Books and blooms

I have got through a slew of Icelandic books over the last few weeks. I noted them when we were there and finally got round to getting them from the library or the shop.

Butterflies in November by Audur Ava Olafsdottir is about a road trip around Iceland a newly-single woman takes with her best friend's deaf son. She is a linguist who doesn't want children, and one of her reasons is my favourite line in the book.

"Your kids vanish into the bushes of camping sites, without even giving you a chance to browse through a thesaurus in peace by the entrance of the tent, because you're always on watch duty I imagine."

Farewell Mr Puffin by Paul Heiney is about a sailing trip to Iceland and into the Arctic Circle, and back. It's more sailing info than I would like and not as funny as I expected. That said there are entertaining moments. He goes in search of puffins, 'the jokers' of the bird world, but comes across only one resulting in a rather depressing theory.

The other two, The Quiet Mother by Arnaldur Indridason, and The Mysterious Case of the Missing Crime Writer by Ragnar Jonasson, are both crime novels but not as gruesome as some Scandi noir. I preferred The Mysterious Case.

And I've just started on a Grantchester novel - although actually it appears to be several short linked stories - which is easy reading and I'm enjoying it.

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The day before we went to Italy back in April three plants I'd ordered online turned up. I stuck them in the ground quickly and hoped for the best.

They were achillea (I had to check my order to see what they were) and they've all flourished. Here's the pink one next to my sole dahlia success.

Before going on holiday I also came across two packets of seeds I'd forgotten to plant so I scattered them willy-nilly in a spare patch. The marigolds have come up beautifully. I shall plant those again next year.

I think the other packet was Cosmos but they haven't appeared.

Meanwhile the roses seem to love the dry weather.

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Another 'before I went on holiday' story but this time before I went to Cornwall. I received a letter from the DWP (department of Works and Pensions) to say my state pension is being reviewed. 

Apparently I have been chosen at random and I have to be available next Tuesday morning to answer a call from them, in which they will ask me questions to check I am getting the right amount. 

I am not looking forward to this. I go blank when asked questions about work, finance, dates, anything formal. Husband will have to sit alongside and tell me the answers.

I spoke too soon

After saying I'm only a bit under the weather yesterday I had a slump. They keep coming and going, hot flushes, rough feelings. I think I have a summer cold. That's what they say isn't it? That's what they call them?

Are summer colds different from winter colds? And why do we call colds in winter just colds, not winter colds? Maybe we should have spring and autumn colds too. Now I'm thinking about it, I'm wondering do they actually call them summer colds? Or have I made that up?

I was thinking about these things in the shower. I thought, "I'll google that." Then something else came into my head and I decided I'd google that too but I can't remember what it was. From there I went on to thinking about stream of consciousness writing.

I slept well last night apart from the most stressful dream just before I woke up. And I've finished my jigsaw.

Yes, I do get a bit obsessed once I start. A 1000 piece jigsaw in one day. There were lots of dates on it so that made pieces easier to place.

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Oh yes, Debra commented on my previous post that it was wars and things that made rich land-owners rich and able to acquire/build fine houses. In the Prideaux Place story it was largely marrying rich heiresses that kept the family in the style to which they wanted to be kept. 

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A posy from the garden.

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According to AI, summer colds in the UK remain low and at expected seasonal levels, driven primarily by baseline circulation of rhinovirus. A different article said it's more likely to be enterovirus. 

Then again yesterday AI told me that Annapolis was named after Princess Anne, daughter of Queen Elizabeth, who later became Queen Anne.

1066 and all that

It must be weird being the king/queen. I mean, not just because of the attention and stuff, but the fact that you're going to go down in history for children to learn about in school, or watch in television dramas, like Henry VIII. I wonder how history will look on our current incumbents.

I was thinking this as I started my jigsaw. I'm struggling to sleep, partly because I'm under the weather*, and partly because my head is full of sermons and articles. Rephrasing them in my head in the middle of the night is enough to keep me tossing for hours. So I decided to jigsaw as an antidote. (I know jigsaw isn't a verb but it is now.)

The jigsaw is a pictorial of British history. Which would be easier if I had some idea of British history. I mean, I do have some idea but when it gets to specifics, well, I kept putting pieces in the middle of the space because, "they're somewhere around there." Two things strike me: we've had an awful lot of kings and an awful lot of wars; and the monarchy is very boring when it comes to choosing children's names.

But history brings me nicely to what will probably be my final holiday post - but don't bank on it. One day Husband and I visited Prideaux Place, an old manor house. It was a lovely day and, as I've mentioned before the cream tea rated highly, in fact Husband said it was a clear winner.

As we arrived it was feeding time for the deer so we had a wonderful sight of them. The deer herd is one of the oldest enclosed herds in the country, dating back to 485AD and only beaten by those in Royal parks.

The house has been in the same family for hundreds of years and the current inhabitants have spent a lot of time renovating the gardens, which had been left to get overgrown.

I liked this statue, Boy with a thorn in his foot.

The guided tour of the house was excellent but no photos allowed. It's a family home that's only open to the public for the summer months. the original house was built on the site of an ancient monastery and there are some real treasures inside.

*I decided 'under the weather' is the perfect description for how I feel. I'm not ill exactly but not where I would want to be health-wise.

A Cornish sketchbook

You may recall that, a couple of weeks ago, I bought a small sketchbook so I could doodle about our holiday in Cornwall. Well, we arrived in Padstow and almost the first thing I saw was the bookshop window display.

Yes, someone beat me to it and published a Cornish sketchbook. How rude. And how depressingly good.

Nevertheless . . .

They might not be good but they're my memories.

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Next Sunday I'm 'preaching' in church. Quote marks to make it seem less terrifying. I have spoken in church before, but that was before I joined the church and people didn't know me. Now they do. And then it was on topics I was confident about; this time it's on a piece of scripture 2 Peter 1:15-21. So I've had to do lots of research, and I'm not sure I entirely agree with some of it so most of my talk will be along party lines with maybe a curve ball thrown in at the end. By then people will have stopped listening so it'll be fine.

The deadline for my next magazine article is the following Wednesday so I've started thinking about that too. Now the problem is making sure I don't get the two topics mixed up.

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I was afraid my newly-planted tubs might have suffered during our week away - no rain there or here - but they seem to have survived remarkably well on the whole. One or two casualties but those looked a bit dodgy when I planted them.

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Still disgusted with whole Burnham business. Am deliberately ignoring him.

A week in a post

An evening outing to Harlyn Bay. More jellyfish along the tide line than you could shake a tentacle at.

The children enjoyed body-boarding but the breeze was a bit too cool and strong for me.

A cliff walk for Husband and me at Bedruthan Steps, renowned for its rock stacks.

Harbour Cove - I'm told though it's not like a cove or a harbour - an off-lead dog beach so ideal for walks and swims.

Husband, GrandDaughter2 and I took a trip to Tintagel to see the castle, allegedly the birthplace of King Arthur. It's built on an island and until recently getting to it involved going down down down steps and then going up up up steps. Now they've built a bridge, which we used to access the ruins.

There wasn't much of the castle left and it was heaving with tourists. It definitely wasn't worth the roughly £50 we paid to cross the bridge.

The views were lovely but we could have seen them for free, unlike the statue above. Gallos, representing a ghostly knight wearing a crown, was erected on the far side of the island and is only visible once you're on it. It's an 8' tall bronze sculpture by Rubin Eynon. Worth seeing but not at that price.

It wasn't until we were scrambling over the rough path that I remembered I'm not that good with heights. Especially with GrandDaughter2 skipping around and Husband trying to frighten to me. (He's liable to falls but still kept going close to the edge.)

Below the island is Merlin's cave - but that was full of water as it was high tide. But we had nice chips (GrandDaughter2) and pasties. 

Dogs are allowed on Trevone after 6 pm and we enjoyed a couple of evening swims here. Also in the nearby sea pool.

Alternatively you can take a dip in the hot tub back at the house.

A week in Cornwall

Bad stuff first. GrandDaughter1 was very poorly with a horrid throat infection and spent most of the week in bed. By the end of the week, Son-in-law and GrandSon2 were brought down. And GrandDaughter2 and I have come home with sore throats. Plus I only had two ice creams the whole week!

But apart from that, how was your holiday, Mrs Hinds?

Good. Lots of sea swimming, pasty eating, and cream tea judging.

We sampled four cream teas altogether. In reverse order, at no. 4 we had the Harbour Café. Disappointing scones and not proper jam. Didn't really expect anything better as it was in the very touristy on the harbour area. We'd just arrived, too early to get into our accommodation and we wanted to use the toilet!

There wasn't much to choose between the other three.

At no. 3, Rest-a-while café. Very good home-made scones, no complaints.

No. 2, Prideaux Place manor house. Home-made again, and excellent presentation. Sitting eating them with a view of the deer park lifted this above no. 3.

And at no. 1, Bedruthan Steps National Trust café. At first I thought the scones were going to be too hard but I found I enjoyed the contrast of the crisp outside with the soft middle. Lots of cream (all places served clotted of course), lots of jam, and a pleasant cliffside garden in which to eat.

As it was lunchtime we shared a plate of crab sandwiches and a cream tea.

And the inevitable ice cream photo:

Padstow lies on an estuary, and used to be a small fishing village, full of narrow lanes and little cottages. It gained fame when Rick Stein, a television chef, opened a restaurant here. And a chip shop. And a bistro. And probably the corner shop as well. Now it is incredibly busy.

We were six adults, five children, and two dogs, so the house we booked was quite big, the same one as last year.

It includes a hot tub and a snooker room, and it's in the grounds of an adventure park, to which we had access, so the boys spent a lot of time there. Some of us preferred to sit in the shade though.

Lots more to follow but I'll try not to bore you.

I will not buy another book

I walked resolutely past Waterstone's bookshop. I was not going in.

Ten minutes later I was back with the excuse I needed to pass 45 minutes before my haircut appointment. I'd plan to avoid the books and go straight upstairs to the café. Yes, that worked well.

I came out with a leaving-primary-school book for GrandDaughter2, a Japanese novel for me, and a small sketchbook, on the grounds that a small piece of paper is less intimidating than a large sheet. Off on holiday tomorrow so I plan - hope - to do a few sketches. Bearing in mind that I was never good at art but it sounded like fun. And it was just a beautiful simple little book.

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A letter arrived for me this morning. In a brown envelope. On the grounds that such letters are always bring or financial I usually leave them for Husband to open because I can't be bothered but for some reason I decided I would open this one.

I wish I hadn't. 

It was to tell me I am to have my state pension reviewed. They will phone me - a call that can last up to 30 minutes - and ask me questions. I am to have to hand the documents mentioned in the letter. Except there aren't any.

I was chosen at random it says. I can't imagine what they will want to know.

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The pool has reached a record temperature of 29.5. It's hardly refreshing any more.

Off for a few days tomorrow. Hope my plants survive.

The sweet peas have almost finished. The only left are these with dwty stems.