The eyes have it

Lurking in the air somewhere last Sunday was a carrier of conjunctivitis. Somehow it found its way into my right eye and 24 hours later I looked as if I had walked into a tree. Unfortunately my arrival at the local surgery was just too late for an appointment, but I was invited to drive to a nearby village hall for 10 o'clock where open surgery was being held, and I would definitely be seen.

With some effort I made it to said surgery by 9 o'clock and parked in the deserted car park. By 9.30 the next "patient" had arrived and by 10.00 o'clock I was silently willing the computer to respond more quickly to keyboard prompts whilst agreeing with doctor about the problem. Duly supplied with a free prescription I headed home via the dispensing chemist. Unfortunately I was the only one at home so with some difficulty I read the microscopic instructions wrapped around a tube of what looked like good old "golden eye ointment".

Have you ever tried putting ointment into your own eyes, or eye drops for that matter?

"Head back, in front of a mirror, pull out the lower lid with one hand and holding the tube between thumb and forefinger of the other hand  insert about half an inch of ointment into the lower lid. Then blink twice". Hm.The first half inch dribbled down my cheek. The next half inch thickened one eyebrow. The third attempt was definitely much closer to the eyeball which started to water in response to being stabbed by a plastic point - however the opaque sticky mass joining top and bottom eye lid did seem to be evidence of success.

On my annual eye tests there is a moment when a massive howitzer type of machine is wheeled forward ready for the eye pressure test. This involves a puff of air onto an exposed eye ball. If ever Pavlov needed to test his theory about reactions on humans he would have done well to use this test. Just the thought of it is making my eyes damp now. When the moment comes in the eye test my eyes are already watering and the eyelids refusing to stay open now matter how hard I try. It's time for gritted teeth and a real mental effort to stare down the howitzer barrel.

Later applications of eye ointment by my wife started to produce the same reaction. I was reduced to lying on the bed, head pressing backwards as the plastic applicator approached, to a point where I was making a deep impression in the mattress. This does nothing for male ego or self esteem. 

The episode has made me very wary of pollen and dust around trees or shrubs - and very thankful for the national health service. So much so that I will be miking a small donation to a charity working for eye care in Developing countries in order to re-establish a bit of personal dignity.

Man's best friend?

Recently I was persuaded to look after a small cocker spaniel whilst his owners went on holiday. The thought of twice daily short purposeful walks in the local countryside was quite attractive and all his food had been provided so no difficult shopping decisions were involved.

His bag of dried pelleted food was in fact huge. In contrast the scoop for the twice daily ration was rather modest, being around the equivalent of a half pint mug. But what happens to that dehydrated food inside the dog? How is it possible that his internal organs can produce so much waste material - so regularly? Within minutes of feeding the conveyor belt went into action. So it became a race to get the lead on and out of the house within minutes of the last noisy slurp from the water bowl - not forgetting the need for at least two small plastic bags in the pocket. So much for gentle walks with the dog!

In the house he revealed another side to his nature, one of totally loyalty and fascination with my every move - every single move. I discovered the meaning of "dogging my footsteps" with a vengeance. Movements around the kitchen, especially with hot pans, became a challenge. Off to the garage for a screwdriver? I had a friend checking every corner and shelf. Into the greenhouse for tomatoes? Quick scent checks of all the contents seemed to be the order of the day. What about mowing the lawn - surely he would just settle in a corner and watch? No chance. The occasional ball of grass cuttings looked appetising, as did tree branches and other debris on the vegetable patch. I had planned to harvest some potatoes but thought better of it. Pulling out weeds suddenly seemed to be setting a bad example.

In the evening I  had a full and frank discussion about possession of the easy chair and we came to an agreement about not nudging small tables containing food and drink. It was agreed that computer leads could be crossed, with care! In return, Dog was allowed to bark (once)  in welcome of visitors and stretch out either on a dog duvet or in his basket. He was also allowed - in fact encouraged - to sleep contentedly for periods of the day, provided that he also slept at night - a time period that had to last until at least 07.00. because paws on wooden stairs can be deafening and also signify yet another un-successful man-made stair barrier.

So we settled into a mutually acceptable routine.

 He could do as he pleased and I would fit in. I just had no answer to his trump card - a facial expression that knew exactly how to tweak the heartstrings.

Once upon a time

The coal man used to have a horse-drawn cart. Coal delivery one day included a large fresh organic deposit in the road and quick as a flash my father was out there with his spade and wheel barrow to collect the bonus for the vegetable patch. 

Over the past week the banking gurus have decided that the period of "austerity" will be with us for a while. They speak of financial and material austerity. But it's a relative phrase and for those of the "baby boomer" generation there's some way to go before we get back to conditions of our childhood. Sharing was more common and self reliance seemed to be the natural way of things. When the first (black and white) television arrived at a neighbour's house it was exciting to be invited to watch Queen Elizabeth's coronation or a Cup Final. Simple events were fun - like playing games in the park, or going for walks and bike rides. Clothes were mended when torn; shoes repaired when the soles and heels wore out and cardboard boxes featured in many toy creations.

Last week we spent a warm summer day with grand-children doing simple activities. A good hour was spent in a fantasy land of bacon sandwiches, ham salads, cakes and ice cream with cherries dished up from a make-believe kitchen inside a play area hut. An Olympic horse jumping session followed using a springy thingy in the play area itself, then we were off to the river bank for a picnic. Curiosity levels ran high as a large French family settled on a nearby wooden picnic table and the ubiquitous bags of sandwiches, crisps, snack bars and fruit appeared on both tables. On our table it became important to sort out the bread crusts so that ducks and swans could be fed when their turn came. Two grand-daughters (with a combined age of 7)  than decided it was time to paddle in the river - certainly without skirts and tops and definitely with a grandpa and  rolled up trousers.

Next day I called in to see grandson, who greeted me through  the end of a large cardboard box, big enough to form a tunnel . Simple pleasures do still seem to satisfy - even or especially during so-called austerity times.

Stalls, plants and Belly Dancing

Jubilee celebrations in our village were a great success. Held on Bank Holiday following the 2 rainy days which hampered the Thames Pageant, and based on the local playing field we had a variety of parades, activities and stalls. The expected attendance was around 500. On the day, over 3000 "stir crazy" villagers turned up, just happy to be out of the house and looking a a good time on a tight austerity budget. The whole age-range came along.

Three permanent queues formed from the opening around 1 o'clock - at the bar; at the hot dog/burger stall and at the ice-cream van. Only the bar had the facility to re-stock sufficiently to keep going for the evening entertainment of local bands and fireworks. The Mother's Union 200 bottle stall sold out in 2 hours. The Tombola Stall with over 100 prizes managed to last 3 hours. Teas and cakes raised over £1000 for a local Hospice.

And there was definitely a happy "buzz " around.

When Morris Dancers invited audience participation a few onlookers actually joined in. "Belly Dancing" attracted a lot more when the chance came  to wobble with professionals .""Zumba".. well..there almost wasn't room on the display area for all the writhing hands/arms/legs/bodies/heads that made up the enhanced performance. Such was the community "feel-good" factor and  infectious sense of belonging that time passed quickly.

Lots of organisations raise funds through similar events. Primary school staffs backed by well motivated parents swell school funds with an annual event which we were lucky enough to attend this year. The bottle stall "raffle" sold out; the burger/hot dog stall had a permanent queue and the bar was in continuous activity. An "up-market" hog roast (or was it hog-leg roast) seemed to be making a profit. A bouncy castle on free loan for the event raised a tidy sum, as did face painting (though at a slower pace).

But what caught my eye was a plant stall stacked with box after polystyrene box of bedding plants at £1 a box or 3 for £2.50. This was another generous donation from a parent with links to a nursery. I started with 3 boxes - followed by another 3 for daughter-in-law - fully expecting a sell-out within an hour. By tea-time stalls were beginning to pack up but amazingly, not the plant stall staffed by the tired but nevertheless still enthusiastic parent I had bought from earlier. She was clearly desperate to close down - which is how I ended up with 19 boxes, containing around 200 plants and a transport problem.

That infectious feel-good factor again..

Every which way but loose.

Walking up the Wrekin last summer (i.e. March 2012) I came across a delightful signpost offering the choice of "This Way ", "That Way " or " The Other Way". Loved it. Just enough hint that you were on a recognised route, but leaving scope for discoveries, mishaps and surprises. 

Coinciding with recent monsoon rains was our pre-booked caravan holiday in England. In good weather caravan holidays are great. No schedule; fresh air; immediate entertainment for visiting older grand-children (in the shapes of other children) and an excuse to wear comfortable old clothes and look faintly ridiculous. There is just one activity which causes mild anxiety - on a par with a dodgy lock on a toilet door or a parking meter that swallows £5 in coins then deliberates about whether or not to print a parking ticket. I refer of course to awnings.

Once erected caravan awnings are very useful. Once erected. The awning of one nearby caravan was so large it needed a separate hired van for the transport of fabric, poles zip-in extras and building tools plus the labour force. You could host a dinner-dance for 12 people in this awning and just use the anchoring caravan as a changing cubicle.

We put up our awning once a year. It has taken 5 years to evolve a system that works for the two of us. It is "Our Way". My anxiety stems from other caravanners,sitting inside their awnings, watching expectantly for new arrivals who will need their advice.

"If I was you I wouldn't start from there.."

"You're doing it that way when you should be doing it this way.."

One summer the ground was so hard (honest..) I needed a claw hammer to get pegs into the ground."Here; use my rubber hammer, you'll damage the pegs.." came the inevitable comment. So I obligingly hit a peg 20 times with the proffered rubber hammer then paused to make the observation that it was slow going. I then hit a stone. "How would the rubber hammer help in getting the peg out?" I ventured to ask. Still the unwanted help hung around - even when I removed the peg with my claw hammer and repositioned it with 4 hits.

True, we did have a phase over 3 years when an extra pair of hands was needed to hold a corner pole, just for a critical minute to avoid an implosion of poles, fabric  and guy ropes. That was the moment when "help" would arrive. Using "Our Way" G can politely but firmly refuse help. I am always underneath fabric at that moment, shouting muffled instructions for the next pole, dripping with perspiration and hoping small plastic wall brackets will last another year.

I don't offer to help put up awnings, unless asked.Even then I will only do exactly what is asked, with my mouth firmly shut but with the hint of a malicious grin. If anyone needs to know, then I will explain "Our Way".

But I will not help with dining table, chairs and dance floor - nor will I use a rubber hammer.

The World from 90 centimetres

There has been much in the media about London’s new building, The Shard. 

Views from this tallest building in Europe are stunning, say the tv presenters. New aspects of London appear for the tourist and the London skyline itself is changed.

Some weeks ago, whilst multi-tasking the jobs of preparing for a community lunch and looking after grandson, I re-discovered the world from a height of 90 cms. Community lunch is held in a local church - a classic old building full of stained glass windows, pews, stone effigies, curtains and creaky wooden doors. With one eye on Rascal and the other on the collapsible tables that I was putting together I was intrigued by the exploration route he was following.

Up the wooden ramp used to avoid the high step which separates the choir end from the congregation, slowly along the pews, little fingers exploring the feeling of carving and the hard marble tomb that “towered” above his eyes. What was he finding? Needless to say the tables went up at record speed and I ambled over to share in the discoveries. Rascal was about 3 weeks into the art of walking so the world was now his to enjoy. Getting down to his level I found all sorts of small intricately carved features, traceable cracks in the tomb, small finger sized holes in the end of pews, subtle changes of height in the floors and well crafted colourful kneelers that previously I had just not noticed, viewed from a higher eye-line.

Likewise in our garden I have rediscovered the fun of hide and seek amongst the shrubs and tall plants. All the mobile small visitors to our garden love playing hide and seek; an infectious game which draws in adults of all ages and proves equally as popular as the trampoline purchased in a mad moment by Grandma with the plan of keeping up her fitness. 

This week discoveries will involve a caravan, awning, a large field with horses and tractors nearby and other small mobile children with a zest for what's new in life.

 Can’t wait!

Reflections on a summer day

It's very easy to control the rain. You just decide to re-discover 50 year old meccano skills by purchasing a lean-to greenhouse to stand next to the garage. The glass and aluminium structure lean-to  arrives in 5 heavy well-sealed packs and at the bottom of the last pack you find the instruction booklet, clearly written by someone who knows greenhouses. This is an unfortunate decision on the part of the manufacturer. The booklet should be written by someone like me who does not know greenhouse construction and who needs large print, lots of diagrams and an indication of how long each stage should take. 

I had decided to build a 3 sided brick base myself  and derived  a lot of pleasure in recycling bricks from other buildings in the garden, to create the precisely measured horizontal and vertical structure on which the frame would stand.(Spirit levels also need to be in large print with large bubbles). However, at that point the unfortunate rain control skill kicked in. So a job that should have taken about 5 days (grandpa pace) has actually taken 6 weeks. Every time I thought about building a section, the rain would begin.

This also meant that I have actually created the unwanted garden feature of a lake - which formed within my base walls. Fortunately the cement could not survive an attack by masonry drill and drain holes were created to drain away the reservoir, so removing the threat of water finding a way through hairline cracks in the backwall to invade items stored in the garage that do not respond well to damp. 

Yesterday I re-hung the greenhouse door the right way round and moved 5 thriving outdoor tomato plants into their new home. Elsewhere in the garden other vegetables are also thriving thanks to generous water supplies. I am now definitely proposing to build an oudoor rainfed irrigation pond over the next 2 months .. in the hope that we will have the frustration of wall-to-wall sunshine.