Lucky Me!

Bless him! P, the builder, dropped round this afternoon. He's re-jigging his garden and has some surplus fruit bushes looking for a new, happy home. He thought of me :) How lucky is that?

White currants, redcurrants, blackcurrants, gooseberries, apricots, apples, plums - the list seems endless. These are all in addition to the fig he gave me earlier this year. He wouldn't take a penny for them so I've promised him the first pot of jam - well, the second actually since the first is always a disaster for me and fit only for pouring on pancakes (yummy).

Everything is establishing itself and growing - the peas and beans are shooting so I'll have to keep an eye on them; the hollyhocks have seeded and one of the cauliflowers has taken too. I'm doing successional sowing of the veg so next month I'll plant two more of each variety and nurture them through the Winter ready for planting out, well-established, when the frosts have fled next Spring.

One thing has dawned on me: I'll really have to think about buying another freezer and re-arranging the dining room - well, it's called a dining room because now that the carpets are finally laid I'll have  a dining table (extends to ten in the hope of grandchildren), six chairs and a sideboard, bookshelves & display cabinet in there but, in reality, I may as well sell the table and chairs and install a greenhouse and a bit of hydroponics instead. My eldest left on Tuesday to marry and live in America (another story) so the likelihood of me seeing him, his lovely girl or any sprogs again seems remote.  The only things I need in the dining room at the moment are the bookshelves since family meals seem to be a thing of the past.  I'm not inclined to share Suki's food any more than he's inclined to share mine (strange cat). I once had a cat (my Jazz) who loved everything except veg and fruit but when it came to potatoes, custard, curry, baked beans, you name it - he ate it.  He died last year at the age of nineteen and I still miss him - best cat ever.  I've also known Puss-Puss, Geronimo, Mishy, Samba, Bo, Chillum and several un-named rescues who went on to be re-homed.  At a pinch you could call me CatWoman.

The central heating works! There was an over-ride switch not detailed in the how-to manual.  Unfortunately, I now can't switch it off so have turned the thermostat down to the lowest possible setting and hope that does the trick.  I bet that boiler's confused!  I'm one of those annoying people who hates being enclosed and prefers windows and doors wide open - anything else seems like a prison.  I have a halogen heater for the evenings if it's needed and it gives light as well as heat so I should be a not-too-miffed bunny when the gas bill finally comes in.

British Gas have actually been a waste of space. I've given up phoning them now because it's been six months since I first phoned with the gas meter reading yet they still insist on sending me bills only for electricity.  Lord knows what the bill will be when it finally gets here.  The last rolled-out letter I had from them was addressed to a 'Shelly xxxxx'.  I ask you, do I look like a Shelly?

I've also attempted to pay Council Tax but apparently the last owners haven't notified 'The Authoritays' so I can't because it's all subject to a data protection act (really?) .  All these cock-ups 'twixt Council and British Gas will eventually land on my doorstep and, I have to say, I'm not looking forward to it.

On another subject, who needs drugs? TV will fulfill all your needs, if you let it, and copious amounts of freely available alcohol, cannabis, ecstasy, cocaine, heroin ensure that a government has a population just where they want it: living on benefits, half-witted, semi-comatose and unable to fight back against injustice.

Here's Suki snoozing in front of my halogen heater and surrounded by my latest bout of unpacking:



By the way, have you seen these?

As usual, please click to enlarge.





I don't know if I'm talking to myself or not so here's something for me, to keep me going amidst the chaos:

EU'S latest bloomer! Brussels bid to ban gardeners from buying favourite plants

The definition of insanity: a new proposal from the EU Commission with unforeseen consequences for the British gardener.

EU'S latest bloomer! Brussels bid to ban gardeners from buying favourite iris, lavender and clematis plants (Click link for full story)

I wonder when the British people will actually wake up to the madness of the EU and its encroachment on our way of life and traditional values. David Cameron and his smooth-talking scam about re-negotiation is a disgrace given that re-negotiation isn't a viable proposition without invoking Article 50 of the Lisbon Treaty first. He's a snake oil salesman with the black heart of europhile.

On Being Blessed

I haven't written much lately because I've been a bit down - I don't like being ill; I don't like being old; I don't like not being able to see clearly; I don't like being four and a half hours drive away from my boys. These things, however, are sent to try us - or so I was brought up to believe: What can't be cured must be endured; stiff upper lip; put on a brave face; worse things happen at sea, and all that.

Here's a pic of an 'angel' that flew over Devon earlier this week (click to enlarge): Beautiful isn't it?



I'd like to think that someone is watching over me too but I have the feeling that, if they are, they're shaking their heads in disbelief at the moment as they watch me struggling with boxes, moving 'things' from one place to another and seemingly getting nowhere. I'd rather be in the garden where I know I can do something creative - the potatoes and onions are coming on a treat

and I've just re-potted some perennials suitable

for the shady backyard so next year could be, fingers crossed, a riot of colour. I've also made a small enclosure at the front to plant a climbing rose - Joseph's Coat, a prolific yellow/pink beauty in memory of my Mum and Dad - and some Spring bulbs (daffs, snowdrops, crocus, tulips - there are already bluebells self-seeding in the cracks) to remind me that Winter is over and a new year beckons.



I've also bought vegetable seeds, some of which need planting this month and next, latest, for harvesting in Spring along with some glorious Hollyhocks. This garden will have life returned to it if it's the last thing I do :) I tried to tempt birds into the back with a state-of-the-art BirdsRUs feeding centre but, sadly, they've resolutely refused to dine there - I must think about moving it to the front (with my veg seeds? *gulps*)

For sowing this month: Broad Bean 'Aquadulce Claudia'; Pea 'Meteor'; Spring Onion 'Performer', and Cauliflower 'Gypsy'.

I was at the docs today - just tests and checks, the results of which will be known in a couple of weeks. Next week I'm back to the hospital for further tests on my eyes. I'm already short-listed for a cataract operation (one eye only - it seems the NHS can't run to doing both) but something else is going on so fingers crossed all round. I don't like pills but if something could sort out my eyes I'd take it gladly. Suki is also mooching now that the weather has changed from sunny to thundery; he's sneezing and his eyes are runny. I guess you can take the cat out of Spain but you can't the siesta out of the cat. Here he is, doing what he does best:

Apart from that it's just politics that bothers me: all this unaccountability. Even our own Westminster MPs are only accountable once every five years and it isn't good enough; they call it democracy but I don't think it is. They talk of localism and Big Society when in actuality it's nothing more than throwing crumbs at us while the European Commission and the UN dictate the policies and member state governments couch diktats in terms they strive to make acceptable to us. I do wish my children would wake up to the threat but, living in London, they can't see the wood for the trees.

It only remains to be noted, lest we forget, that this weekend is Battle of Britain Weekend and RAF Cosford is putting on a spiffing show. Chocks away!

Just pics

The first gives a hint of the ravages done by one cat, three Cabbage Whites and myriad flea beetles:

The second is of one of the hastily-bought tomato plants.

Pic three shows the number of strawberry and cream teas I will be enjoying this year divided by one.

Number four is of the glossy aubergine I will be harvesting tomorrow for one of my favourite starters*

Five shows some of the baby Giuliettas growing in the Christmas hamper.

Pics six and seven are to show that it's not all bad - trailing geraniums flourish and the Jasmine is winding its way up the porch support.  This strain of jasmine may be slow-growing but it smells delicious and is worth the planting.

When I moved in it was poor timing for gardening so I'm amazed that anything has grown at all to be honest but it's been a good test to see what grows best where and who the pests are.  I definitely need some sort of greenhouse because I don't think my kitchen window cill and a couple of plastic grow-houses will cut it. Given that everything is paved and has little sun I'm still trying to work out what should go where.

P, the builder, has coped heroically: everything he and his team has done has been up to scratch and an added bonus is that nicer people you couldn't wish to meet: C was a Devonshire gem.  It will be carpets for me next week and then I'll finally be able to unpack the boxes of books if I can reach them and risk crow-barring them down to the floor.  I still haven't found my china so ... oh, who cares? Eating off plastic picnic plates since May 2nd is no big deal, and I can always pretend I'm at Glastonbury or Henley.

It's been a fraught year, no doubt about it.

*Slice aubergines, salt, rinse, pat dry then soak in milk. (Time means nothing to aubergines). Coat in wholemeal flour, fry quickly at high heat, transfer to ovenproof dish(es) and cover with the Provencal sauce you've already made and have waiting.  Top with slices of mozzarella/whichever cheese you prefer and shove under the grill until cheese is melted.  Eat with whatever you want.  I like it with a green salad and a hot, buttered wholemeal roll as a main meal but it's best as a starter for those with an appetite.

Some Pics

I had to buy a separate usb cable for a phone/pc connection - I'm not sure it was worth it but here are a few I've taken so you can get an idea of the limited scope of the garden and what I'm trying to do:

(1) Caterpillar-infested brassicas popping through together with a rather lovely aubergine plant which already has two small fruits. Also caught in the pic are hanging baskets with tomatoes, a trough of peppers, one of the troughs of strawberries and the old bathroom fittings and suchlike.  The beautiful wall to the right, built with Devonshire stone, was smothered in ivy with stems up to an inch thick - nightmare.
(2) Clematis 'Elizabeth' beginning to scramble up a dark and dank corner of the back yard.  Nothing was here before except falling stonework and peeling paint.
(3) The infestation of ivy has been taken down from the walls of the front garden and around the front door and replaced by Trachelospermum ('Star Jasmine') growing up the porch support beam with another Clematis 'Elizabeth' to the right (you can't go wrong with Elizabeth).
(4) The grafted Giulietta tomato growing in an old wicker Christmas hamper - and thriving with beautiful baby plum tomatoes already showing through :)
(5)  A metre square potato and onion bed in the sunniest part of the back yard - lucky if it sees 3/4hrs a day but the potatoes love it. I'll reserve judgement on the onions.
(6) The weathervane - not a very good pic I admit but I couldn't get any closer.
(7) Me, amidst all the boxes and the mess, waving hello to you.

All is for the best...

... in the best of all possible worlds or, to put it in English: 'mustn't grumble'.

Day One of the drops: one drop every two hours in left eye and one drop every four hours in the right. Tick.
Day Two: Only three times today - been out and about so couldn't stick to the regime - not looking hopeful for establishing a routine!

Have found a fab hairdresser; he was recommended by B, a neighbour, mainly because of price but I'd recommend him for doing a great job as well. He's the first since 1997/98 to give me the haircut I asked for all those years ago. Top tip: don't wear makeup when going to the hairdresser. Go completely bare-faced and if you look more gorgeous going out than you did going in then you know you've struck gold. If anyone wants his name/telno etc just email me and I'll be happy to pass it on. He also has a lovely little terrier called B who's a soft sweetheart. There are no frills, no added extras, just a good honest job. When I had my hair cut & highlighted in London it cost £108 - this time it's barely a third of that so that's another plus.

I now have two Cabbage Whites hovering and laying their eggs on my brassicas - I feel bad chasing them off but it's either them or me. I've found quite a few tiny green specks of caterpillars on the underside of the leaves and I'm squeamish about squashing so I've bought some organic pest control before I'm left with nothing at all.

P and C have almost finished the ch/hot water/bathroom. They would have finished today but when it came to fitting the bidet they discovered a manufacturing fault so the company is sending out a new one that will get here on Friday. The boys are taking tomorrow off anyway to let the system run and bed in and it also gives me time to go from room to room with my pen and notebook and make another 'little list' of what still needs to be done. There are only two more major-ish jobs I can think of at the moment: one is bookshelves, of which I need many all over the house, and the other is re-plastering the walls in the dining room alcove where there was once a cupboard housing a hot water cylinder - oh, and the fireplace that housed the Baxi back boiler. I need to measure up and find some nice Art Nouveau-ish tiles for that. It's all go!

The worst job, which I keep putting off, is to go through the piles of clothing on the floor and in the wardrobes and sort through them to see what still fits after two years in storage, what is still suitable given I'm no longer in Spain and a special bin bag (or three) for 'oh no, what was I thinking?' clothes.  Then it will all have to be washed, ironed and put somewhere.   On the other hand I could just bin the lot and start again - infinitely more preferable but definitely more expensive.  It looks like I have no choice but to pull my finger out.

I ordered the special carpet for the bathroom today so that should be fitted next week and at least one room will be decent. It's a gel-backed, waterproof, stain-proof, soft underfoot, marine blue and should look very nice indeed. The bath is fantastic - I must be a hedonist at heart - and everything is looking good to go. When everything gets too much I'll be able to lock myself in a lovely bathroom, surround myself with heavenly scents and drift away.

I hope it's all finished before too long because the Princess Theatre has some shows I'd love to see: Jersey Nights; Welsh National Opera; Sean Locke, the Vienna Festival Ballet and, say it softly, Rat Pack Live, which is some sort of tribute to Sinatra, Martin and Davis Jr ("charisma, panache and swagger").

Back soon with updates on the drops; they say it can take up to six weeks for definite improvement so I'll continue until I notice something - anything :)

Through a glass, darkly

Have been diagnosed with cataracts, of all things; I can't say I'm thrilled but it explains a great deal.  Nil desperandum and all that so I'm going to try THESE before submitting to surgery and I'll let you know how I get on.

I can't help but think (a) the drops would be more widely known about by now if they were truly effective, and, (b) I noticed that in the supporting video clip there was no mention of a product name - it was simply implied.  Still, anything's worth trying at this stage.  Will post updates :)

P, the builder, and C, the plumber, have been a pair of Stoics for the past two weeks.  The central heating and hot water system was thirty years old and pretty much defunct so they've done some serious work to install a new system, together with a new bathroom since they had to go there anyway (the only place the new boiler could go and once you're moving the loo, what about everything else?).  I think I should have been offering them home-made iced lemonade rather than tea and coffee but there you go.

It's a funny old house: the more you uncover the worse it gets.  Have found some rotten plaster and old tiles (black, of all colours) on the bathroom walls, hidden behind some lovely and innocuous white-painted weatherboarding.  And don't get me started on the slugs! I went on slug patrol the night before last and captured six in a daring shoes-on, vomit-bag-at-the-ready 2am raid.

I'm not looking for trouble, trouble came looking for a blonde and it found me:



Torquay continues to enchant.  When I walk out it's as though I'm in a Disney wonderland of happy, smiley English people and I can't remember the last time it was like this - probably when I was back home in Yorkshire.  The Devonshire people are fiercely proud and rightly so; it's only London that isn't with us.  London has always been a City in its own right with its own Police Force; the HQ of financial centres; working all the hours God sends; immigrants, and welfare. It's strangely ironic that Canary Wharf, home to multi-national Banks and epitomising the money-creating financial sector, is situated in Tower Hamlets, one of the most deprived Boroughs in the country.

My new phone came a couple of days ago and I took a lovely photo of a pair of tennis shoes while I was figuring out how it works.  Now that I have the capability I find I'm loath to post pics of ripped-out baths, radiators and boilers for you so instead I'll try to find a cabbage in my raised bed that hasn't already been eaten by Cabbage Whites.

Back soon :)

Is there anybody out there?

My new mobile still hasn't arrived so I can't show you pics of the mess or the wilted cabbage and swede in the raised beds.  Think yourselves lucky ;)

P and C arrived bright-eyed and bushy-tailed on Monday morning to sort out the central heating/hot water system and the bathroom.  My once clear front garden is again filling up with rubbish - old radiators, 30yr old gas fires, toilets, baths, pipes and all sorts of contraptions.  Fortunately I'd had the forethought to stake out the area for my raised beds and I managed to plant one of them today.  It actually took me three days: one to put it together, another to fill it with soil (carting 100L bags is no joke) and another to plant.  I doubt I'll get much this year because the cabbages and swedes were really sorry-looking by the time I planted them and some had to be discarded (over-watered in their original packaging) but, as usual, we'll see.  The heat may well finish them off.

I know I'm doing the gardening all wrong this season but I was so desperate for a corner of earth to cultivate and call my own again that I took chances with bought-in plantlets.  In another life I'd have grown from seed, nurtured in a greenhouse or conservatory and then planted out at the right time but this year hasn't been good for me so far in gardening terms and the timing is wrong.

I'm following the square foot gardening method - lots of produce in little space. It's a method by which you can grow successionally, week by week, month by month and feed a family with fruit and veg all year round.

Suki has settled in well now: he's very quiet and taken to sitting on one of the chairs in the front now that the weather is more reminiscent of his homeland. Apparently two neighbourhood cats died last week (one from a heart attack and another from old age) and that, no doubt, explains why he no longer feels the need to patrol the borders but is content to stay at home.

I met another neighbour today, C, who told me not to believe everything I hear from certain people in the neighbourhood. I learned very early on who are the gossips, which reminds me, I haven't seen A for ages now, not since he helped bring Suki back home. I wonder if he's attached? M has been holiday for the past two/three weeks so it's been quieter than usual around here.

For what it's worth, it may not be Yorkshire (nothing can ever compare) but Torquay is lovely: trees, sea, parks, people. It's the top, it's the Coliseum.



PS I almost forgot, though perhaps you'd rather not know, that last night I couldn't sleep so went downstairs to make a cup of tea. When I trod on something slippery on the way to the kitchen I thought nothing of it because I'd had red peppers for dinner and thought one might have slipped off my plate. I bent down, picked it up and, oh my! a slug. Cue screams and disinfectant. So gross. I'm seeing fewer woodlice too now so it can only be good and I hope that's the last of the slugs. Bleurgh!

A Quick Update

The most important thing first: the weather has been glorious for two whole days now - it can't last.

Of the major works, P the builder only needs to install a central heating and hot water system and that work begins a week on Monday - more upheaval and more getting worse before it gets better.  When that's done it's just the little things remaining @ £140 pd.

It won't be long now though; P's done a great job so far. It's beginning to look fab and passers-by actually stop and say how lovely the house looks now it's been painted and the garden has been cleared.  I'm not sure how many have noticed that I've taken down the ugly Sky satellite dish and replaced it with a rather swish and buccaneering weathervane - which actually works.   I love it!  If I get stuck for something to do I walk out into the middle of the road, shade my eyes and cast lingering glances of admiration upwards.  If only I'd had time to attach a pirate skull and crossbones before it went up my life would be complete ;)

Suki loves it here too.  He's establishing a little routine: eat, sleep, patrol, fight, sleep, eat, patrol, fight, sleep ...  The strange thing is that although he's now made friends with the other neighbourhood cats there's one he actually goes out on the prowl for and that one is a little three-legged cat, just like him.  You'd think that being birds of a feather they'd form a bond since three-legged cats are rare as hens' teeth, rather like those who admit to being a LibDem these days.  The trouble began when Suki saw his fellow feline doing her business in the garden the night the fences blew down and he won't forget or forgive: they are sworn enemies.  She just sits there and pouts prettily before telling him what a scumbag he is and running away - I think she might wear him down in the end.

I'm making inroads into the back yard with netting fixed to the walls and clematis and honeysuckle ready for planting; the montbretia went in a couple of weeks ago and has taken very well.  I just have to fill the beds with compost where the level has dropped and, hey presto! I'll have a lovely view from the kitchen window before you know it.  At the moment it's just paint-flaking, stone-crumbling walls that once were white but are now green and fungi-ridden. I'd like to put decking out the back too: the paving is too far gone to restore and it's quite dangerous to walk on but I think a make-over will have to wait.  The flagpole is up though - St George and a Gadsden.  It was supposed to be 20ft but I lowered it to 15ft so it isn't too intrusive for the neighbours.  I don't know them well enough yet and I'm not about to give anyone a chance to call me a racist for flying the flag of my own country, not just yet.  Let me settle in first.

I haven't begun the raised beds because I just keep adding to the pile of rubbish in the front: cardboard; plastic, ripped out kitchen cupboards/worktops/kitchen sink/taps/oven/hob/satellite dish... you get the picture.  I'm having it cleared next week before a Roma family takes up residence.  If you're wondering why the neighbours don't complain it's because my new fence is 6ft high and the pile of rubbish is 5ft 11ins.

Slowly, slowly... I'll get there in the end.

A Rollercoaster

If only days weren't a succession of ups, downs and swooping roller-coasters. Two hours with BT (total broadband and phone package) and four departments (two Scottish, two Indian) really tried my patience this morning. If I'd been wearing my shoes I swear I'd have kicked a window in but as it is I only managed to throw a cat brush across the room.

The new sink in the kitchen leaks because the plumber didn't change the connections properly last week so that's another day's work and I've just had the estimate for the central heating/hotwater (£7000): it didn't include the bathroom, which has to be done at the same time.  The wooden floor in the bathroom was cut around the corner bath and that means that when the bath goes the floor will have a semi-circle of, who knows what, below.

Happy Bunny?  Nah!

Other bad stuff: the trailing fuschias in the boxes have all died on me after only two days.

Good stuff:  P fixed the main electrical cable into the house and housed it in a conduit so I won't see sparks flying whenever I open the front door; the strawberries and tomatoes are doing well; the geraniums are fine; wallpaper is up on one wall in my bedroom and I'm just waiting delivery of a very fine 70's wardrobe.

I suppose it's to be expected that making things better means making things worse for a time but, tonight, being so far away from my sons & having very little in the way of phone calls means I feel alone.  Something's wrong when the internet being taken away from me can be the catalyst for so much pain.  Being cut off from the online press, the House of Commons debate on the Private Member's EU Referendum, and the plumber's leak were the final straw today.

I'd like to believe that tomorrow will be better but it won't.  I've done all I can do but boxes still need shifting and they're too high and too heavy for me to reach. I really want to get my garden going and so far, so good.  If you're wondering where the camera is - so am I.

Dear Diary...

Avatar Farm

Do you know that funny feeling you get?  It's the one that comes out of the blue for no reason that you can put your finger on and it settles in the centre of your chest and feels quite warm and full as it spreads up to your throat and forehead - that one.  If I had to give it a name I'd call it 'contentment' or 'love' and if I were a cat I'd be purring blissfully.

P added a terrific 'P Special' trellis today and planting is almost up-to-date so I now have six hanging baskets and eight troughs hanging off the stone walls and fencing.  Due to it being so late in the season I bought last-minute plugs or grafted plants but next year I'll be growing from seed and cuttings as usual - I'm looking forward to January 2014 when my kitchen and dining room will be filled to overflowing with seed trays and compost.

The baskets and troughs contain a mix of veg, fruit and flowers but at the moment it's mainly flowers: cascading geraniums, trailing fuchsias, tumbling tomatoes and English strawberries.  I've also planted a couple of large pots with a fig tree - donated by P - and a small bay tree.  The lilac tree has been staked to support it against the wind and it looks as though it will survive after the ivy and fungus attack.  For all that the plants aren't yet grown or in bloom the garden still looks more alive and welcoming and the birds are beginning to visit.

The Star Jasmine and the Clematis Elizabeth are doing very well in their new home, despite the fact that Suki has been caught, on numerous occasions, peeing in the Clematis - maybe it's a plant that appreciates nitrogen! Wild lilacs also grow everywhere here and they smell wonderful in the warm air. I can hardly wait for my corner of Scented Heaven Central to come into full bloom :)

I've been trying to lay out part of the raised beds but it's tricky because of the 'debris' - there won't be enough room until I've cleared it all away.  I've solved the problem of the Giulietta tomato by planting it in a large wicker hamper that once contained Christmas goodies (I knew it would come in useful one day and I've only had to hang on to it for twelve years).  I lined the hamper with weed-suppressing membrane and coco fibre before filling it with an Irish peat/organic compost/vermiculite mix.  Giulietta is a grafted Italian plum tomato so I'll stake it and love it and, once the sun begins to shine, it will repay me with a bounty of delicious tomatoes for salads and sauces.

I went to NatWest in St Marychurch today and it was what I've become accustomed to of late: 'fraud', 'fraudulent'; 'dna'; 'blood test'; 'family antecedents'...  One question I particularly liked: 'When did you first open your bank account?'  When I gave them the year, give or take a couple, I was told, 'No, what date?'  Well, I laughed my socks off and the staff - it took three of them to sort it out, including the Manager - were what I've experienced of people down here: lovely.  I just hope they recognise me next time!

The drive back was interesting - I think it was the scenic route.  Flags - Union and St George - adorned almost every building and Babbacombe Beach was very inviting. I had two useful recommendations: one for a seafront pub/restaurant called 'Angels', which I'm told does terrific food, and another for a fishmonger who gets his daily catch from the local fleets at Brixham Harbour.

It's strange here. I get the impression that, for example, our national flags would have caused more of an uproar had they been taken down for 'causing offence' rather than for having been erected in the first place.  I know I keep banging on about the difference between London and Torquay/Devon but the disconnect really is quite striking.  London is a city under siege and the fallout has yet to reach the Shires but come it will:

A barbecue weekend

Well, I did say in my last post that if Suki continued to whinge once I let him out into the front after the new fences were erected that I'd barbecue him.  The weather here is gorgeous so a barbecued drumstick that tastes 'a bit like chicken' seems appropriate, maybe with an accompaniment of a Devon tomato salad and a jacket potato with lashings of Devonshire butter.

The fences are 5ft high with no purchase for cats' claws and the stone wall is 6ft+.  He steels himself to jump almost to the top of the fence but then slides down like a cartoon cat, leaving his claw imprints on the way.  Once he worked out that he was lousy at climbing fences (three legs good, four legs better) he turned his attention to the wall.  I swear this cat, for all he was rescued in Spain, has some Yorkshire blood in him: he just won't give up.

Still, it's shown me once again what lovely neighbours I have.  Twice today, H has looked over the fence or rang the bell to let me know The Ginger Being was going walkabout and then I met A, for the first time, who proceeded to walk with me, up and down the road, calling for the flipping cat.

I say 'flipping' because the previous time I'd brought him in, courtesy of two ladies I haven't met properly yet (I like to be formally introduced y'know - Jane Austen and her dance card has nothing on me) he spotted another cat.  'He sounds very upset, poor dear'.  'Oh he is', I said, 'I'm stopping him from eating your cat for breakfast.'  Ice broken!

Being Spanish, he, Suki not A, wasn't mightily miffed in an English sort of way when I took him back into the garden, he was full-on tearing his hair out and digging holes into my arms - first time ever.  He then proceeded to attack my ankles.  Each of the savlon-smothered holes is 5-6mm in diameter - yes, I actually measured them, they're enormous gaping wounds - and I'm not a happy bunny.  I've never heard him in such a rage before. He's now sleeping next to me, curled up as if butter wouldn't melt.

No camera but the Star Jasmine (trachelospermum) (sun, part shade) is planted around the front porch, replacing the horrid ivy, and so is the Clematis Elizabeth (anywhere).  The parts of the raised beds are all laid out ready for fixing once the old fence is taken away to make room; the permeable weed membrane and newspapers are raring to go (only fit for lining cat trays and raised beds after all), and the easy-to-mix concrete (just add water) is ready to re-build the small stone retaining walls.  If only I were 'raring to go' too.

More boxes have been opened and more pictures and mirrors found; the huge sideboard is finally up on the landing and super-sized Flaming June (Leighton) has taken her place at the top of the stairs; most of the curtain rails are up now and the material and cord/piping has arrived so I can re-cover the seat of the old Lloyd Loom chair for the bathroom and finally put curtains up at the windows.

So, I'm not short of things to do but, my word, it's hard work and Suki, as you'll have gathered by now, is neither use nor ornament.  Well, actually, he is of some use: he curls up at night around my knees and keeps me warm so perhaps I should have second thoughts about barbecuing his remaining hind leg.  His vocal chords though, they're another matter ... ...

Work begins on the kitchen next week so, all being well, it will finally be up and running and ready for cooking at last and the stuff for the kitchen that replaced the stuff for the garden will be replaced by the stuff for the dining room in the hallway.  Then, to the Bank to get some cash.  Wish me luck!

Royston Robertson


PS I've just thought: now that you all know my cat's name I'd better change all my security passwords.

Hallelujah!

This must be incredibly boring for you but, for me, it's a reality survival show sponsored by Skating on Thin Ice courtesy of Idiot Productions. Who will win? Will it be me or the house?

I've been assured by the company that the fencing panels will finally be delivered next Wednesday. I'm here, ready and waiting with my paint - Cuprinol Wild Thyme since you ask - and my brush. I'll finally be able to leave the front door open and let The Whingeing One out into the front garden and if he continues to whinge after all that, well, I may just barbecue him*.

There's been more unpacking, more taking stock of what needs to be done and a long list of 'finishing' jobs to be done next week. I'm wishing now that I hadn't told P, the builder, that that's all there was because every time I walk round or unpack I find more things that I can't do or are too heavy to hang on these walls without industrial strength fixings and macho-man tools. My tool-box is pink.

Once the fences are up I'll be able to concentrate on building the raised beds and pretend that all is well - I love gardening. Getting to grips with late-Summer veg will take my mind off the leaking pipes/gutters, the central heating, the tanking, the exterior paintwork and all the other structural work that's needed. Gardening, growing something from seed, nurturing and planting out then finally picking, eating, cooking, sharing, freezing, pickling any surplus is the best thing ever. I always feel better when my fingers are in the earth and my feet are scrunching grass.

There's still no sign of the camera and I see no point in continuing here unless I find it soon since photographic details of progress and step-by-step guides were the thinking behind the blog in the first place. It's pretty much like tumble-weed over here anyway.

Be warned - I bought a 'garden thermometer' on Ebay - nice and big and cheap.  It's rubbish - 10p made in China, probably.  According to the scale at the moment it's anything between 13 and 23 degrees C or 32 if I put my finger on it because the tube containing the mercury is moveable.  Aaatishoo - bless you! It's 13.

*  Don't fret - I haven't yet fathomed out how to put it together.   Goddam these exploded views!

Brrrr....

I think I might need a hot toddy tonight (whiskey, honey, cinammon, water - not too much - and all piping hot) because I've been coughing and sneezing since yesterday. Where is the fabled English Riviera I was promised? Thank goodness for the gardening jacket and my fingerless gloves!  Who can believe that June, Flaming June, will be busting out all over any day now?  I think it must have rained almost every single day since I put a permanent foot in the Devon door. Even Suki has been sneezing - mind you, I suppose that's to be expected, he is, after all, a Spaniard so is unused to our temperate climate and chaotic weather patterns. I can see him now, three legs or not, packing his little swag-bag and heading for the Continent, a bit like Dick Whittington in reverse.

I had a terrific idea today: to take a pic of the kitchen, before, after, during, and then email the pics to myself and then upload them here. Unfortunately, today is the day the phone chose to give up the ghost completely. I've managed to keep it going for a few weeks by keeping it plugged in but today it decided to shift this mortal coil and now I can't make/receive calls or text messages at all. Again, you'll just have to take my word for it that the vintage wallpaper looks great! I'm so happy with it - it was made for me: beiges/creams/crusty loaves/eggs/teapots/wheat. It's a shame that the plaster underneath appears to have blown.

It's hard work, such hard work to the extent that I've done very little for the past two days and even before then it was little enough. Tools are missing or rusty, boxes are too high or too heavy, things haven't arrived (fences, house name and so on) and it's so cold that it's a little difficult to say the least. I think I might need three strapping lads before too long.

Suki complains all the time and when he does manage to leg it out of the front he hunts down the peaceable neighbourhood cats and engages in pawsicuffs.  He's taken a dislike to one in particular - a sweet-faced little black and white moggy from next door who's crime really does deserve an asbo - he/she did his/her business in the front garden on the very first night the fences blew down; I think that's called taking the mickey. If only the local cats knew how Suki is really all mouth no trousers they'd just stand their ground and laugh at him: the only time he stops mewling is when he's on my knee - soft or what? I hope he gets over it soon, perhaps the move to Torquay was too much for him. Imagine the noise and mayhem if I'd gone ahead with my rescued chickens straight away - the flying feathers don't bear thinking about.

As for the raised beds, I can't do those until the new fencing is erected because I won't take the risk of losing anything. The water butt is still in the hallway together with the compost etc. What is exposed at the front, however, is 1800 litres of bagged peat and compost which cost me a pretty penny so I'm hoping that M's garden-chair-thieving-scummery doesn't take a stroll in my direction this evening.

The strawberries are growing well in their troughs and the tumbling tomatoes are flowering in their hanging baskets - they're the only things I've planted this year - so sad, but at least they seem to be doing well despite not being where they're supposed to be. The Star Jasmine is a different matter: it's looking decidedly sorry for itself at the moment and I'm worried that, if I don't get it planted out soon it will die and, again, that's something I can't/won't do until the fences are up. The clematis are thriving in their pots though so they're looking good to go when they're transplanted. I've also ordered a 7ft stake to support the remains of the lilac tree to help it flourish and protect it from the battering winds (optimistic much?) and I've discovered two garden lights that still work, albeit they're no longer attached to the wall because of the ivy.

One way or another, I promise to get pics to you soon. In the meantime, I know that if I do something, no matter how small, every day, I'll get there in the end. The paint for the front door and porch arrived today so that might be the next step - if the rain clears up, although I did make a bit of a pig's ear of the letter box - painting upside-down is not recommended.

It Will Be Nice When It's Finished

That short phrase probably says it all at the moment. After decades of neglect I'm finally uncovering the grisly truth about the house - and it isn't good. It's things I wouldn't even attempt to do: plumbing leaks in the loft, no ch or hot water, rising damp everywhere (because of being built into stone walls - whoever thought that was a good idea?) Never mind, it will all come out in the wash, much better to concentrate on what's been achieved so far.

Things like: planting out the strawberries and tomatoes. I had to buy young plants this year and put them into either hanging baskets or troughs because of the time. As it is I'm not too hopeful. For the first time I bought them on eBay and I have to say they looked tired, tattered and dejected when they arrived. I've done my best with the compost but I doubt there'll be much of a crop of either this year. It's good to try things out though - I may have a couple of tomato sandwiches, a bottle of home-made sauce and one strawberry tea at the end of it but I'll know better for next year - I'm more used to seeds than ready-made plants. The greenhouse might have to go on hold though because the corner of the back garden that gets the most sun isn't really that good. I'd have to squeeze round a 6 x 6 and a 6 x 6 is neither use nor ornament really so I'm having a re-think. Maybe a cold-frame or two or the dining room table.

In my last English home I had two greenhouses and a wrap-around garden. I grew melons, peppers, aubergines, onions, potatoes, strawberries, broad beans, runner beans, peas, peaches, apricots, apples, plums, courgettes - bored yet? - garlic, tomatoes, baby sweetcorn, anything and everything. I followed expert advice and planted ten seeds hoping that one or two would sprout but they didn't: almost always they all did and I was faced with a glut. Since then I've learned to scale back, ignore the advice and just plant what I need to eat, to freeze and preserve, together with some for the birds and some for the neighbours.

Talking of neighbours, M, next door, painted her wrought-iron garden chairs last week, only to have one of them nabbed overnight by a local villain. That's why I carted all my bits and pieces into the hallway and front room when my fences blew down - I can't afford to lose them. A second-hand garden chair is one thing but the loss of 400 litres of Levingtons, the makings of four raised beds, the water butt, vermiculite, the table and chairs, the hanging baskets and troughs would hit me harder than discovering the house needed a completely new gas central heating system. Some things you invest in emotionally and some things you don't. The ch is 'just money' and since it's probable that I'll never be able to change it because it's too expensive, the theft of gardening things would hurt me more.

Things I make, things I help to grow, are important to me because that's what I like to do: I like to make curtains and cushions; I like to have a garden full of good things to eat. My parents were tailors/tailoresses before they moved on to other things and my dad had green fingers (the neighbours used to queue up the road for his rhubarb and raspberries) and one of my first memories is of being knee-high to row upon row of raspberry canes as Dad led me up and down the labyrinth, so I suppose that's where my love of gardening comes from. Children fall into that category too - things I make, things I help to grow.

I've reluctantly come to the conclusion that my glass and china will, for the most part, have to be sold; there just isn't the space here for all of it - there aren't enough alcoves for shelves or money for display cabinets. If anyone is interested in 20th century glass (Wirkkala, Sarpaneva, Quistgaard, Sklo Union and so on), teak, pottery (Carn), china,(all English apart from some 20thC German & Scandinavian) drop me a line telling me what you're looking for and, if I have anything that matches, I'll send you some pics, once I find my camera! I have some Stuart Devlin and Carlo Moretti somewhere too though I may keep those. There's also a couple of genuine Spanish, white plastic sun-loungers - I won't need them going by the weather in Torquay at the moment and the only time they were used were when my boys visited me in Spain. Cushions (deep red/yellow/reversible & washable) available too.

P, the builder, comes tomorrow. I'll let you know how we get on with re-working the kitchen. He did a fantastic job of tanking the understairs cupboard so I'm toying with the idea of actually buying a new camera so I can let you see what he's done around the house and what I've done in the garden before it's all too late.

PS I've found this: Union Street Flea Market so that gives food for thought. All I need is a huge quantity of bubble-wrap and a cabbie. Happy days!

Get The Barbie Out!

 Out of the box, that is.  It arrived this morning and I was hoping for sunny skies this evening but, alas, it is not to be.  I did consider striking it up, donning my quilted gardening jacket and Peruvian ear-warmers and sitting out there in the overcast, rainy and windy garden as I bravely defied the elements and common sense but I caved in to comfort.  I think I have to face facts: I'd be no good in a yurt.

The problem really is that I've been here since the 2nd but only yesterday did I come across something that cooked hot food - an electric plug-in grill that provided a welcome bacon sandwich.  Any port in a storm!  The cooker here is broken and my replacement won't be delivered until Thursday - and even then it won't be up and working because the chap who's fitting the new kitchen isn't free until next week.  He thinks he's coming to put up a new fence but, oh boy, do I have news for him!  I'm starving!  I wouldn't mind if living on crispbread and tuna fish or sardines had lost me a pound or two but there's no discernible difference so I'm hankering for a hot meal and lots of chocolate.

I wish I could find my camera so I could upload photos for you but I can't find it. The place is in such a state with  boxes piled so high that I need serious, rugby-league help to lift them.  I've learned a lesson since I spent the first week in pain after continuing to heave and carry boxes from room to room after the first warning signals - now, if I get a twinge, that's it for the day.  I am, however, making progress and I'm delighted but my bank manager is not because in my case 'making progress' is a synonym for spending tons of cash.

The gardens, such as they are, are lifeless and devoid of wildlife - it's very sad.  One of the first things I bought was a bird feeding station - a black twirly thing with lots of hooks that looks as if it might be suited to supporting a politician or two but, in reality, wouldn't take their weight.  I erected it at the back and waited eagerly for word to get round that there was a new 5* restaurant in town - 'FatBallsRUs'.  Hmmm... Not a tweet, not a twitter, not a cheep; nothing except one woodlouse swimming for his life in the birds' drinking water.  I may have to reconsider siting it.

The other big job I've begun, but can't finish because it almost finished me, is digging out the overgrown shrubbery and ivy that has all but murdered light and space in the front garden.  I'm hoping that my intervention has rescued the lilac tree that was infected by a fungus and from which the ivy was greedily sapping life.  There are three or four good suckers that I can cultivate but it will take a year or two until they reach full height.  I love lilacs.

It's a shame I haven't stumbled across my camera yet: it would have been nice to show you a photo of my fingernails - a sort of 'before' and 'after'.  Now you'll just have to take my word for it that they were, a few short weeks ago, long, painted and elegant. I decided to buy raised beds rather than have them made and they arrive later this week/early next together with 1800 litres of compost/peat/vermiculite/water granules/tomorite/hanging baskets and so on and so on.  By the time I've finished all this, what nails I once had will be a distant memory and the only ones of which I'll have any knowledge will be the masonry type.

Suki says 'miaow' and sends the latest pics of himself - the first is of him setting paw into the open air for the first time in two years and the second is after wearing himself out chasing woodlice and slugs around the ground floor: he's so disorientated now that he follows me around more than ever - he's even taken to sitting on the bathroom chair while I bathe, which I find slightly surreal and rather spooky to be honest.

I'm sorry the post is a bit long and rambling but so much has happened that it's difficult to be concise.  Think yourselves lucky that I haven't mentioned my lovely postie with the smiley face and the glorious Devon accent.  I'm not too keen on the bin-men though: they didn't take last week's bin which was bequeathed to me, full of smelly rubbish, by the previous owners.  I haven't got to grips with recycling down here yet either- it's different everywhere you go.  And that reminds me, I must let the Council know I'm here... and the gas... and the electricity...and the water...