that is a good idea," agreed the KHT, "Before I am travel sick!"

We continued our walk down past the play area by the new bridge to Hampton Ferry and beyond. By now the sun was shining and it was all very pleasant.
"Where's the coffee?" enquired DH.
Unfortunately, there are no coffee shops near the river in Evesham. Rather than take a significant diversion in search off a coffee shop in the town centre, we decided to stop off at Evesham Country Park on the way home, as it has changed rather a lot since DH last visited.

"It's a lovely walk," observed the KHT plaintively "Can't we continue?"
"The art of a good walk is to know when to stop, especially when your father wants a cup of coffee..."
Then just as we reached the new bridge again, the KHT said excitedly
"There is something I need you to see" 
and she pointed out some graffiti.
"It's Laurel and Hardy!" I said,
"Really?" 
Her face lit up and I knew what she was thinking.
"But I do not think that it is a Banksy"

Blankety Blank...

Meanwhile, our newly framed picture is home
and awaits hanging?

Watch this space...

Inconvenient God

The beginning of Lent is marked by the joint Ash Wednesday service at the parish church. A sombre event, which includes 'The Imposition of Ashes' within a service of Holy Communion. Palm crosses left over from the previous year, are burnt and mixed with oil to form a black gloopy looking paste, which is used to draw the cross on the foreheads of penitent parishioners. This act of repentance is followed by the Peace, which provides the opportunity to admire everyone else's forehead.

The KHT wondered what would happen if she kept the cross on her forehead. Fortunately, by the end of the service, it was already a blur, courtesy of her fringe. Hopefully, she washed off the remnant, before she got into bed.  It is also a good idea to remove your cross if you are planning to pop into the supermarket on the way home, unless you want to get involved in theological discussion at the checkouts.

The gospel reading was the familiar story of the woman caught in adultery, which is always a challenging passage - like where was the man!? Why was it only the woman who was in trouble? As I listened I was struck by the fact that Jesus wasn't overly interested in the woman's actions, or her justification for them. They both knew she was guilty. The difference was that Jesus knew that they had all sinned.  However, Jesus wanted the woman to change, and it was her transformation and future that mattered, more than her past indiscretions. I was feeling strangely encouraged by this, and then God whispered in my ear.
"You know those situations that are bothering you. "
"Yes."
"You think that you are right, don't you?"
"Well, yes. Because...."
"I understand. You don't need to justify why you feel as you do."
"O.K."
"Don't get trapped in the righteousness of your argument"
"But...!
"Put down the accusations you want to throw."
"But..."
"Just one thing. You have to forgive."
"They haven't admitted that they are wrong yet!"
"That is not the point. 
You need to forgive them or you are just like those who wanted vengeance in the story"
"I'm not accusing anyone of adultery!"
"I know, but you are feeling wounded by the choices they have made."
"True"
"And you think that they are wrong."
"Well consider the evidence..."
"I consider everything.  
I know everything. 
Do not forget I can see the bigger picture
"Probably..."
"Trust me."
"I am trying to..."

Sometimes God's ways are rather inconvenient!

The Elephant In The Room

Spot the puppet...

Monday saw us travelling to the Black Country for Open The Book training.

I have lost track of how many years it is since Open the Book was launched in our parish, and we began the weekly task of acting out Bible stories in local schools. I guess it must be about six years, as we are almost at the end of the second time through the three year cycle. In our team, only two of us remain from the original cohort. Thankfully others have come along to replace those who have moved on to do other things.

This was the first opportunity I have had to go on a training course, as in the past they have always happened on days when I am working. As this one was on my day off, I thought I better go. The venue for the training was only about half a mile, from where another year-long course we are doing, is based.  As a consequence, we feel that we are getting to know the Black Country!  Normally we travel through in the dark, so it was nice to see the place in the sunshine! I can now verify that Old Hill is just as steep as it appears in the dark!

Expectation - everyone will be highly organised, very capable, with excellent props.
Reality - they blundered through, just as we do, getting most of it right.

What did I get out of the course?  
A sense of something much bigger than six of us rolling up to school all bleary-eyed on a Wednesday morning and appearing from behind clothes airers. It made me question what else we should be doing, within both the schools we visit and the community in which they are based.  The leadership also shared their vision for possible developments.

What did I like best?
The resources in the prayer corner, which would be very useful in the after school club we offer in one of the local schools. I have already purchased a couple of items and have my eye on a few more...

One girl made an elephant out of playdough - which I christened 'The elephant in the room'...
Another suggestion was prayer paper aeroplanes - perfect potential for mayhem, in the name of prayer! Perfect!
Perhaps we should christen them 'Prayeroplanes'...

What did I like least?
Evaluations questions! Having said that they did make us think. At first, I thought that I had nothing to say, but as the conversation got going, I discovered to my surprise that I had plenty to contribute!

What surprised me?
It was a daytime course and most of the participants were quite mature in age - but not all!  Some regarded Open the Book as a project for the retired and seemed quite indignant at the thought that younger people might take part. Such ageism! In reality, I am the only member of my team who is not retired, but I do know people who successfully fit in Open the Book' in with their work commitments.

We now have a two-week break from Open the Book, as we are replaced with Mass on Ash Wednesday, and then it is half term.  When we return, it will be with renewed enthusiasm for bringing the stories to life.  I will be able to see beyond the crowns, swords and goblets and clothes airers, to the wider ministry.

But will I see an elephant?

Gastronomic Catastrophe!

It has been years since we have regularly eaten a Sunday dinner at lunchtime.  When my husband became Churchwarden the first time around, we discovered that by the time we got home from church we just wanted to eat, not wait while food cooked. From then on cheese sandwiches became our standard Sunday lunch, as I was rarely sufficiently organised to put dinner on before we went.

Fast forward twenty odd years, to my husband's third stint as Churchwarden. We noted that it was often 9:30pm before we ate our main meal on a Sunday, so in recent weeks Sunday dinner at lunchtime has been reinstated.





I am not keen on cooking.  It bores me. I end up cooking the same thing every day, mainly through lack of inspiration - baked potatoes (less washing up) and chicken (you can never eat too much chicken!) However, since retiring, DH, who rarely cooked when he was working, has become much more proactive in the kitchen. This Sunday, however, I decided to cook...

I remembered to put the KHT's fishcake in the oven. However, I never remember to use timers or make a note of what time I start cooking, so I usually make judgements on colour and temperature, rather than time. DH is the exact opposite - time is up, it's coming out, ready or not!

I decided to cook Dauphinois Potatoes. The potatoes were peeled and parboiled. For some bizarre reason, instead of just adding milk, cheese and a bit of flavouring, I made a roux sauce, poured it over the spuds and bunged it in the oven. As it was cooking delectable odours wafted from the oven, tantalising our nostrils.
Was it a success? Think potatoes in white glue, with cheese on top...

The chicken was lightly sauteed, with mustard, courgettes and tomatoes - did I ever tell you that I LOVE fried chicken.  However, in order to ensure the chicken was thoroughly cooked, I left the lid on. The consequences of this were that the courgettes felt sorry for themselves and went all limp and lifeless. Near the end, I remembered the wine and chucked in a good measure.
Was it a success?  Think chicken soaked in vinegar, with an overdose of mustard. Apparently, two spoonfuls of wholegrain mustard is one too many...

On the positive side the sprouts, beans and carrots were absolutely fine, except when DH prepared the green beans, he accidentally chucked in the carrot peelings, which I had left on one corner of the chopping board... They just needed fishing out prior to serving.  Yes, I know I was supposed to be doing the cooking, but I coerced DH into chopping the Green Beans, as he always buys ones with ends on.

Meal verdict - disaster. Give the woman a sad face sticker!

Moving on to Monday and husband is back at the chopping board, eager to avoid a repeat of yesterdays gastronomic catastrophe. I must admit I had my reservations about this evening's delight. Mince is rarely one of my favourite dishes, but black pepper and fresh tomatoes combined to create a very tasty meal. Admittedly sprouts are an unconventional ingredient to incorporate into bolognese, but they tasted fine to me! I have to admit the dinner was very enjoyable.

Meal verdict - Success! Give the man a smiley face sticker!


Somehow, I do not think that my husband is going to be encouraging me to increase the amount of cooking I do in the immediate future... Just one question remains - should I be pleased?

Palm Saturday

There were two events on the calendar for Saturday.  In the morning between 10am and midday it was Messy Church, and in the afternoon and early evening it was the Quarterly Meeting of the local branch of our bellringing association.  So far, so good.

Happy and Sad face biscuit decorating

Then I had a bright idea... This is usually the point at which life gets interesting, as my 'bright ideas' usually complicate life.
"We had plenty of helpers last time at Messy Church. I think I shall take grandchildren Four (aged five) and Five (aged three).  You can go ahead, and we will walk."
However, I hadn't realised that Grandchild Five (aged 3) had completely eschewed the buggy, meaning that extra time needed to be allowed for communing with nature, as only a three-year-old can. Every passing leaf and insect must be examined and marvelled over.







Meanwhile, I checked the itinerary for the days ringing and realised that we were supposed to be at the first tower at 12:30pm.  The first tower was fifteen miles away.  It was agreed that the mother of Grandchild Four (aged five) and Grandchild Five (aged three) would come and collect them at the end of Messy Church, leaving us to depart to our ringing.

My plans received another blow, when the morning dawned to persistent rain, and the implications of standing in the rain examining every wet leaf and insect dawned upon me...

Then I didn't get up early enough.

End result - we all went in the car. DH went to pick up Grandchild Four (aged five) and Grandchild Five (aged three), whilst I gulped down my breakfast. They then came back and picked up the KHT and moi.
Grandchild Four (aged five) was chattering away.  Finally from Grandchild Five (aged three) came a solemn announcement,
"And I'm a big girl now!"

It was really interesting to see how they coped with it all. Grandchild Four (aged five) was very aware of his own limitations, even with a pair of left-handed scissors. All the activities involved following instructions and using skills he was not yet proficient in.  Grandchild Five (aged three) had no such qualms and had no concept of failure. She wanted to do everything the other children did, and she did. There was has no thought that her efforts would not be of the same standard as anyone else's. No-one cared that her colouring was more scribble. It was hers. Finished items go in a shoebox. No-one has time to compare - they move swiftly on to the next craft.

"I am just colouring in Mummy's beard..."

During the activities, there was time to chat
"I am just colouring in Mummy's beard" announces G5 (aged 3).
"Do you know anyone with a beard? I enquire of G4 (aged 5)
"Jesus has a beard!" chuckled G4 (aged 5)







They had only been to Messy Church once before, quite a while ago. G4 (aged 5) looked at the tables laid with paper plates and serviettes.
"Why are the tables like that?"
"We have a meal."
G4 (aged 5) departs to get his iced biscuits...
G4 (aged 5) ate the sausage from his hot dog, then a cake, and then finished off his biscuits.
Meanwhile, G5 (aged 3) took rather longer to consume her cake. Despite several cleanup operations during the cake consumption, she still managed to spread icing from her armpit to her nose.  A dozen wet wipes later and she is almost respectable.  I hope the rest came out in the wash...





At the appropriate time, they were collected by their parent and we were about to depart.
"Can you take the prayer tree back to St. J's?"
enquired one of the leaders.
"Yes, but as we are not going home, it will be going on a tour of Worcestershire first!"
The Prayer Palm Tree - based on the centre from a roll of carpet - was duly fed into the boot and over the back seat.

And so it came to pass that on the last Saturday before Lent, we took a palm tree on a tour of Worcestershire. Like many modern cars, ours has tinted windows. The salesman said it was to reduce the glare of the sun, but I think it is just so that people cannot see the random things that get carried around.

The Primrose Trail

A couple of weeks ago I did an impulse buy of a tray of pale yellow flowers, which were displayed outside a garden centre.  Before you ask they were NOT daffodils. 

"Ok!" I thought to myself, "These will look rather nice underneath the trees at the bottom of the garden. If they like it there, they may even naturalise, along with the cyclamen and the foxgloves..."

I even managed to plant them before the cold weather set in - though not in the place I originally intended. When I came to plant them I thought, 

"These will add some lovely colour to the garden, but it is a pity to have them so far away," and so their new home was the rockery adjacent to the pond... where the pheasant can keep an eye on them 

Now six small plants in a winter-bare garden do not make much of an impact, especially when you plant them both sides of a rockery.  

Then I had a brainwave.

"I will buy some more!" 

And so it came to be that we set off on The Great Primrose Hunt!

We started in a garden centre the other side of Worcester. Now the sparsely filled displays in the plant section bore testimony that February is not the most popular time for purchasing plants. Who in their right mind wants to go digging holes in the permafrost? However, there was a good variety of plants of the primula family in a wide variety of colours, but they only had a few pale yellow. I succombed to a pot of pale blue bulbs. Before you ask, they were not daffodils, either!

Later,  as we were heading home, we did an impulse stop at another garden centre, which we had often passed, but never stopped at before. Again, plenty of pink, blue, burgundy, orange, you-name -it colours. Disappointingly, there were not a lot of primrosey looking primulas.

Finally we crossed the county boundary, visiting my favourite local garden centre. Here we discovered a wondrous vista of primulas in every shade imaginable stretched out before us. Surely THIS will be the place where we will find our primrosey looking primulas! Alas, the pale yellow ones had orange centres, so we discounted them...  

We returned home and admired the previously purchased primulas, only to notice to our horror, that they too had orange centres, just like the ones we had spurned!  We really should have taken a photo before we went - it really would have made life a lot simpler.

However, the trail hasn't gone cold. We have three options:-

A) We could return to the garden centre where we made our original purchases and buy some additional plants, providing they still have some in stock. 

B) Return to a garden centre or two WITH A PHOTO on my phone and identify the ones that match most closely to the plants purchased previously.

C) Buy some that look similar but don't have the orange centres, and ignore the fact that they are not all the same.

Who knew buying plants would be like a box of chocolates and we would want to avoid the ones with the orange centres...

A Bit Of A Jam

I have reached that point in life where the mileometer clicks over another number. Fortunately, it was not one ending in a zero, but it is still another depressing digit to add to my tally.

At breakfast, I was searching in the provisions cupboards for a replacement jar of jam, to replace that which was recycled yesterday.
"Any idea where the jam is?" I enquired of DH,
"I can't seem to find any!"
"Try looking in the cupboard!" was the helpful advice.
'I am..."
After a deep sigh, DH lumbered into action, long ape-like arms impersonating a windmill. A variety of packets, boxes, tins and jars were cast aside whilst the search for the elusive jam was underway. DH was keen to prove that it was entirely a matter of my incompetence that was preventing the jam from being located.
"Well, you don't seem to have any!" was his final verdict.







A few minutes later he came in brandishing a gift bag,
"This was left for you,"
I opened it and inside were four cylindrical objects, in a variety of wrappings.

I opened the first - JAM!

I opened the second - JAM!

I opened the third - JAM!

I opened the fourth - JAM!

I was delighted.

DH looked on with a mixture of disbelief and confusion.

"You MUST have known about this! he spluttered.
"Nope, didn't have a clue! But it sure gets me out of a jam.."

Defined by Postcode

"WR7 4 Ringing Extravaganza!"
DH decodes, programmes the Satnav and we head off in the wrong direction - deliberately, I might add, before you speculate if our actions mere incompetence, or just designed to torment up the poor machine.  We had arranged to pick up one of our fellow ringers, and on this occasion, we actually managed to programme the direction gadget before we left home, instead of having a domestic on the highway.

It was a dreary damp and dismal day. Most people were still indoors, doing sensible things, whilst we headed off in search of unheated churches, in which to play some heavy and not so heavy metal and run the risk of annoying the neighbours.  The alternative name for this activity is a bellringing outing.

Local Luminescence

As we rolled down the M5 the land to the east glowed with a luminescent light, in every other direction it was endless greyness.

"Who rings in a church like this..."

The first church door we opened was at the lovely light six at Stoulton. The trouble with delightful bells is that there is the expectation that the ringing is of a high standard. We did our best.

Part way through the ringing the door opened to reveal a dog-collared person, who introduced herself as the local incumbent.
"Are you a vicar?" enquired the youngest member of the party, to the amusement of everyone else.

The Vicar was rather bemused to discover that we were not her in-house ringers, but had travelled from the distant lands of the far county border.  The conversation then moved on to mutual acquaintances and former glories, as conversations usually do.







"WR9 4 Quiet Sound!"

Stranger on the stairs? No, it is DH!

After a last-minute re-juggle of the programme, our next tower had been promoted up the batting order from last place to second. The trouble is we weren't sure if the tower captain had got the message, so 'quiet sound' was what we feared.  However, to our great delight, a keyholder arrived.

Last time I rang here was 1984, when the heaviest bell was 23and a half cwt.  They were out of action for a few years before being restored and retuned, resulting in a tenor just under 20cwt.  The slippery floor had been covered in carpet, which was a great improvement!  After the dainty delights of Stoulton, Powick's bells required a bit more muscle to keep turning.  Our efforts were rewarded with suitably stately sounds.  Our ringing at Powick was followed by a well-earned lunch!

Georgian Grandeur

"WR1 2 Jolly Japes!"
Actually, the Satnav was not required as the car was in the car park by the river and we are very familiar with the location of All Saints, which is adjacent to the river bridge in the centre of Worcester.  We were first to arrive as we had lunched in a different establishment. We waited outside the 'locked front door', not realising that the ringers would enter via a different doorway. This was how we managed to lose the rest of the contingent on the outing.

DH went off on a recce, whilst the KHT and I kept watch (played pokemon) and listened to the many sirens that seemed to be going off around the city. Later we found out that there had been a car fire on the top floor of one of the multistory car parks, which had led to a section of the shopping centre being evacuated.  I am glad we didn't park there! All Saints has a ring of twelve, we didn't have enough to ring all the bells on this occasion, but we rang some cracking call changes on ten.

Details of the old and the new bells

"WR1 2 Diddy Fings." 
Last stop was St Martins in the Cornmarket - a new lightweight ring of ten, where the heaviest bell was about the weight of our fourth! My only new tower of the day, but who cares, ringers gonna ring! These bells have a bright, some may say irritating, sound, vaguely reminiscent of ice cream chimes.  If you didn't rush them they were easy to strike well.

We heard Cathedral bells tripping down the alleyways

Outside it was still raining. As we left town the Cathedral bells sang out their melodic crescendo over the Cathedral Quarter, we wound down the car windows enjoying the brief melody, thought of all the steps to the ringing chamber and went gladly home.















Our first ringing outing of 2018 was complete.  Roll on next week, and our second!

Sacrificial Lamb for Longbridge

They buried my town
knocked much of it down.
A reinforced concrete monstrosity
has taken its place.
"It will be fun!" they said,
"To shop in the dry
and meet under the palm trees"
We cannot deny
that it was rather exciting.
But the town's traders were excluded,
and watched in dismay
as the bulldozers wiped away
livelihood and memories.
They took their compensation
and called it a day,
and wished there had been another way
For this thing called progress.

Green railings in Smith Street,
where we parked our minivan
The wall near the Old Fire station
urging us to "End Vietnam".
The Nags Head,
The Rising Sun.
The Liberal Club,
and many homes.
Now just a memory,
buried under the ringway
or somewhere close by.
They call it progress.

Tuesdays and Saturdays
We would go to the market
'Rum and butters' from the sweet stall
Avoid the empty-eyed glare
of the rabbit
hung by his feet.
We buy fresh fish from Fred.
They took away his caravan
with no running water.
Put him in the food hall,
with a purpose-built stall.
Until they flattened it all
and exiled the market
To build Debenhams department store
with an upper and lower floor.
The clock has never been since.
They call it progress.

Now St Michael is abandoning town.
Closing the store - shutting it down!
Nearby is a newer branch
on the grave of the car plant
It really is a great pity,
To move to the second city...
But  M & S must balance the books.
Forget the awful styles and looks
of the clothing in the Redditch store
that not even your granny would adore.
The two things are not connected...
Three hours free parking at our new store
acres of carpeting
and room for more
stock, and a wider range.
"Yes", they say, "It is a shame,
But M & S are not to blame
You really must come
It's not far to the edge of Brum
Just three stops up the line"
Your frozen food will be just fine.
They call it progress.

Now The Gateway has got the go-ahead
On the eastern edge of town.
The lorries will thunder along the A435
However, the developers firmly maintain
Only four lorries will pass as you eat your tea
"You are out of your tree"
say those who live in the vicinity.
Bromsgrove and Stratford snigger up their sleeve
at their simply excellent wheeze
They avoid the noise and pollution,
while they rake in the remuneration.
and call it progress.