The English Armchair Abroad

The suns out - shut the window

Every year we have a week of really hot weather.  This year it's come early.  Some years it doesn't come at all but I try to forget about those!  The advantage of a very old, stone, house is that the house stays cool for longer.  However, it's important that we do our best to keep the inside of the house cool when outside it's over 30 degrees.  So, this is what I've learnt during the past few years - I hope it's helpful!

Basically the most important thing is to KEEP THE WINDOWS AND DOORS SHUT and if you have shutters them too.  If you stand in front of an open window you can quite literally feel the hot air pouring in to the house.  Once the heat is in, you will NOT be able to get it out again until the end of the heatwave.  Having the shutters closed and the window open "just a bit" is no good.  SHUT THE WINDOWS.  Once the sun has gone down and the temperature is cooler then you can open the windows again.

I can usually keep the house cooler than outside for two weeks - if the heatwave goes on longer then it is nearly impossible and we start spending longer in the local, air conditioned, supermarket.

 

I have to warn you that not everyone believes me and "other halves", however wonderful, can be difficult to convince.  Here, my biggest problem is when Blind Granny's visit coincides with very hot weather.  Her great joy is sitting in front of the dining room window listening to the radio.  The window is stained glass so she doesn't get the sunlight coming through unless she opens it.  In comes the heat.  I am quite certain that diplomacy and tact should be part of the school curriculum.... 

So there you have it.  Very simple really, just shut the windows and doors!  And obviously drink plenty of water...

'Elf & Safety

I bought some smoked mackerel a little while ago and yesterday, as the cupboard was otherwise bare, I served it up at lunch to accompany a salad.  My son took one look at his and asked me if it was meant to have mould on it.  That was lunchtime.

Yesterday evening a friend of mine pulled a calf muscle during a tennis match and sadly had to retire.  He's ok by the way but off games for a bit.

Why are these two things connected?  Read on.

I have to admit that I don't check the dates of food in the cupboard or in the fridge.  If it looks ok and doesn't smell bad that's fine by me.  I do, obviously, pay more attention to meat but generally I am relaxed about the wretched sell by/use by dates.  When John hurt his leg, our club president, Danni, immediately took some ice spray from the first aid kit and put it on his leg.  I commented on the efficiency of the first aid kit (which I didn't know was there) and she then mentionned that she hadn't actually checked that the spray was still within its use by date.  I laughed and we agreed that on the whole it was probably not a problem and then she found the date and all was fine. 

However, this led to a conversation about medicines (which I DO check and take to the pharmacy when they are out of date - and they send them off to Africa...not sure of the logic but ok) and dates generally.  She was scandalised when I told her that I hardly ever check dates and we eat/drink regardless - and seem to survive.  I was mystified when she told me she even checks the date on her bottled water - er, why?  I didn't ask her what she did about wine but perhaps I will...  She conceded that just occasionally she'll eat a yoghurt that's two days past its date - but not more than that.  Crikey, I have yoghurt that's months out of date and it tastes fine.  This was too much for her.  She pointed out that anyone with a sensitive stomach would be in big trouble with out of date yoghurt.  I pointed out that maybe none of us have sensitive stomachs because we've got used to all this abuse.

 My final fall from grace, and surely the one that will prevent her from ever accepting an invitation to eat at our house, came when I asked her what she would do with a carrot (for example) if it fell to the floor while she was getting supper ready.  Well, obviously, her's goes in the bin.  Mine goes in the pot (unless the dog gets there first).

If one day my blog is no longer being written you will wonder if it's because of something I've eaten!

Actually, I have a record of crime...

Now that I'm a hardened criminal (see earlier post) I might as well own up to my previous crime.  I recently met a policeman and told him the story and he put me at my ease by telling me that in his opinion (and he'd seen a few trials) the magistrate would look kindly on me due to the circumstances.  You can judge for yourself.

Actually, I'd pretty much forgotten about this incident until my youngest son asked me if I'd ever broken the law.  Coming from a child that's a fairly serious question that if not answered honestly can later on come back and haunt you.  This is what happened.

About 25 years ago, on holiday in France, I was stung by a jellyfish on my wrist and my leg.  It hurt like hell then calmed down and went away.  Two days later I was back in England and frantically getting laundry sorted and bags repacked for a long weekend on our sailing boat which was then in the Solent. 

On the Friday morning, exactly one week after the jellyfish sting, I noticed that the rash had come back and was itching a bit.   I also noticed that I had a touch of the, er, runs.  But nothing serious.  On Friday evening we left.  Being the start of an August Bank Holiday weekend and lovely weather forecast, the traffic was horrendous.  And my stomach was beginning to rumble in a rather nasty fashion. 

We reached, finally, the Hammersmith roundabout and yet another long, long traffic jam.  There was no denying it.  I HAD TO GO.  There's a pub at that roundabout so we pulled in and I made a dash for the ladies room.  To put it mildly, I anticipated a slightly disrupted weekend.  And then I realised that I had at least another two hours in the car ahead of me and what would I do  if....  So, I nicked a loo roll.  I shoved it into my handbag and walked back to the car.  I was a thief.

We lived in London for another three years and every time we went passed that pub I had a pang of conscience.  I never did replace it and I only owned up to the crime in public, as it were, when my son asked the question.  To be fair, he was fairly understanding although he couldn't resist telling me that stealing was stealing whatever the excuse (oh, and where had he learnt THAT from I wonder!). 

I don't know if the pub is still there.  If it isn't I don't suppose that it suffered any financial problems as a direct result of my crime.  But I would say that, wouldn't I?

Travels with myself...Episode One

Jean Commits a Criminal Offence

I'm not a seasoned traveller.  I used to drive to England every month but that, thank goodness, has come to an end.  I don't often go to Paris but last weekend I was there.  I had spent a few days in London seeing my family and then caught the EuroStar to Paris and then the RER out to Vert Galant.  The people I was staying with had told me to make sure I bought a ticket for the RER and not for the Metro and that I duly did at the Paris Gare du Nord.

Like I said, I'm not a seasoned traveller.  If I go to Paris it's normally with my husband and/or children and I was worried about travelling on the RER  on my own.  It is well known for attacks and problems and I was going to be on my own with a suitcase - clearly a tourist and yes, a slightly nervous one.  I should add that I am a bit of a goody-goody for want of a better word.  I tend to stick to the rules, I drive at the correct speed, I don't jump red lights and I don't like it when I hear my children telling me of their occasionally slightly dubious antics.  Not perfect by any means, just someone who wants an easy, trouble-free life.

The journey was fine and I arrived safely at Vert Galant.  Then the problems started.  I put my ticket in the slot to open the exit doors and to my surprise I got a sign saying "Billet non valable".  I tried again, same thing.  Hmmm.

I asked the RER lady, on the other side of the barrier and therefore hard to hear, what the problem was and she told me I'd bought the wrong ticket so of course it wouldn't work.  I looked again and sure enough although it was an RER ticket it was for Paris only and I was in the suburbs.  Fine, I'd made a mistake;  what to do now.  I asked the same lady and was slightly surprised when she told me it was not her problem.  Not  very helpful really so I asked her again, pointing out that it was a mistake and I imagined I had to pay a fine.  I also asked her to let me through the barrier so I could pay the fine and get on my way.  I could see she was getting a little irritated with me but I was not expecting her next reply.  Basically she wasn't authorised to let me through and I'd have to stay where I was.  Although she didn't look like a comedian I asked her if she was joking - I honestly thought she must be as I was clearly not going to spend the night on the platform (by now it was 8.30pm).  No joke.  Her colleague came over, slightly more sympathetic looking but that turned out to be misleading.  She did however give me a piece of advice;  namely that I should wait for a passenger with a ticket and barge through the barrier behind him/her.  Er, excuse me?  She repeated it and I had understood correctly.

At that moment the next train arrived and sure enough behind every valid ticket passenger at least three more people, mostly in their 20's or younger, barged through the exit doors.  I couldn't believe it.  I had made a mistake, I was completely ready to pay a fine, but here I was expected to behave like a criminal in order to get out of the platform.  I did of course have a suitcase too which wasn't going to make it easy.  Still, what choice did I have?  Somehow I managed to barge my way behind someone with a ticket and hang on to my case (on wheels) and get out.

So there you have it.  I made a mistake and was forced to commit a criminal offence. 

The defence rests.

Titch

Titch was our Bearded Collie and tragically he was killed last Saturday.  He ran in front of the car as I was driving away and that was that.

With boundless energy Titch accompanied me on almost every single one of my runs when I was marathon training.  The furthest he ran was 20 miles - this is not recommended for dogs so let me explain.  This was my last long run before the marathon and I decided to do two circuits of 10 miles so that I could leave Titch at the house after the first circuit.  This I did, carefully shutting him in the house with my husband.  After 15 minutes Max went out into the garden and obviously Titch followed him.  Except he didn't.  He followed my tracks and caught up with me two miles down the road.  Aghast, I told him that if that was his choice, fine, he could live with it and do the whole 20 miles.  Totally unimpressed he did just that and looked miffed when we finally got home as if to say:  Is that IT?  What about the last six miles?

Titch loved sailing with us and would sit on the deck, calmly rearranging himself when we went about and only coming into the cockpit if it got really rough. 

His red nose, clearly visible in the picture, was caused by him using his nose as a brake.  He was always waiting for us to throw tennis balls and sticks and would gallop after them full pelt.  About ten feet in front of them he would put his nose down, probably so that he could get a better view through the hair in front of his eyes, and literally skid to a stop.  Fine on the grass but not so fine on the gravel! 

He was delighted when we bought Tosca assuming (as we did) that she would be overwhelmed by his advances and that fatherhood beckonned but sadly Tosca had other ideas and whenever she came on heat sat down and turned her back on him.  During this time Titch really did look like an eager teenager trying to date his first girl.  He would follow her around with his tongue hanging out and great big soppy eyes. 

We'll miss Titch enormously and he will be impossible to replace.  However, a kind lady put me in touch with a breeder who has an 8 year old Beardie that she can no longer look after.  She has invited us to meet him this week and if we all like each other we will bring him back with us to introduce to our dogs.  He won't be the same but with time he might help fill the gap.

Work is interfering with knitting! Hurray!

It  doesn't take much thought to work out that when times are hard chairs don't need to be reupholstered.  Anyway, that old armchair in the corner is so comfy why would anyone want to have it reupholstered - just throw an old rug over it to hide the worn patches and the nail varnish (note to self:  ban everyone from applying nail varnish on upholstered furniture).

As a result my work load has gone down a bit - actually it's all but disappeared.  You might have noticed that I've clearly got a bit (!) of time at the moment to knit and spin.  Socks are being produced at a rapid rate.  Bearing in mind that I'd never considered knitting socks until late last year, you might think I'm a bit of a fanatic.  Well, why deny it?  I'm having enormous fun buying unusual wool, usually off ebay, and then wearing the resulting socks a few days later.  It's also a way to keep warm - I can sit next to the fire in the kitchen which during the freezing cold spell a couple of weeks ago was the only place to be in this house unless you actually want to have a violet/blue complexion.

So although I complained ALL last year about one client who kept changing his mind (and her mind - it's a husband and wife decision) about the choice of fabric;  who asked FOUR TIMES for the measurements and then asked why they kept changing (because his current fabric idea had a pattern etc), I have to admit that I am now equally peeved because he has finally delivered the fabric and I no longer have an excuse not to get on with the chair.  In other words...I CAN'T KNIT!

The good news in all this pathetic drivvle is that the chair is not complicated and is proving quite quick to work on.  The bad news is that the client bought the fabric but didn't remember (or couldn't make up his mind perhaps) to buy the braid that I will need to finish it with.  For some reason people think that this can be done by me quite easily but when you are buying 10 metres of braid for a minimum price of 10euros/metre it seems to me that I could quite easily have a complaint on my hands further down the line - when I present the bill for example!

I mustn't complain though (really?!).  There is a second, matching, chair to come from the same client and he has ALREADY BOUGHT THE FABRIC - although not the braid - and any work that comes in at the moment is good news.  Also, it's warmed up so much that who would want to be sitting by the fire knitting?  (Er, do I have to answer that?)

In the meantime feast your eyes on my latest homespun wool:

 

AND:  Look what the broody chicken suddenly produced:

I think he should be called Ranulph (after Ranulph Fiennes, Arctic Explorer) as he has survived the Arctic temperatures - indeed he was born in them!

The kindness of neighbours and the antics of dogs

I live in a very male dominated household.  One husband, three sons, two male dogs and until recently a male parrot.  The only other female is Tosca, my gorgeous Bearded Collie dog.  As a result I am well used to male chauvanist jokes, to finding the loo seat constantly up and constant reminders that the Alpha Male is infinitely more intelligent than the female of the species.  Needless to say, Tosca and I have been fighting this stereotype relentlessly for quite a while.

Tosca (with Tickle) - she doesn't like cameras much!

At Christmas we spent five days away and our very kind neighbours came over twice a day to feed and entertain the dogs.  Stick throwing and stuff.  When we came back we couldn't understand why Tosca was so clean and her coat so silky (not the norm as I never manage to brush her enough!)

As the neighbour appears the dogs charge towards the bridge and jump up at her to tell her how wonderful she is and how welcome.  On Christmas morning she appeared and only the two dogs greeted her.  So she called Tosca who was clearly keeping warm (sensible in my opinion) in the barn.  Tosca came bounding out, charged across the yard and onto the bridge and jumped up, from a distance, to greet Francoise.  Unfortunately she missed.  More unfortunate still, once she was mid-air she couldn't stop and went flying over the wall of the bridge.  According to Francoise, one second Tosca was there, the next she had vanished into thin air.  It was only when she heard a bark that she realised where she was.

The wall concerned is the one on the right - bear in mind it's about two feet high on the other side

Needless to say, whilst the moat is easily accessible from 90% of its banks, there is a good five feet from the top of the wall to the water.  Francoise was all alone and the temperature was around freezing - although there was no ice.  She decided there was no time to find help and leant over the bridge until she could reach Tosca who was then lifted unceremoniously out of the water.  I'm glad to report that both survived their ordeal with nothing worse than cold moat water to deal with. 

We laughed and laughed when we heard this story but it wasn't long before all the jokes started coming, thick and fast!

Let the train take the strain...

Last Saturday Max took our eldest son to the station at Le Mans from where he caught a train to the French Alps.  He would arrive at about 1.30pm.  I went into the village with his girlfriend and got back to the house at about 12.30pm saying, as we arrived, that Guy would be arriving quite soon...lucky thing!

As we went into the house we were met by our middle son who looked up from his bowl of cereal (don't ask) and casually, but very seriously, said, "Hi Mum;  I don't know if you've spoken to Dad.  Guy's fine but it was his train that caught fire!"

Total silence and a feeling of non-reality.  It was a while before I realised the door was still open (sub zero outside and this is not normal for me!).  I asked Hugh to repeat what he'd said but by that time Sara was already texting (something I wouldn't think to do as I don't have a mobile).

Basically it was just that - the engine in the middle of the carriages had caught fire and the train came to a dramatic halt.  All 550 passengers got off safely and, after minor cuts and bruises had been dealt with by the pompiers, were taken to a nearby sports hall where they were given tea/coffee/hot chocolate and biscuits, free of charge and bought to the hall by the mayor of the village himself.

Guy got home this evening and related his side of the story which was actually not very dramatic.  However, he did say one thing that stuck in my mind.  He was describing how they all got out of the windows because some of the doors wouldn't open.  We've all seen those red handles with "only in emergency" written next to them.  Well, Guy decided this was probably an emergency.

"Basically", he said, "You pull one red handle with one hand, and a second red handle with the other hand. And nothing happens!"  In the end someone managed to get the hammer out of the box and with the slightest of taps the window shattered.

The most remarkable thing of all was that from the moment they left the train they were looked after by SNCF.  Needless to say this was hours later than planned and after the last timetabled bus left to take train passengers up the mountain to the resort were Guy was staying.  However, at every station along the way a bus had been arranged to take passengers to their final destination.  He arrived weary and tired but in good spirits and enjoyed a fantastic week skiing with his friends.

A Happy New Year to you all!

The past few weeks have passed in a whirl.  The Christmas holidays are always slightly chaotic and this time round was no exception.  We spent four days in England staying with my brother and ALL my family were there making a total of 23 and a lot of work for my sister-in-law who was amazing!  It was only the second occasion when my mother has had all her children and grandchildren with her at once.  Quite a gathering and a really happy few days.

Back home in time for New Year and a quietish celebration with our youngest son and some of his friends.  Max and I were totally exhausted by New Year's Eve so midnight and the New Year were welcomed with relief that we could go to bed at last!

This last week has been so cold that we feel as though we are constantly bringing in wood for the fires and just trying to keep the house above the outside temperature - yesterday it was -9 celsius outside and only +9 inside.  In fact, when we woke up there was ice on the inside of our bedroom window.  Today is warmer but we are still having to break the ice on the moat for the ducks and geese - we really don't want another grim visit from Mr Fox.

And of course I've been knitting.  It's extraordinary how this has developed from "Why on earth are you knitting socks?"  To:  "Oooh, can you knit me a pair please?" 

I gave in to my eldest son who was the first to ask.  I still have plenty of red wool so a new pair of bedsocks has been handed over

You can't see the twist very well but I was very pleased with them.  He got lucky because I gave him and his girlfriend each a wooly hat for Christmas from home spun wool.  Quick and easy and really warm.

And finally my own socks and another pair of fingerless gloves from leftover sock yarn:

I dare say the knitting bug won't last for ever - it can't as I don't have enough time to keep going at this rate!  However, I have one more pair of socks on the go which should be finished by tomorrow night.  People who have worn home made socks know this already but for those of you who haven't I can only say that these are the most comfortable socks I have EVER worn.  It isn't just sentiment - I wore a pair of M&S socks yesterday and my feet felt as though there was nothing between the skin and the shoe. 

And now I raise a glass to all my loyal readers and wish you all a very happy New Year!

Gloves

This post is all about my two knitting projects about which I am dreadfully proud - and will no doubt suffer for my pride!  It also goes a little way to explaining my absence from the blogosphere although I think that is not necessarily a bad thing as computer time was becoming ridiculous!

The first gloves are from this pattern and are the easiest and most enjoyable things to knit. I modified the pattern slightly as I thought they were a little short.  I did an extra cable around the finger knuckles and am pleased I did.  I wear them in the house and the workroom as they keep my hands warm but fingers free to sew (all those cushions last week and double piping to prepare next week).  In addition I was doubly delighted with them as I had spun the wool myself.  So this really is a totally hand made project.

Project number two were a pair of glove mittens from here.  I am using the famous red wool which I found in a drawer and had to change the needle size.  As a result the first one I made was way too small and had to be unravelled.  These ones are too big for me but fit my husband perfectly. (Third time lucky perhaps!?)

They are not, however for him.  We have a son who is not happy in a cold house and complains regularly that it's too cold to work on his computer.  I thought this would be the answer and will sneak them under the tree at Christmas.

Finally, I am grateful to my friend Polly for pointing out that she was unable to leave a comment on my previous post.  I reported this to Typepad and they assure me this has been sorted out.  Please let me know via The Garden Path if you are unable to leave a comment.