A Practically Perfect Day

Sunday was my birthday. I turned 64 (Bill says yes he will). Brits (or perhaps it's just Bill) don't seem to treat birthdays with quite the enthusiasm that I grew up with. So to avoid being disappointed I gave Bill very specific instructions, along with all the information he needed to carry them out. He was very good and did as asked, even coming up with a surprise. 

The things I said I wanted were:

1. Flowers in pink, white, purple or blue, no yellow, orange or red (from Pansy's Florist in North Shields). An enormous bouquet was delivered on Saturday. They were parked in water at the time and then on Sunday I enjoyed trimming and arranging them in a large blue jug, a souvenir of a day trip to Juarez, Mexico back in the 1980s.

2. Two books: The Cut Flower Patch, by Louise Curley and The Late Scholar, by Jill Paton Walsh (from Waterstones). The former was a whim, but a good whim as the book is delicious. The latter turned out to be a re-read, but one from so long ago that it was only faintly familiar and I'd no clue about the plot. Bill was happy to buy this as he is also a fan of this author's Lord Peter Wimsey books.

I've been re-arranging my fabrics to improve access (and because they all came tumbling down a couple of weeks ago when I pulled out the wrong piece of the stack). This has allowed me to set aside any patchwork cotton fabric I come across, all of it given to me as I'd never pay that much for fabric! I've slowly zigzagged the raw edges and put them through the wash in preparation for making masks. Bill does most of the ironing around here, so he's had the pleasure of ironing all these colourful prints. He cleverly used one to wrap my two books.

We pottered around with plants for a while in the morning and then as the sun came around to the front of the house I put on shorts and sat in the nearly private front garden while Bill went out for a long walk. He's been doing some sort of challenge set up by the Long Distance Walkers Association; he did 220 miles in May. I put up my feet, read my Paton Walsh book and sipped a gin and tonic in the sun. Bill surprised me when he came home, handing me a small tub of ice cream from the Bistro du Parc, a local cafe that has supplied us with milk, cake, wine, beer and the occasional sandwich or loaf of break - and now ice cream. I didn't ask for a birthday cake, as it's a lot of bother for something I don't like that much, but ice cream is always welcome!

3. Steak for dinner (from Nicholson's butchers in Whitley Bay). We have steak perhaps once or twice a year, so it is a very special treat. Since I grew up in cattle country with a father who loved a nice rare steak, I have particular views about how steaks should taste. For probably the first 20 years I lived in Britain I was always disappointed in any steaks I bought, no matter how carefully they were cooked. I saved trips to Spain or to the Canary Islands or the occasional Venezuelan restaurant I found in London to order steaks that were well worth the price. Then we found an Italian restaurant in Jesmond , Avanti, that knew about steaks and they told me where to buy aged steaks in Gateshead, but I've forgotten the name of the place. It was ridiculously expensive anyhow, just as cheap to eat out instead. We've never shopped at Nicholson's but their steaks were wonderful, even without the benefit of steak tenderiser. We also had a vegetable salad and a baked potato with butter to go with the rather large and very tender, medium rare steaks, all accompanied by red wine.

After dinner we watched my birthday present from Vivien, the Downton Abbey film. Bill pretended he wasn't that fussed about seeing it, but given that he practically binged on the six series once I made him watch the first one, I paid him no attention. (And all our other television viewing is dictated by his rather narrow tastes, I this was another small treat for me). We did enjoy seeing it, but it seemed to all move very quickly and it felt as though the camera was much further away than usual. This meant not getting the pleasure from seeing the clothes as much. I told Vivien that I am guessing Fellowes had actually written another series but then just crammed it all into the one film. 

On Saturday evening, getting ready to watch some old Lewis detective programme on telly, I happened to look out the bedroom window to see a man walking past on the opposite side of the road. He was walking slowly and seemed rather meditative and I mentally sent him happy thoughts in case he was sad. Then all the sudden my friend Pat popped into view as she was crossing from in front of my house over to the man I suddenly realised was her husband, Stephen. I knocked on the window and she turned around so I was able to wave and throw kisses, which she returned. I went downstairs to tell Bill and spotted that she'd put a birthday card through my door. 

So all in all I had a wonderful birthday - even the weather cooperated. I had loads of birthday wishes from friends and family and I spent the day doing only things that I love. I can't actually think of any birthday that I've enjoyed more, in spite of - or perhaps because of? - the current lockdown restrictions. 

I think knowing what I do really enjoy is useful knowledge, along with a habit of having relatively modest desires. I hope your birthdays in future are wonderful too! 

Preston Cemetery

We took a five mile walk the other day and happened to pass Preston Cemetery, which was closed a few weeks ago. We've both enjoyed runs through here in the past and so we took an unplanned detour to visit again. There are always local people in there to walk, not just to mourn. I did keep a sharp eye out for any possible burial services going on to give them a wide berth. I'm pleased to say we saw none that day.

It seems to me that cemeteries here in Britain are quite different than the ones I've been involved with in Oklahoma. For one, cemeteries here are run by the local authority, not privately owned like in the US. The newer graves seem to be located in one area and those grounds are reasonably well kept. We noted a lot of graves covered with not just flowers, but stuffed animals, small statues, a variety of 'interesting' plant pots, mostly empty, what we agreed was a lot of garbage. However part of me wondered who gets to decide what is an appropriate way to mourn? I just know that in the cemeteries where my parents and grand parents are buried you get one fixed plant pot for flowers and that is it, doesn't matter how big the stone, they like their grounds tidy.

We noticed the older graves had less decoration but many had the grave outlined with a raised bed filled with gravel or coloured stones. The latter tended to be scattered, probably by magpies which are known for being attracted to shiny objects. 

The really old graves were in a section where the grass grew as high as the grave markers. Good luck finding an old grave in there. This is a common practice which is justified as 'good for the birds and bees'. I don't doubt it is. I suspect that most family members have ceased visiting these graves and that is why the council gets away with this. Or perhaps there is in the burial contract a specified number of years the site will be maintained?

Some years back there was a problem with these old stones being knocked down by kids hanging out at night in the cemetery. I believe the gates are now locked at night but there was a period when all local authorities had a programme of moving fallen or loose stones, either to the perimeter wall or placing them flat on the graves. This was in the name of 'health and safety' but some of those stones were definitely vandalised, which I find scandalous. I suspect the main activity of the kids was drinking or drugs, but part of me wonders how many babies have been conceived in cemeteries around Britain. Almost has a kind of symmetry, that.

One of the pleasant surprises we had was discovering a couple of military grave areas, one for WWI and another for WWII. They were lovely and neat with flowers planted between the largely identical graves stones, with some older stones mixed in. More than just tidy, elegant was the word that came to mind. Bill said this would be the work of the War Graves Commission, an organisation I never knew existed. I've been here almost 25 years and I'm still learning about my adopted country.

Turns out it's the Commonwealth War Graves Commission and there is a lovely little video that shows largely what they are about and looking at the map showing the breadth of their commitment worldwide, it's pretty impressive.

Oat Crackers

I was sure I'd written about Bill's oat crackers before, but apparently not. This is another bit of baking he's done recently. Mainly because I complained about having scones hanging around the house and I don't care much for oat crackers. He loves them. In fact he got upset with me last month when I ordered two boxes of Nairn's oat crackers for him...because he ate them.

His latest favourite is peanut butter on oat crackers. I doubt he noticed the jars of PNB in the cupboard for the past ?10 years? but now it's his favourite. 

Never mind, I'm not fussed what he eats carbohydrate-wise, it all gets burned off. This past weekend he set himself a 50 mile challenge, walking 25+ miles on Saturday and on Sunday. Of course he was weary and sore after this, but he gets no sympathy for self-inflicted wounds. Heartless of me, I know.

A Proper WI Home

I wrote earlier about wishing for fresh flowers in our house during lockdown. (And regardless of what this government decides about lifting restrictions for the sake of the economy, the fact remains that Bill and I are high risk for a bad outcome if infected and so will continue practising safety measures).

I was amused at reading this month's letter from the "Chairman" (a woman) of our WI Federation in which she wrote:

I recently discovered in a book 69 things that "No English home should be without". I have definitely got 43 of them but in the spirit of being in the WI I thought I would share 6 of them that would possibly be in every WI home: A TEAPOT, STRING, A SET OF PLAYING CARDS, BEST CHINA, SPARE BIRTHDAY CARDS AND FRESH FLOWERS."

We are invited to send suggestions about the other 63 items, which I look forward to reading about next month. I should think it would include a hat of some sort, at least one unfinished craft project, some gardening gloves, a map of the region in which they live, family photos, a pet (or mementos of a previous pet), some wellington type boots. Those are the things that just came to mind now.  I hope she'll also reveal the title of her book, as my searches on Google and Amazon (they make no money off my searches or wishlist) have not revealed it.

We have several tea pots, lots of string (and even more yarn), I have spare birthday cards, but we use our best china most days at breakfast and dinner and my playing cards are almost never used as Bill doesn't care for playing, which is sad; the paper cards are in the motor home but I still have Grandma and Grandpa's Kem cards (plastic, in a nice bakelite box; last time I looked they were worth something like £40).

My peonies have been blooming the past couple of weeks, always a glorious display. On one of our walks I spotted something vaguely like baby's breath that I thought might make a good filler. Turned out there was some on my own street never mind down at the park, so I marched out of my front gate with secateurs. 

The flowers lasted on our dining table for over a week, longer than I expected. And then one morning I came down to breakfast and Bill pointed out that we'd had an 'event', pointing to the floral arrangement. Sure enough one of the peonies had dumped its petals all at once, just like the tree in the Harry Potter film when autumn arrived. 

So I shall have to cast around to figure out something else for the next few days. I know I will get flowers on my birthday this weekend, because I gave Bill a specific list of things I wanted (steak from Nicholson's, a book about a cutting garden and a Lord Peter Wimsey novel we'd overlooked, flowers from a florist who happens to be married to our fruit and veg man and the last bottle of beaujolais wine from the Brexit stash.)

After that, if I can't figure out something from my garden or the wilds around us, I shall be calling on Pansy's in North Shields. 

What do you think are the essential items found in every proper English / Scottish / Irish / Welsh / American / Australian / etc. home?

Nicholson's

On one of our walks we passed Nicholson's butchers in Whitley Bay. We've never shopped there as theirs are premium prices but they are, I gather, doing a roaring trade in this time of lockdown. I'm glad to hear they will pull through. 

I'd never noticed the very instructive signs outside their shop. I've some times wondered if the US and Britain label their animal parts differently.  Do you know?

Bill's Scones

Can't say I've done any 'Quar Baking' as they say in the New York Times, but Bill has. He's made a couple batches of scones, which is good and bad. Good because they are delicious, bad because I eat them. 

He got the recipe from this book he picked up last year at one of the many National Trust properties we visited.

I was going to type out the recipe, but then you'd be in the same fix that I am.

Paris to Versailles 1996

A friend of ours found time in lockdown to go through some old photos and came up with these, from September 1996, my first ever visit to France. I went with the running club I'd joined just a few months previous to run a race between the Eiffel tower and the Palace of Versailles, a distance of about 15 km, or a little over nine miles. One of the the best weekends I've ever had cost me about £200 if I remember right.

We took a train from Newcastle to London, then got the brand new Eurostar to Paris. A lot of the trip is a blur for a number of reasons. I know we had to register for the race but I don't remember doing this. I vaguely remember the cheap hotel rooms we had. 

This was the first big race I'd ever done. The race began under the Eiffel Tower and (as they said) typical of the French, it began about an hour late. This meant a lot of people needed to pee, having intended to begin fully hydrated. I remember loads of plastic bottles filled with urine along the start. Also trees draped with discarded clothing and plastic bags, worn to keep warm at the start. I was pleased to know that race organisers would collect the debris and donate the clothes to charity.

Bill ran along side me as I wasn't experienced at races. I remember a lot of forests and him making me walk up the hills, to be sure I'd manage the distance. We arrived at the finish after who knows how long. My main recollection is of tall wrought iron fences in front of grand buildings. 

Somewhere I have more photos from the finish. Everyone was very pleased to be at Versailles. Kath was especially pleased because she had traded her club t-shirt with a guy who gave her his French Foreign Legion t-shirt. She felt she'd definitely come out ahead.

I'm guessing a bus must have returned us all to Paris. As soon as we'd showered and changed Jane, who was familiar with Paris, took us to an amazing restaurant, Le Bouillion Chartier.  The queue was long, but worth the wait in the ind. The food was great, but one thing that stuck in my mind was that the waiter scribbled your order on your paper table cloth in a very nonchalant fashion. Also, the men's loo was in a corner with only a waist-high door, a big surprise. Fortunately, the ladies room had more cover.

The next time Bill and I went to Paris, we went back to Chartier and it didn't disappoint. I remember on that trip an elegant older woman in a fur stole, heels and what looked like an alligator bag walked past with such a slow, deliberate walk one couldn't not watch her. The whole restaurant stopped to watch her. 

After our group of 10-12 runners finished eating, we hit the town. Jane was our tour guide and we walked everywhere. Nothing was open, but we went and gawked at it anyhow. I remember the Seine and the Louvre and Notre Dame. I remember being really tired after the race and full of food and red wine. I think this anaesthetic was the only reason I could continue walking until 3 am. 

Somewhere near Notre Dame cathedral there was a mime who caught our attention. He appeared to be a very short gentleman standing on a trash can. He was very engaging and pulled all sorts of stunts to amuse us. Somehow I ended up standing near him for a photo and he signalled that he wanted a kiss on his cheek. After much insistence on his part, I stretched up to peck his cheek and he turned his face at the last second, surprising all of us. That got the biggest laugh. The only Frenchman I've ever kissed.

At one point in our wanderings I was desperate for a loo and everyone told me to just squat between two parked cars; they said everyone in Paris did that. I argued that I might be in Paris but I was still an American and I just couldn't do that. Fortunately Jane knew where there was a 24-hour McDonald's and it turned out I wasn't the only one.

We travelled back the next day on the train and celebrated Jane's birthday. We had the train car to ourselves. I stayed awake long enough to have some cake and toast her birthday and then I was out for the rest of the train journey. Somewhere there are some dreadful photos of me unconscious, with my head down on the table. I don't care, I had such a great time.