Fireworks !

 

 

It was freezingly cold on Saturday 28th November with the winds whipping down from the Arctic and cutting across the paddock. This made early ideas of a big bonfire as part of the commemoration of Cherry's birthday and passing plus the traditional start of our Christmas seem suicidal. But we persisted at least with the fireworks part of the occasion. We were fortified with fish and chips. Most huddled in the comparative shelter of the entrance to the annex, but the gallant few went out to  conduct the display. With frozen fingers, they wrestled with uncooperative fuses sealed with Chinese cunning by Sellotape that had to be unpicked. Tapers were lost, found again, went out. The candle in the jam-jar got snuffed out all too often. But we persisted. Rockets arched up and exploded, and got blown off course, showering the field over the road. It was great fun but we were all totally relieved when it was over and we coud decently get back inside to the comfort of the wood-burner.

Otherwise, it was the usual family weekend, the first time we had all assembled together in one place at one time from well before the start of the pandemic and given Omicron and birthing schedules, likely to be the last for some time too. The tree was admired. Admiral Nelson presided over the festivities. Chit-chat and gossip exchanged. It was great

The following day, by total contrast was calm and sunny, though still chilly. After the usual formal  breakfast around a table brought in from the annex to help accommodate us all, we walked the village in the sunshine. Down to and along the Kennet and Avon Canal and then back diagonally across a ploughed field that actually has a footpath running through it much to our local farmer's exasperation. A final lunch and then off everyone set, leaving behind a house that seemed eerily quiet.

Ordinary life and its challenges resumed. This year a combination of a lateish harvest and the onset of cold weather has encouraged the rats to come in from the fields, joining the mice that tend to be around all the time. One I know to have been busy in the garage roof. It has established a runway for itself in  the thatch and chewed holes in the membrane beneath it, so compromising its ability to help keep out the rain. It was very bold, totally ignoring my imprecations. It was very smelly too; rats don't have bladders so pee everywhere. Another, I am pretty sure, was in the loft above my bedroom trundling noisily about on my ceiling. They say rats are intelligent, certainly more than I am in one respect at least. For the life of me I can't work out how they get in and out.

Curiously in that empty Sunday afternoon, both were disposed of one by poison, another by shooting, and, so far at least, all has been quiet since. Not nice certainly. But necessary. I am haunted by the fate of the thatched cottage over the road that was nearly burnt down by mice chewing and shorting out the electric wiring of a freezer that conducted fire straight up to the roof. Interestingly, the wooden beams were more vulnerable than the thatch and much of the damage was caused by the unburnt thatch collapsing onto the building below. Afterwards the occupants found they couldn't burn the thatch and had to get the local farmer to take it away.

Later that same afternoon, I spotted two Roe deer sporting about in the paddock. Again I was mystified about how they had got in and managed to get out. They were close by and I could see that they didn't jump over the hedge. But no gaps were to be seen anywhere. A mystery.

No-one can say that life in the country is without its interest. This afternoon on my big loop walk to the village shop I came across about 15-20 people in country gear and a pack of yelping beagles chasing a hare in a field between the canal and the village. I accosted one of them on the path - a real Wiltshire country type, almost incomprehensible. 'Isn't hare coursing illegal ?' I said. He gave me to understand that it wasn't hare coursing and wasn't doing anything any harm. He wasn't local, didn't seem to know anything about the canal which I thought odd. Unconvinced I walked on and fiddled about with my phone to take a picture, although by that time the hare had got away and the dogs were back with the people. They were too far off anyway. Obviously my standing there attracted their attention.. One chap came over from a hundred yards away to talk to me. Quite different. Well dressed, articulate, friendly to the point of being charming, as hunting people always seem to be. No,  he said this wasn't hare coursing, that was done by gypsies with greyhounds, this was -and he used the phrase - upper class trailing. The law he explained only allowed the killing of animals already wounded by shooting. 'Hmm', I said, 'I'm not entirely sure you're being serious.' Oh I am he said, patting me on the shoulder. 'There are students there, taking pictures.' As a long time professor I didn't actually find that altogether reassuring. A bit further along I came across several more equally charming and decidedly 'county' types on the path. Greetings were exchanged.  I said, 'Your colleagues tell me you're not coursing hares.' 'Oh no, absolutely not' said a jolly woman, who I noticed, was carrying a gun. Onley later did I work out one possible explanation for this. At all events it was an interesting insight into the life of the 'upper ten thousand,' and their faithful retainers. 

One thing they shared with the rats and the roe deer though, was that I couldn't work out how they got there, because there were no posh land-rovers or anything around anywhere, just a few beaten up old cars on the track by the canal belonging no doubt to the people living on the barges by Woodway bridge.   

So country life isn't dull. Which is just as well for me because that's what it's going to be for quite some time yet. The combination of State Department delays with my new work visa and Omicron will extend the period of curiously hybrid operation for a while longer. Already a commitment in Brussels in two weeks' time is going virtual instead. Another year without patting the horse in the 'King of Spain.' But things continue.   

The Robin that kept a close eye on us on our walk....

       

Starting All Over

 

I have just returned from a few days in Clovelly. The idea was to celebrate the handing over of the book manuscript - a project which has preoccupied me for the better part of two years, and to make some plans for keeping me off the streets in the future. It was also to commemorate the fact that it's now very nearly four years since I lost Cherry. It's trite to say that it really doesn't seem like it, but it doesn't. The first time I did this, four years ago, the trip was rather a mixed success. The weather was pretty awful, the cottage was absolutely frozen and on my first morning I ran the car into an unseen kerb with such force the wheel had to be changed as well as the tyre ! This time was much better; the cottage was warmer, it didn't rain anything like as much and all the kerbs stayed where they were supposed to. This picture of the cottage makes it look particularly nice.

I did a lot of coastal walking and fossicking about on deserted beaches when I could get to them. It was very stormy  with high tides that seemed much higher than usual. So a couple of the well-established favourites were out of bounds. The usual little stream at the entrance of the beach at Duckpool was a raging foaming torrent and there was no way of getting across it. The entrance to Sandymouth was sprayed with a new waterfall from the cliff and getting round the corner was impossible.

Still Speke's mouth and Marsland were fine, so I got in all the beach-combing I could have wished. The waterfall at Speke's mouth was spectacular. The only problem was that the storms cast up a huge amount of mouth watering driftwood that was much too big to carry home for the fire in the cottage. Very frustrating. Hawker's hut (where he used to watch out for shipwrecks) was still there, plus two sodden little plastic boxes in the geo-cache.

                There were very few people around and mostly I had the beaches and cliffs to myself. Even the last morning down in Clovelly village itself, I sat outside the Red Lion on the quay having a farewell cappucino while a few locals were putting up their Christmas decorations. As far as I could see I was the only visitor around. It was delightful. The Covid restrictions on the local churches were all lifted so I was able to effect an entry into them all this time, including the one at Clovelly which I hadn't been inside for years. Kilkhampton (where I went  to buy the very splendid sausages that Moore's the butchers provide) even had a place where a candle for Cherry could be lit which was a bonus.

                It was the same story at Malmsmead and the Doone valley. It was deserted, even on a reasonably warm and sunny  Sunday afternoon. I didn't see anyone else as I walked along to what I fondly imagine to have been the waterslide that inspired R.D. Blackmore to use as the place where John and Lorna first met. Last time I was there I left Cherry's old (and now pretty useless) binoculars there. As the place where I go to have a picnic isn't obvious, I thought it faintly possible they might still be there amidst the whortleberry bushes. They weren't of course. I still enjoyed my lunch though.

                The problem with all this self-indulgent pleasure was that I really didn't have the expected time for a bit of a think about what I want to do with the next few months and years. The immediate problems and issues of the present kept intruding. So I'll probably end up going with the flow as usual, but hopefully at a slower pace than recently which has been a bit too frantic for my taste. Not being able to make decisions like this tends to mean that I react to other people's timetables, which isn't ideal. I will try harder.

                Back at the house the immediate pressure was to start catching up on all the things I have pushed onto the back burner these past few weeks. Included in this of course is all the rigmarole involved in applying for another work visa. Getting my I -1129, so I could access the DS-160 for my O1A  (Outstanding Ability - over-the-top Americanese for getting a foreigner in to do something a US citizen could do perfectly well so not to be taken seriously) work visa and then begin filling up the exact dates of my last 5 visits to the United States - and off we go again, 'starting all over.'    

Crossing the Line at Last

 

This is  going to be a short one partly because it’s late and partly because I am in recovery mode after several really hectic weeks. They ended in  triumph with my handing over the book manuscript to the Publisher exactly on time after two 15 hour work days. That won't be the end of the saga as there's all the nausea of copyright searches, marketing suggestions, proofing  and all the rest if it to come but it still feels like a historic day. The end of the major stage of a two year effort !

                 The relaxation wasn’t immediate because just two days after I had a two day conference at Newport that was very technical and well outside my confidence zone, but which they had asked me to speak at anyway. I really needed to do some prep for this - and was banging away on the laptop up to minutes before my sessions. It all went OK even the screen sharing. The conference was on abstruse subject of the effect on navies of Artificial Intelligence, machine-learning and quantum computing and I was faintly amused to see that quite a few other people had trouble with screen sharing. One slightly disconcerting thing about the session was winning the informal competition for having the most interesting/attractive background. I’ve come across this before. Americans really seem to like the view they get of my study over my shoulder !  A young lady with blue hair even asked if she could visit !! It was an interesting couple of days but being in the US ended late at 2200 -ish both evenings, so not very restful.   

                So the relative 'downtime' only begins at the weekend. I am working on a plan to get away from it all in Clovelly next week which will be when the chilling out’  will actually kick in. Not least because there’s no wifi there. I am really looking forwards to it.

                But of course despite all this ridiculous intensity happening the usual routines had to go on, like eating, cooking,  and sleeping etc. Fortunately I seem to have been adopted by Wiltshire Fast Foods, which despite the name is a national company which Philippa says is the successor of ‘Meals on Wheels.’ They keep checking up on me to see if I’m alright – well at least that’s what they say. I get Chinese and Indian meals as a change from the usual stuff I can manage easily enough. Its very convenient – especially when a conference session ends very late. Normally though my culinary efforts are largely concentrated on ploughing through my garden produce. The last batch of runner beans came in earlier in the week  - and I am about to investigate the turnips and swedes, which all look fine.

                I have had the occasional distraction though. One was the latest round of the rodent wars. I was amazed and appalled in equal measure to discover in one drawer of Cherry’s dressing table in the bedroom that a little pack of deoderants I had got on line four days before  had been attacked. Each top corner of the heavy plastic casing had been chewed off. Astonishing. Mice worry me because the fire that nearly destroyed the cottage over the road. They chewed on the wiring and that caused a fire. So I took both defensive and offensive action. Successfully I think,  cross fingers. But it's a reminder that now I have no excuse but to get on with a host of domestic and garden chores that should have been done weeks ago. No rest for the wicked I suppose.