The Build: Week 1

The extension at 88 has started. Dust, dust, dust every where which as I rarely do any housework isn't much different to the norm and everything is so topsy turvy anyway there is no room to push a vac or any flat surface to swivel a duster upon.

The builder assures me that the first week is always difficult as they discover the good bits and the bad bits. The good bit: err...mmm...ahh....well.....yep...sharp in take of breath...what are the good bits? Ahh yes after 18 months in the planning the build has started and we will end up with a lovely home. Bad bit: very poor foundations to the existing single storey extension have been uncovered; a cracked drainage pipe (badly patched up by previous builder/plumber) and we are living kind of camping style before I realised we would be. I have an image of the original extension builder riding up in a Stetson having just galloped in from the American plains, playing poker in the one-horse town's saloon with our foundations as collateral. Alas he clearly lost the foundations in the card game and managed get out a town before any showdown with any local building inspector sheriffs who might query the loss of said foundations. But I had mentally prepared myself for a whole lot of palaver so am surprisingly emboldened. We are philosophical. David says 'It is as it is'.

It was my son's birthday the other day and he had to open his presents in an empty dining room and put all his cards up in his bedroom but he doesn't seem to care as there are lots of holes to peer down and he and his sister just don't know what they will find has happened in their home between the hours of 9am and 3.15pm. They will be annoyed as a big lorry carrying concrete has just parked up and they are at school. They'd think it all awesome. Oh we lead such exciting lives. Ah...must dash there is a knock on the door....need to move the car I think.

The deader the better

We went to see my Mum after we got back from Tiree. Of course she asked her grandson what had been the best bits. I wondered what he would say...perhaps the abundant white sandy beaches? The living wildlife? The sunshine? The rocks to climb on and the pools within? No - my son was in no doubt. He had found (well actually my brother's partner had found it) a sheep's skull with upper jaw in tact and that was the 'most awesomest' thing of the week. That was closely followed by another skull but tiny - possibly a hare - that was truly awesome too. Then of course there were all the dismembered crab legs and bodies (not done by us I hasten to add - just by nature and the tide) which both children were blown away with. My little girl walked 2 miles back home from the beach one day with bright orange crabs on her outstretched hand. Dead cool they were!

NB We did see some living creatures too - hares, basking sharks, seals, a buzzard, lots of sea birds, a frog - living cool they were.

 

A boat to Tiree

We took a boat over the sea to Tiree. The sun shone. It made us very very happy.

Atomless

Delightful day out today on an adventure to find another Pantopticon. We found the Atom on a beautiful hillside but we were slightly disappointed (as we were with The Halo if you remember) - according to all the photos on the web there should have been a shiny silver globe within the sculpture but alas it was not there. I guess it was Atomless. When I looked the mysterious disappearance up on t'interweb, it reported that vandals had hacked it off its stand in 2012. Ah well...twas ever thus.

The Atom sans its silver reflective globe

Anyway we had a lovely walk and visited the heart of Wycollar Country Park where we walked through a willow tunnel, fed the ducks and my son and daughter ran up and down many a hill and rock. We had a delightful lunch in an olde worlde café and all was well with the world. Everywhere was silence and serenity.

I would recommend bagging a Pantopticon even if they never quite live up to their publicity. With time something always seems to have gone astray. We are off to the Singing Ringing Tree next. We went there a few years ago but my children can't remember visiting it (too young I guess) - I'm hopeful it will all be there when we arrive and that we will remember it in all its glory.....fingers crossed.

Indignant of Manchester

I wrote to my MP the other month about the little matter of our local library being relocated. I related how I understood that it was probably a fait accompli that the library would move. Libraries are after all a soft target - no one gets hurt if a library closes or services are reduced. It's just the quality of life that is diminished. I expressed my concern that savings would  continue to be made once the library had been relocated by reducing the range of services and number of books. I thought, naively as it happens, that my MP might be concerned and perhaps lobby local councillors to ensure that the range and depth of library services in my town would not be reduced even if the library was moved.

I got a letter back on Friday. The MP or I suspect probably one of his researchers had contacted the Council on my behalf. The letter went on to explain how much money needed to be saved. A letter full of facts which quite frankly I could have researched myself in the library! There was not even a smidgen of an opinion expressed from my elected representative. Not even a tentative concern about a possible reduction in service. Not even an undertaking to monitor the situation.

The culmination of my indignation with this letter was the following phrase: "The Service Manager for this particular service will ensure that staff at the library is relocated accordingly." Oh if there was ever an example of Councilese, this is it. A meaningless sentence that just let's the Council do as it wishes with staff depending on the level of service the Council decides to provide. I wondered why my MP had accepted this statement in the first place, let alone repeated it back to me.

Ah well. The first time I've been motivated to contact my local MP and on this performance the last.

P.S. Of course I've written a letter in reply from Mrs Indignant of 88 of Manchester, hoping for some reaction, for some opinion. I'll let you know what happens.

Are three legs really better than two?

Hey what's the point of having a blog of your own if you can't use it for a few bragging rights. My 7-soon-to-be-8 year old boy won his three-legged race with his friend on Wednesday at the school sports day. To win was great but what amazed me was they made it look so easy - literally it was a walk in the park for them. They got their rhythm together and were clearly simpatico when it came to tri-walking. They stormed ahead.

On the other hand his mother did not fair so well. Yes, fellow blog readers, I entered the parents' three legged race. I blame Joy (of knitting fame). She made the mistake of making eye contact with the teacher who was rallying for entrants. She said yes. I was stood next to her. I was urged to follow. We had an inkling it would all go pear-shaped when we saw the other parents, who I might add had enthusiastically joined in, limbering up and not just walking with three legs but running...nay...sprinting along in practice.

Off we set. Off we limped. Off we laughed. Indeed we couldn't move very fast for giggling plus there was that little problem with limb coordination especially when one leg isn't yours. It didn't help that we were choking on the dust created by the other competing parents, dashing down the field. We came last, dear friends. I'm told by other watching parents that we were very funny. Ah well.

My children did speak to me when I picked them up from school. They didn't seem too traumatised by the happening. My daughter had also enjoyed herself jumping her heart out in the relay sack race. Thank goodness there was no parents' sack race. I have to go now as I'm meeting Joy out on the playing fields shortly to perfect our technique for next year -  that's if we can stop laughing which I very much doubt.

Green green grass

I have a confession: I love cutting the grass. Yes I admit I love getting the lawn mower out and going back and forth cutting that grass that just keeps on growing. I find it relaxing. I find it good exercise. I find I think a lot and sometimes not at all. It's a cliché but I love the smell of cut grass in the morning.....oh dear think I'm mixing up my sayings... Apocalypse Grass Cutting Now.

I started young, cutting the lawn at home. There was a lot of it but I loved the achievement and actually I guess it was one of the first grown-up jobs I was allowed to do on my own. I loved the stripes on the lawn from the roller on the mower and I loved how it would transform the garden on a sunny day. Long grass to short grass and all is well in the world.

As I write this I wonder if I have a thing for grass! One of my very favourite things in the summer is to walk along a path of cut grass which runs through long grass. Last year I tried to recreate the look at 88, leaving a swathe of long grass through which I cut a path. But we have children and football was played and the long stems were squashed.

I am very happy though now as the grass cutting season is upon us. I am even happier as we have inherited my mum's lawn mower which has a roller on and a grass collecting box. The grass may not be perfect - it has moss and weeds in - but it's all in beautiful stripes. Oh I'm happy. For me the grass is always green.