In Search Of Autumn

"The Sculpture Trail at a nearby craft centre is ending this weekend, and they have some different exhibits this year..."
"Well, we better go and have a look then."
"It would also be a good day to go to Spetchley."
And so the plan evolved.

Off we went, first to a nearby craft centre, located within converted farm buildings, with views stretching across the Severn plain to the distant blue Malvern Hills. This ridge of ancient rock serves as a guardian to the county, protecting us from the worst of the weather. True, snowmelt and flood water can affect the area immediately around the river, but, by and large, storms pass to the south or the north. By the time they have crossed over the Malverns, their cargo has been mostly offloaded.

On a mild late September morning, we appeared to be among the first arrivals and were free to wander around the sculpture trail, accompanied only by a couple of ducks that sounded as if they had stolen Jimmy Carr's laugh.

There were the inevitable body-in-the-lake piece and also some cute models.
I rather liked this sculpture with wind-blown hair, contrasting with the peaceful stillness of an autumn morning.
For me, it illustrated calm amidst chaos.
It didn't feel like yet another sexualised fantasy of a female body.
Instead, it felt more like a representation of a real person.
However, the artist may have intended something entirely different...










Next, we travelled by a cross-country route to reach our second destination. We have planned to visit Spetchley for several years but never got there.
Why?
Because you have to pay to go in.
The admission charge isn't exorbitant, and I don't mind paying for the privilege.
However, because there is a charge, you feel that you want to go when you will get the most from the trip - for the flowers and foliage to be at their finest, and for the weather to be sunny and warm - but not overwhelmingly hot.

The garden is closed between early November and late March. If we didn't visit today, it would probably be 2019 before we got another opportunity.

We had taken a sneaky peak at the gardens a couple of years ago, when visiting Spetchley Church. At that time we were working away through local ecclesiastical buildings that were in the care of The Churches Conservation Trust. The gardens did not disappoint. Recently money has been invested in the grounds, and in the Heritage centre we watched a loop of photographs of the renovation of this lake, when it was dredged and restored it to its original glory. The water is amazingly clear, so whoever masterminded the project did an excellent job.

We wandered around the lake, admiring the reflections of the house and autumn colours.
Benches were placed strategically for the views and visitors to the parkland sat contentedly in the peace of the parkland, disturbed only by the faint rumble of traffic on frantic journeys of great importance.





The cafe served a good variety of snacks. I averted my eyes away from the cake counter, but not before I had clocked the Coffee and Walnut Cake - though it always puzzles me as to why people ruin good coffee cake by adding walnuts? As you may have guessed I am not a fan of these gastronomic rocks.
Walnuts or not, I resisted cake temptation.

Afterwards we explored the walled garden - which was far bigger than I anticipated. Think of it as a horticultural tardis.
Around every corner, there was something new and different to see, and plenty of ironwork on view.








There is nothing like a nice piece of rusty metal to enhance a garden. We have a couple of feature items in our own flower beds, but nothing as old or grand as this! As this was part of a pair of full height gates, we could hardly sneak them through reception and pop them in the car boot... With hindsight they would look rather out of place in the suburban garden of a 21st-century house, so far better to leave them where they are and visit periodically.







Parts of the garden were clearly past their prime, but were still a place of beauty.
This stag appeared to gaze on disdainfully
as we trespassed in his kingdom.
Common interlopers were we,
paying a fee
for the right to traipse around his territory.












Other areas were enjoying their moment of glory.
I stood and marvelled at the glorious red foliage of this vine.










Even the Michaelmas daisies were past their best but were still attracting the bees.
I forever will associate these flowers with my Mum, as I remember her explaining to me when Michaelmas fell.
Her birthday was the day after that particular patronal festival.







Even the doormat looked interesting. The autumn leaves creating an everchanging irregular pattern upon the more regulated permanent pattern beneath.










Sadly you can no longer cross the ornate footbridge over the A422.
Whether the sides are too low to meet current regulations,
or the insurance cover too exorbitant,
or if it is in danger of collapse,
I know not.






Having toured the grounds as much as we had time for, we decide to become 'Friends' which enables us to return as often as we wish during the next year, plus get invited to garden talks. We also received complimentary tickets to visit Berkley Castle in Gloucestershire! A place I have not yet visited.

Today we finally went to Spetchley in search of autumn's glory, and we were successful.
How many seasons will pass before we return?
Time will tell.

Oh My Cabbages!

Sunday evening was celebration time at St. Peter's. The church was full to overflowing, as members from various denominations, gathered for a service organised by Churches Together in Redditch, to celebrate joint projects -
chaplaincies - retail, emergency and hospital,
the Food Bank,
Open the Book,
Messy Church
and the Night Shelter.

To mark the event, it had been requested that the bells were rung. So we did the honours and neatly slotted in our September Quarter peal prior to the service, with a band comprising of ringers from two local churches.

When we arrived, some ninety minutes before the service, the car park was already quite full, as people had  already started arriving to set up various stands in the adjoining meeting room.
Meanwhile, in the church, a rehearsal was underway, as a group of willing Open the Book volunteers were preparing for their storytelling later in the service.
I hope they appreciated the sound of bells in the background as our Quarter peal got underway...

Later during our ringing, the Open the Book team were replaced by the worship band, in their pre-service rehearsal. Listening to your striking against the counter-melody of a bass guitar is an acquired skill, but one the local band has had plenty of opportunity to perfect...

At 6pm the service got underway, with opening words from first the host Rector, followed by the Chair of Churches Together.
Next, some well-loved worship songs were sung.
This was followed by interviews with some of the many volunteers, who enable the joint projects to flourish.

We then reached the high point of the evening - a  re-enactment of the Israelites crossing the Red Sea, as enacted by Open the Book volunteers, with plenty of audience participation.
But before we could cheer on the Israelites as they escaped across the Red Sea, or boo the pursuing Egyptians, we had to act out the plagues.
This provided ample opportunity for:-
water polluting
frog hopping
gnat avoiding
fly swatting
livestock dying
boil popping
hailstone pelting
crop devouring
darkness falling
and
clog popping.

Now the KHT LOVES Open the Book and made the most of this unexpected opportunity, throwing her heart and soul into improvising the effect of the ten Egyptian afflictions. We had worked our way steadily through to the eighth disaster, namely the locusts eating all the crops. At this point in the proceedings, there was a momentary lull, into which a horrified sounding KHT interjected with perfect timing
"Oh! My cabbages!"
Cue laughter from everyone within earshot.

Cabbage quarter - with added eyes

Meanwhile, I am left wondering if the Egyptians ever ate that particular vegetable...
Did they flourish on the banks of the Nile?
Did Pharoah's palace look out upon the eastern equivalent of the Vale of Evesham?
Had Pharoah's daughter trod daintily through cabbage fields?
Did cabbages mingle, seamlessly, with the bullrushes?
We will never know!

One thing is certain.
I shall never, ever again think of the plagues that befell the Egyptians,
without thinking of cabbages...

Stairway To Hereford

Saturday was the long-awaited Southern Branch Outing to Herefordshire. Unfortunately, the weather forecast was damp & drizzly, but hey we were going to be indoors ringing.
G1 (aged 11) also took up bellringing over the summer and has been making great progress. We suggested that she might like to go on her first outing, and to our surprise, she seemed quite keen on the idea. In preparation, we had taken her to ring at a different tower last Tuesday and she coped fine.

The first tower was Lugwardine at 9:15am, which meant leaving home around 8am. To our amazement, we arrived on time.

The ringing chamber had a most unusual door, in the form of a blackboard which slid upwards to allow access. It looked like it had been acquired from a local school during the smartboard revolution. We waited to see if anyone would get guillotined whilst attempting to gain entry, but they didn't.

After a couple of lots of ringing, I was warm enough to take my cardi off.
I then moved my arm downwards and my arm brushed against something.
"That's odd!" I thought.
Looking down I noticed a label sticking out slightly, as labels often do.
Just one problem. The label should be the inside of the t-shirt. This means my t-shirt is inside out!
ARGHHHHHH!
I look around, no-one is looking at me strangely.
Mind you, the t-shirt does look similar whether it is inside out or the right way out.
To be on the safe side I quickly put my cardi back on before anyone noticed.

The ringing continues. A band takes hold for the final piece of ringing at this tower. I persuade DH that G1 and the KHT will be fine upstairs with him, and quickly go downstairs on the pretext of taking photos of the church, but primarily to see if there is a loo where I can put my t-shirt on the right way.

I go the spiral staircase to the entrance. A door with stained glass windows leads into the main part of the church. Luckily it is unlocked as they are holding Open Church. A couple of ringers are milling around. After a couple of minutes, they leave.
I walk down the aisle. It is a simple open plan church.
Unfortunately, there does not appear to be a toilet.
However, there is a prayer space in a side chapel behind the organ.
Beneath the watchful gaze of Jesus, I remove my cardi, so I can quickly take off my top and put it back on the right way round before anyone else appears.
To my relief, Operation Reverse T-shirt is successfully completed.
Then a scary thought crossed my mind.
"What if they had a CCTV camera?!!!"
Well if they do, they will get a recording with a quick flurry of arm movement and shot of my beige M & S bra...
One thing is certain, they will never know how much of an answer to prayer that space was!

We move on to Hereford, and grab a quick coffee in All Saints, before ringing the bells there.
In the main church craft items are on sale, so the KHT opts to stay downstairs and browse.
Meanwhile, G1(aged 11) is having a great attempt at ringing these Herefordshire bells.









Next, we plodded back through the rain-sodden streets, to St Nicholas', which is right next to the car park we left our cars earlier...












St Nick's is a cosy tower, with an interesting internal window overlooking the church.
It also had sweets on display in the tower...
Some of our younger ringers were rather disappointed that we didn't let them sample any...

Lunch was next. A group of about 14 of us found refuge in a cafe close to the cathedral.
Afterwards, some members of the party went to visit a new gin establishment close by. Meanwhile, we made our way to the cathedral on the pretext of exploring the building. In reality, we gathered in a cluster close to the bottom of the stairs and chatted.

At the allotted time, we commenced our long climb up to the ringing chamber. On the way, signs informed us of how many stairs we had to climb - just 160 + 50 more to go...and so on.




Hereford Cathedral ringing chamber is a strange place, full of wood beams and large metal supports.
As you look across the ringing chamber, you feel certain that one of those ringing must be hidden from view behind a post. In reality, those ringing can see all the other ringers.
The bells are heavier than we are used to, so the ringing style has to be adapted to allow for the weight and the slower turning of the larger wheels.















G1 (aged 11) had a good attempt at ringing here. There can't be many people who master rounds on six one week, visit their first new tower four days later, and ring at six more churches including a cathedral four days after that! Go G1!





















This shot was taken part way down looking down over the choir stalls, and gives an idea of how high up the tower we had to climb to ring the bells.

Windows on the spiral staircase gave us splendid views over the city centre.

Next, we headed out of the city to the village of Yarkhill - a large rural parish. I couldn't find a postcode for the church, so directions were given over a mobile phone. Bemused Alpacas watched on as we arrived. Here a light ring of eight have replaced an unringable ring of four.







We ended the day at Ledbury. After ringing we thought about going to find a pub but decided to call it a day and go home instead. Lightweights are we!

Making A Spectacle of Myself!

Wednesday afternoon began with challenge one - the penalty shoot out.
The assistant tries to direct a shot past my defences,
whilst I try all sorts of tactics to prevent the aforementioned defences, being breached.
Initially, I am successful.
However, the operator is an experienced professional,
and lulls me into a false sense of security by permitting me to win a few rounds,
before sneaking one past my defences.
To my surprise, all I feel is a slight puff of air.
What was I so worried about?
Once a successful shot is fired to both the port and starboard, we move on to the next challenge.

Challenge two - 'zap the white dot'.
In honour of 'Talk Like A Pirate Day', I get to wear an eye patch for this challenge.
Resting my chin upon the support as directed, I anxiously scan the field of play before me.
I am not normally competitive, but right now I am.
Even if it means I zap the white dot before it appears.
The loser gets Glaucoma.
I am NOT going to lose if I can help it.
I am keen.
I am ruthless.
I WILL zap that white dot the moment it appears.
If not before.

Over the years I have come to dread the opticians.
Endless questions - most of which I do not have any clear answer to.
Fortunately, the "Which is brighter?" questions appear to have been phased out.

We still go through lots of "Which is clearer, the first or the second?" questions.
After I have indicated that, the first option that is clearer, four times in a row,
I start to doubt that I can tell the difference anymore
and wonder if I have become conditioned to responding that 'the first option is clearer'
regardless of whether it is
or not.

Then the optician asks the dreaded question "Have you had any problems with your eyes?"
and I have to confess that I have a floater.
Until a few months ago I was completely unaware that such things existed.
Then other people started mentioning them.
Apparently, they are a sign of ageing.
I had no plans to get old just yet,
so I thought no more about it.

Then one bright day I was sat in the car

and I was suddenly aware of this black piece of debris in my eye. 

I did all the wrong things, 

rubbed my eye, 

blinked

blew my nose. 

Nothing changed.

"Am I going blind?" I wondered.
When I return home I google my symptoms
and quickly reach a self-diagnosis
"It is a floater!
Phew! I am NOT going blind.
It is just a sign of old age!
Huh!"

My glasses are rather battered and perpetually need cleaning, so I vow to get an eye test.
I should have one every year, as my mother developed glaucoma, but I am not keen on them.
However, it is probably about 2 years since I last had my eyes tested. Eeeek!

Finding a day to fit in a visit to the opticians is complicated.
Then DH decides that he ought to have his eyes tested too.
That simplifies life.

So here I am, beside the unwavering gaze of a much larger than life-size cross-section of an eye.
With a strange twin-lensed monstrosity on my face,
whilst the optician evaluates my vision, myopia, astigmatism and all...
"Oh yes, I can see your floater!" says the optician joyfully.
It is good to know that this mysterious dark mass is not a figment of my imagination,
or the indication of anything more sinister.
"Any flashes of light?"
"Yes," said I, "But at first I assumed that it was just odd bits of light getting trapped in my eyes. 
As I only noticed it when I was walking around the house at night in the dark, to avoid waking the others up!"
Then the optician gave me some really cheerful news
"If you have a floater in one eye, you may well get one in the other! 

There is nothing that can be done, but if they get bigger, or you get lots of them, come back and see me."
Cheers!
After all the "Which is clearer, the first or the second?" options have been exhausted. The optician announces his findings
"Your distance vision has stayed the same, but your close up vision has improved."
"Hmmm. I am not convinced they got it right last time!"
"I couldn't possibly comment" replied the optician diplomatically.
After all they were made by a competitor...

Now the hard part. Choosing glasses.
I was handed over the glasses-choosing-expert for this stage
I knew the lenses were going to be expensive, so I didn't go for the de luxe option.
Then I avoided anything too designer.
I tried on a pair that were really comfortable,
but they were

bright blue!

I looked in the mirror.
All I could see were these

bright blue 

frames.
You couldn't NOT see the

bright blue 

frames.
They were just so dominant!
It was as if Prue Leith was looking back at me
and she was not impressed!
"I think I need something a little more subtle..." I informed the glasses-choosing-expert.
"I wear all sorts of colours and at this price, I cannot afford more than one pair, so I need a frame that will go with everything."
She plucked another half a dozen frames from the displays.
Eventually, I whittled my selection down to three frames.
one pair with thin frames,
one pair with frames above the lenses only
and the bright blue Prue Leith specials.
I popped them on again and looked in the mirror.
They were so comfy,
but still too dominant.

The Prue Leith blue's were reluctantly rejected.
I tried the others on again,
before choosing the ones with no visible frame underneath.
Remarkably like my current pair,
just blue rather than gold.

Now I have to wait two weeks until my glasses are ready
before I make a right spectacle of myself again!
Though knowing me, it will probably happen much sooner!

The Floor in the Plan

6:15am is not my favourite time for getting up. However, the prospect of a weekend ringing in Nottinghamshire, was sufficient incentive to get me out of bed!

Sandwiches had been made the night before and put in the fridge, ready to go in a cool bag, along with the essential essentials for a weekend away with a gluten-pepper-mustard-citric-turmeric reacting husband.

Off we tootled to join in with some Nottinghamshire ringers. The organiser had invited us to swell the throng, as they were uncertain how many ringers from the local area would be able to attend.
We left home in glorious sunshine, but somewhere along the M42 the clouds rolled in.

Our first stop was Clarborough - a tastefully modernised church, with a contemporary stone floor complete with this beautiful centrepiece.
One of the local ringers filled us in on how they managed to raise the money for the renovations.
"What the significance of the shell?" I inquired, thinking that it may have indicated an ecumenical project.
The local ringer pondered for a moment before replying
"I think it is linked to John the Baptist, as the church is dedicated to him."

The fabulous floor also featured underfloor heating and gravelled borders to the pillars, with inset LED up lighters. Tres posh.




Next stop was the Crusty Cob in Tuxford, where a variety of refreshments were served and consumed with enthusiasm. I chose a cheese scone, which was served warm, the way cheese scones should be served.

Afterwards, we crossed the main road to the parish church.
Here they had a more functional wooden floor, which also featured underfloor heating. I can see a theme developing here...

Saggy cushioned bumpers hugged the bases and lower sections of the stone pillars in the nave, channelling of Nora Batty's wrinkled stockings.
In the undercroft, a significant stash of soft play cushions confirmed that the building was regularly used by groups for pre-school children.

I was particularly struck by the twin tapestries at the back of church, particularly the one illustrating the nearby power station. Much more interesting and unusual than a floral tapestry.



The third tower of the day was Sutton on Trent, but first, it was picnic time.
We took the footpath from the main street in the village to the banks of the Trent, where we sat and admired its magnificent murkiness under the unfamiliar, vast cloudscape,
which formed a canopy over the east midlands plain,
in fifty shades of grumpy greyness.





On returning to the village we popped into the pub for a coffee, before disturbing the sleepy slumbers of Sutton with the strident sound of bells.
Inside, the church aisle was covered with a swathe of red carpet, but no indication of underfloor heating...
Access to the ringing chamber was up a rather tricky steep ladder-type staircase. The early arrivals were at a definite advantage here, as they could enter mainly unobserved, and then enjoy watching subsequent undignified arrivals.

Our reward for ringing at the third tower was a leisurely trip to a nearby icecream farm, to build up strength for our final tower of the day.



From outside, Norwell looked normal enough,
but inside lurked a lifesize model of a sheep perfect for sitting on. We decided that they MUST do Open the Book

Go Bob Doubles

Other curiosities included  handbell ringing mice and a small flock of ceramic sheep of mixed pedigree.









Sunday morning revealed the most challenging floor of the weekend, that of the wet room.
I had only previously seen such facilities, but not actually experienced how they work.
DH had been given instructions and was keen to demonstrate the operation of the shower, at the unseemly hour of 7:15am on Sunday morning.
Unsurprisingly, I did not share his enthusiasm for such early waking,
so requested that he returned in half an hour or so.
He returned precisely thirty minutes later for the wet room tutorial.
Deep joy.
I very reluctantly crawled out of bed.

Obviously, I was not very awake, as I was none the wiser after the demonstration.
I sent DH on his way and decided to work it out for myself.
It was all very well telling me which lever to move to swap shower heads, and which dial changes the temperature, but I actually needed to know how to turn the blessed thing on.
I solved this mystery by trial and error.
Go me!

Wet rooms are so called because they get wet.
Even at this unseemly hour on a Sunday morning, I knew this.
What I hadn't grasped was just how much of the wet room gets wet.

Having finally worked out how to turn the shower on,
I was musing on the abundant generosity of the water from the shower,
when I realised that the water was flowing across the room in a way I hadn't expected,
like a mighty tributary of the Trent making its relentless way across the landscape,
swamping everything that lay before it.
I had imagined that the water would stay close to the shower and just disappear down a drain in the floor, rather than go on a major exploration.
It didn't.

Water also gains speed as it travels across the room.
I suddenly realised that the mighty flood was heading towards where I had left my clothing.
By now the water had now built up a momentum that was faster than I could respond.
Before I knew it, the clothing I had left several metres from the shower,
was being engulfed.
A horrifying thought passed my mind.
"Did I actually pack clean underwear, or did I just think about it?"
If not, I am going to spend the rest of the day with a soggier bottom, than the worst culinary disaster on the Great British Bake Off!

Twenty's Plenty

After all the planning and preparation the day was finally here when we would launch our Afternoon Tea Service.
Our preparations had included the acquisition of several tea sets,
praying,
food hygiene training,
praying,
purchasing,
praying,
sandwich making
furniture moving,
table laying,
and cartoon printing.

Afternoon Tea Service is a Fresh Expressions of worship.
People are invited to afternoon tea, served using tea sets and to chat, with conversations inspired by the topic of the month. It was inspired by an article I saw on the diocesan website and adapted for our local context. A small liturgical element consisted of the Lord's Prayer and The Grace, which were said immediately before afternoon tea was served.

Our church lies empty and locked most of the time. This was an excellent opportunity to invite people into the building, particularly those who might not normally attend church.


As the first session was in September, just after the start of the new academic year, we encouraged our guests to reminisce about their school days:-
favourite teacher
favourite lesson
outstanding memories
school dinners
anything else to do with school.
To aid their discussions various school-themed cartoons were scattered on the tables.

We wanted to be able to welcome folks with dementia. Adapting the building to be dementia friendly would have required far more planning than we had time for, so we decided to wear coloured aprons to identify the helpers as a simple action we could take.
As our first session was looking back at our school days we decided to adopt the pink colour of the overalls worn by dinner ladies aka Pinkies. We also wore name badges.
Four of us posed for a photo before the session began.



A prayer station had been set up based on a school noticeboard
Prayers could be written on pieces of paper, cut up from pages from a school exercise book and then pinned to the noticeboard.
I forgot to mention the prayer station in my welcome.
Despite this, some prayers did make it on to the board.
In hindsight, I felt it was better not to mention the prayer station, but to leave folks to discover it and engage with it if they so chose to, rather than writing a prayer because they felt they ought.
The Prayer Station will change each time, reflecting the theme.

As it was our first session we had our thoughts as to how it might run, but we had no real idea how close reality would be to our plans.

I seemed to have spent weeks beforehand chatting to people, encouraging them to come.
Some were keen, others less so.
As the date approached, some of those who had received invitations began to make excuses, and it felt like the story of the banquet, in Luke 14:15-24, where the guests decline to attend a wedding banquet, immortalised in the song I cannot come.
I started to add up names on my list.
"How many are you expecting?"
"I am not certain. It will depend how well some feel on the day.  I have a figure of twenty in my mind. That would give us a real chance to find out how our plans work."
I didn't have twenty names, but still the figure twenty kept coming back to me. Was this false optimism?

DH watched with interest when I began my marathon sandwich-making session. I was on ham and cheese. He was rather surprised when I began chopping the crusts off, before cutting the sandwiches into finger shapes.
"Why are you doing that?"
"Posh sandwiches, dear!"
Mind you, I didn't chop the crusts off the slices of gluten-free bread - that stuff is far too expensive to feed to the birds!

Some arrived early, some just after the start, and one appeared a little later.
Part way through, I sat down and enjoy a quick coffee and sandwich in the middle of the plate and cup refilling. I counted heads.
Guess how many were there?
Yes, twenty!
Twenty was plenty for our first session.
Interestingly this included some I was expecting and some lovely surprises!

As a leaving present, we gave them all a simple school pencil, which amused them.
I had hoped to find exercise books like the ones I remembered from my school days, with the multiplication tables and weights and measures on the back, but I didn't manage to track down a supply at a price I was prepared to pay!

We had over-catered, but that was deliberate. We did not want to run out of wine food! Mind you, our guests had consumed an impressive amount of food and drink.

Now we have our first session under our belt, we shall take time to reflect on how the session ran.
Two teapots on the go would be a good idea, so that the tea pourer can stay at the table and chat and not feel guilty for lingering.
Putting coffee in the thermos jug, not just hot water, will speed up the coffee making.
The tea drinkers drank the urn dry, so we need to refill that earlier!

What colour will October be, and what will our theme be?
Wait and see!

Later DH and I reflected on how the session had gone.
"Next time, I think we will have plainer table clothes. The tea sets looked a bit lost against the bright green checks."
"Well, I never would have thought of picking the tablecloths to suit the crockery!" replied bemused husband.
Getting closer to thirty years of marriage, and he still has the ability to surprise me.

Card Tricks and Pans of Peace

Facebook solved the mystery of the saucepan drawer a few weeks ago,
when it reminded me of the day when a saucepan parted company with its handle,
the pan plummeting to the floor,
leaving DH holding just the handle.

We had all completely forgotten that this momentous happening had ever taken place,
but we were equally mystified, as to why there were more lids than pans in the saucepan drawer.
We all secretly suspected that someone else had had a major culinary disaster,
completely wrecked the saucepan and secretly disposed of it in the bin...
Facebook had reminded us of the truth.

Today I was heading off to an out of town, home store.
I wanted to replace the bathmat, upon which something had been spilt,
leaving a pale trail across its surface.
At the time I had innocently imagined that this would come clean in the wash.
As it hadn't, it had been scheduled to be replaced.

So we headed off to Worcester.
"Bring your National Trust card," I advised the KHT, "Unless you want to pay admission charges."

At the retail park at the edge of the city, a new saucepan and bathmats were successfully purchased. Then we headed into the city centre.
In the heart of the city is Greyfriars - a mediaeval merchants house owned by the National Trust.
Despite its closeness, we had never managed to visit Greyfriars,
as it is never open on a Monday,
and we never remember that it is open on a Friday.
Today was different.
We had remembered.

A quick investigation revealed that there were outdoor cafe tables but we couldn't see anywhere to eat indoors.
It was a lovely day but as the KHT is not good with wasps,
we headed off for a cafe where we knew we could eat inside, free from striped terrorists.
However, a few doors down we passed a cafe.
It had plenty of indoor tables, so got our custom.
The KHT and I opted for a Tomato, Onion & Cheese Tart, which nestled on a bed of mixed salad including courgette.
It was an interesting mixture of flavours,
but the KHT would have preferred a Quiche Lorraine from Tesco, and no salad...

After lunch we returned to Greyfriars
and joined the melee casually milling around the small garden,
trying to convince themselves that this was a place of great interest - when in reality they were just waiting for the bells to chime
and the doors to open.










The house is small,
but there are interesting information panels to read.
Items that belonged to the family are on display,
Including a letter written by the former owner.
The books on the bookshelves are just as the family left them.
As the house is largely untouched from when the family lived there, it still feels like their home.
You feel as if you could bump into one of them around any corner.












True to form, the KHT found something to dress up in





















I loved the light in one of the upstairs rooms.





The last room we entered was the indoor seating for the cafe.
"We could have eaten here!" exclaimed my fellow traveller.


Next, we headed down to the cathedral, where I was hoping to purchase some baptism candles from the cathedral shop.
Unfortunately, it was a day of graduation ceremonies.
The cathedral precincts were heaving with gowned grads and proud parents, all poshed up.
We decided to avoid the main part of the cathedral and pop in the back way from College Green.

BIG MISTAKE!!! 

The shop is off the cloisters, where post-ceremony refreshments were being served.
We had to battle our way past canape and wine clutching parents and their triumphant offspring.
"We could have had a free lunch!" I observed.
"Hardly, we are not dressed poshly enough." replied my fellow traveller.
She had a point.

Finally, we fought through to the shop.
"Two baptism candles, please."
A man hurriedly, and worriedly, disappeared to a stockroom and reappeared shaking his head.
"Sorry, we have none left. I have been on holiday for two weeks, so none have been ordered."
It was worth a try.
We exited through the near-empty Cathedral
"Ha! We would have been much better coming through this way rather than battling our way through the cluttered cloisters."
Hindsight is a wonderful thing.

In Cathedral Square we discovered an amazing photographic exhibition, 'Fields of Battle, Lands of Peace' featuring work by photojournalist Michael St. Maur Sheil - looking at the impact of war upon the landscape.
I would encourage you to go and see the exhibition, but it finished on Saturday.
The photography was amazing, and every time I thought I had found a favourite,
I would turn round and see another incredibly moving scene.
The size of these prints helped you to feel as if you were there,
even though the landscapes varied enormously.

We did a bit more shopping.
The KHT purchased a smart casual jacket to wear to the wedding on Sunday
and we ended up in the foodhall at M&S,
where I purchased some cakes for the first Afternoon Tea Service next Thursday.

When we arrived home the KHT helped to carry in the bags of shopping and was heard to mutter
"Huh! So much for needing my National Trust Card!"
"Hang on, Greyfriars was National Trust! You needed your card there!"
Admittedly it lacked the vast landscapes of Croome Park or Packwood House, but a National Trust property it certainly was!
And then she remembered.

Here I go again

The KHT is back at college.
A new college.
A different course.

We missed Induction Day.

After a summer of uncertainty, I honestly didn't know if she would be starting the course.
Transport was essential, as the KHT couldn't safely access the unsupervised transport.

On the Wednesday before term began, transport was still not sorted,
so I was avoiding looking at the paperwork, in case it all fell apart, and she couldn't go.
I failed to notice that she was supposed to have taken all her paperwork in, and got kitted out, before term started.

The college rang up.
"Don't worry, we will sort it all on day one."
The college rose in my estimation!

Meetings were held back in the Spring, to try and ensure that the correct wording was on her EHCP  - Education and Health Care Plan.
We applied for transport, but our application would not be looked at until early July.
The beginning of July came and went.
Nothing happened.
I kept checking the website.
Nothing happened.
I contacted them.
The person processing applications was off sick.

Nothing happened.

Finally our application was considered.
"Great!"
...and rejected.
"Not so great..."

Conversations were had around the ECHP.
IF this was updated to include the information from the last meeting, then an appeal would not be required.
Time passed.
The ECHP was not updated.
"Appeal" they said, "then someone will consider the merits of the case."
"But I don't need to appeal if the EHCP is updated..."
No progress was made on the EHCP, so I appealed,
and we waited.
Finally, on the Thursday before term was due to begin, we heard that our appeal was successful.
PHEW!!!!

Most of the time I did not doubt that we would get transport. We just had to hold our nerve.
However, as the start of term drew closer and closer, I started to panic and wonder how we would manage to get the KHT to college if transport was not provided.

The effect of this was that we were not able to prepare the KHT for her new course
in the way we would have liked,
because we had this cloud of unknowing hanging over us.
We could not predict if golden rays of sunshine were going to break through,
or if we were going to be deluged in a mini-disaster.
Our daughter did not have the summer where she could savour each day,
as despite our efforts to minimise the uncertainty,
there would have been an underlying vein of doubt.
Acknowledged, but not encouraged.

Some elements of the course have yet to be finalised, which has meant a gentle introduction.
Just as well, as at the end of the first day, she was a zombie!

Wednesday was a welcome day off for the KHT.
After an Open the Book rehearsal - for a performance she may, or may not, take part in,
she came to work with me and then we went into town.
We arrived later than I hoped, so we went straight to our new cafe of choice.
The KHT likes surprises.
"You have two choices of what we could do this afternoon. We could go and see Mama Mia..."
Her face lit up.
"The only problem is that it begins in 4 minutes and we haven't finished lunch yet. This means we would miss some of the adverts."
Her face fell.
The KHT likes the adverts, particukarly the big boom at the end of the Dolby sound ad.
"We would still see all the film."
Then she remembered.
"Wait! You said there were two choices. What was the other one?"
"We could just go round the shops."
"Mama Mia!"

During my teenage years I was a great fan of Abba.
Word perfect. I could sing along with them all.
Somehow I never got to see the first Mama Mia movie.
I had delayed going to see the second until the children were safely back at school.
I have successfully avoided showings when too many small people are present for years!
Ironically, ever since watching 'Abba The Movie' at a Saturday matinee back in the late 1970's, with my friend J, and her Dad. The back of my seat was repeatedly booted and bashed by a hyperactive pre-teen, who is probably a grandmother by now... We vowed never to repeat that particular experience, and I do not recall that we did!

What did I like about Mama Mia - Here I Go Again?
The songs, obviously! As no-one was sat within several rows of us, I did feel able to sing along a bit!
The film was a bit like an Abba-themed advent calendar. Every time they sang a song a pair of doors were flung open.
The KHT says she followed the convoluted plot that served as an interlude to the songs.
I spent most of the film trying to decide if the same girl played both Donna and her daughter Sophie - and if it was down to clever make-up to distinguish between the two...
I missed most of the switches between characters, and then found my self mentally backtracking, trying to work out when they had changed.
Next time make one a redhead or brunette, so that the switches between the past and the present are more obvious and less frustrating!

What made we wonder?
Cher - was she supposed to be so expressionless, or can she just not crease her face anymore?
Spoof or non-spoof?
None the wiser...

What did I love?
The lack of stick insects.
Donna, in particular, was played by a person with curves!
The highlight of the film was not a thigh gap - thank goodness - or that could have become a 'sigh' gap...

The film is a great success and the winner takes it all to the bank.
Will there be a third film?
Well, there was another baby...

Predictably Unpredictable

Off we set with high hopes and expectations.
We had discovered a new place to visit - Nature in Art Gallery and Museum in Gloucestershire. Nature and art - what's not to like?
We turned off the M5
"I didn't look to see if it has a cafe..." announced my fellow traveller.
"It has. I checked" I replied
We passed a turning off to a church dedicated to St Catherine and vowed to visit sometime soon.
Another mile passed.
"I didn't check that it was open on a Monday..."
"That would be so funny..." I responded, "Mind you, it is such a beautiful day I am sure we would find places to visit.
We travelled on in ignorant confidence.
Then, just as we were about to turn off down the lane we noticed the fateful word
"CLOSED"
All the best-laid plans...

"Ah well, we can go and visit that church we passed."

Reversing out on to the main road was not a sensible option, so we continued down the access road. At least we could take a sneaky peak at the exterior, even if the interior was going to have to wait for another day.
The building looked fascinating. We will return on a day when we are free AND the doors are flung wide to welcome us, not firmly closed.




We passed a garden centre, so we popped in to use the facilities as by now it was a good hour or so since we left home. The displays were absolutely immaculate and there was a good selection of cards, so I bought a couple for forthcoming weddings. The thought of avoiding yet more double sided sticky tape was suddenly rather appealing!

We headed back towards the church we had seen signposted earlier.
As we travelled northwards we spied the delightful vista, of a church upon a small hill, with horses in a field in front of it.
"Is that the church?"
"No, it is on the wrong side of the main road."
We visited it anyway.

The building was still beautifully decorated, from a wedding at the end of August, with pastel arrangements of white with pale pink and blue floral highlight.
Sometimes when you open up a church door the place feels like a museum or time capsule. This one, however, felt loved and this was reflected by the fact that during our visit the grounds were being mowed and strimmed.

We were locationally confused, as the signpost had directed us to Priors Norton.
That tower would be perfect for a ring of bells, I thought.
I looked it up on the Dove's Guide' ap on my phone but was not listed.
However, behind the feature glass door and screen, bellropes were clearly visible.
I looked up 'Norton', sure enough it has bells - Norton, Glos, S Mary (GF), 8, 10-3-14!





The lectern took an unusual angelic form. Often Lecterns have been cast aside and replaced with something modern and multipurpose. I would argue the case for using both, but appreciate that if you want to use other books and papers a lectern might not provide the right space or place.














An unusual metal gate/stile that led into the field with horses

We continued our travels, heading for the church we had intended to visit prior to our diversion.
















We drove into the village, following the main priority at the first junction, and round in a complete circle, failing completely to spot the errant church. Finally, we retraced our route, taking the lane we had previously ignored and there it was, complete with workmen outside who appeared to be doing something serious to the power supply to an uncertain number of properties.






Notable items inside Leigh church included a scrapbook of photos, taken when the village was flooded by the Severn, and a model of a spitfire.












By now it was lunchtime, and we needed sustenance.
"Let's head into Bishop's Cleeve. It appears to be one massive executive housing estate, but  I have a vague memory of a small village centre somewhere by the church."
Famous last words.
Those who install signposts obviously think that anyone who wants to go into the centre of Bishop's Cleeve MUST know the way, as they direct you to the edge of the village and then abandon you!

We did finally find the small village centre and a very acceptable tearoom.

Afterwards, we retraced our route to the intriguing looking church at Tredington, with a wood-clad steeple.
"We have visited the church at Tredington before!" my fellow traveller announced.
"That was Tredington, Warwickshire." I pointed out.
"Where is this then?"
"Tredington, Gloucestershire!"

Outside the church, a sign on the noticeboard exhorted us to use the car park, but there was no car park in sight and no directions given.
We parked on the side of the road, and got out of the way as best we could.

Inside the church, the ancient beams supporting the Tudor tower are clearly visible.
I so want to return to ring the bells at these churches, as this is a part of Gloucestershire I have not really visited on ringing expeditions.




A woman and her daughter appeared in the church, bearing a large container of blackberries.
We chatted briefly about the church, and then my fellow traveller asked the important question.
"Where is the car park? We saw the sign on the noticeboard, but we had no idea where it was."
"Oh further down the road, by the village hall." the woman replied.
"It doesn't say..." 
Maybe they don't get many visitors on a Sunday.

Next stop was Tewkesbury, which was full of fractious children and parents longing for school to restart. There are a worrying number of empty shops and a good proportion of the independent traders were closed as it was Monday. However, I did make a few small purchases from one of the charity shops, with which I was rather pleased.

Our trip did not begin as we had planned, and this trend continued through the day - a Monday that became predictably unpredictable.

Back to School

I celebrated the beginning of the new academic year by taking a test - level 1 Food Safety - Catering. Fortunately I passed.
It would have been a tad embarrassing if I hadn't, as I spent 16 years as a higher level food handler!

Later this month we are launching Afternoon Tea Service, so we thought it would be a good idea if a few of us took some basic food handling qualifications.





For much of the remainder of the day, I was tied up with double-sided sticky tape - making invitations for the first session of the aforementioned Afternoon Tea Service. I needed to have made sufficient to give out to folks this Sunday.

I estimate each card has used at least forty pieces of double-sided tape, so I must have peeled the backing off over a thousand strips so far and I am not finished yet! My thumb can testify to my endeavours!

As the first session is in September the theme will be 'Remembering School Days'.
On the invitation cards, mini 'blackboards' are backed by graph paper. Exercise-book red card provides the foundation.
The KHT caught me ripping the graph paper into strips and was suitably horrified.
"What did it do to deserve such treatment!" she demanded.
"It's just card-making, honey." I informed her.
She did, however, correctly identify the blackboards, which was reassuring from someone who has grown up during the era of smart boards.

Desiring a break from my endeavours, we headed off to join an evening's ringing at Oddington in Gloucestershire. A church very much off the beaten track, that houses the famous Doom painting, depicting the dead rising to be judged.
With judgement illustrated on the whole of the north wall, it would be the perfect place to hold any ringing competition...










The church is famous for not having any electricity, so the practice was scheduled to start and end  half an hour earlier than the traditional ringing time of 7:30 - 9pm.
As this church is about half a mile outside the village, they normally use the more conveniently placed church in the heart of the village. St. Nicholas' is only used for 10 weeks in the summer, and for a carol service at Christmas, when it is decked out with candles.

To our surprise, there were only eight of us, which was a pity as the bells went very well.
While we were ringing the changes on the bells, the KHT had a great time exploring the church in the ever increasing gloom.










Resourceful as ever, she just happened to have a torch in her bag. A copy of the Book of Common Prayer came under intense scrutiny.
"Hey Mum! Can we have books like these in our church?"











Unfortunately, the darkness won and we had to admit defeat just before the keyholder reappeared to lock up for the evening.
There are ringers in there, honest!

Not much to say
Just another 'Odd' day...