What Happened To Honesty?

We're still in Rochester at the moment lending a helping hand to Paul and his family but I had to pop back to Framlingham last night as we'd arranged with auctioneers Abbotts of Campsea Ashe to take some stuff in to their sale room. They've a regular weekly sale on a Monday and it's so popular that you need to book a slot weeks in advance. As I walked towards the car, which was parked on the main road, I noticed a wing mirror cover lying on the pavement. "Hmm" I thought "that looks ominously like my wing mirror". Sure enough I walked around to the driver's side to find this.

No note, no insurance details - nothing. As you can see, I was parked within a space and, although the mirrors protrude it's a main road with plenty of passing space. So I had to drive back to Framlingham with reduced visibility.

I got back to Fram, loaded the car to the gunnels with all sorts of stuff from the garage including these good Victorian items, some great garden planters and candle holders and much much more and went to bed. I took the load to Abbots first thing this morning and then headed back to Rochester via Toyota in Ipswich to sort out the mirror. It's going to be £278 to fix it which sort of negates the purpose of my drive home as, although the stuff I've taken to the auctioneers cost the best part of £1,000 I'm not expecting much more than £300 when all the charges have been taken off.  

I don't want to get on a soapbox here but what happened to honesty? I can understand ignoring perhaps a tiny scratch (although a brief apology under the windscreen would be welcome) but to leave someone with a bill for almost three hundred quid and no recourse to the insurance (excesses and no claims considered), is criminal. If someone took £300 from your wallet they would be a crook, what's the difference? I said no soapbox so that's the end of the matter but I would ask anyone to think twice about the consequences of their actions and ask themselves if they would be happy to be on the receiving end.

On a positive note I should get the proceeds of the sale of my Japanese collection in a couple of days. I've been thinking of replacing the car. It's quite amazing that the proceeds from these three little bits

of pottery could possibly buy this.

We'll wait and see. 

And if you want to grab a real bargain, get along to Abbotts of Campsea Ashe on Monday.

It's Over

We're in Rochester today and for the next few days visiting our family but we briefly got back to Framlingham from Scotland on Saturday to find something that we had begun to think we would never see - the house project is FINISHED. Yes, whilst we were up in Scotland, Suffolk's finest decorator Gerald Clements had been to put some finishing touches to Marion's potting shed and painted the garden walls, DNA Landscapes' contractor had laid the new driveway and Addison Electrical had completed the garden wiring.

The shelf in the potting shed looked out of place.

So Gerald painted it and gave it a removable cover.

He also spruced up the paintwork which the contractors had left looking a bit shoddy

The grey walls are less obtrusive and go well with the bi-foding doors.

The lighting is a nice finishing touch to the garden

And there's finally room to both park the car and turn it round.

So, at last, almost eleven months after work first started on the house, we've done everything we planned (and quite a bit more). Here are some before and after photos - each pair taken from roughly the same spot.

 

So, that's it. Eleven months of hard work has finally come to fruition. The big question now is "what on earth am I going to find to blog abut in future?"

Don't worry, I'm sure I'll think of something.

A Welcome Visitor

When we bought the caravan here at Craigtoun Meadows in St Andrews we did so with visions of being overrun with grandchildren and making regular visits to the excellent playground and woodland walk which make the site such a pleasant one. In reality we've not had as many opportunities as we would like to entertain the grandkids yet but we managed to bring Rose here yesterday and had a great time with her.

Last time we brought her to the playground Rose barely fit in the swings but now she's really at home and loves swinging as high as she can go.

Sitting on a bouncy butterfly takes an enormous amount of concentration. 

Marion and Rose had the whole playground to themselves and Rose had a great hour and managed to try everything. 

We look forward to entertaining her and our other grandchildren many many times in the future .

The Tour De Fife

I am indebted to my neighbour Wilfrid for coining the heading to today's blog. He came up with the title when I told him of the marathon bike ride that I completed on Saturday. Marion was still in Kent so, with no fields available to detect and Sarah and Duncan with no babysitting needs, I was at a bit of a loose end. The weather was glorious so I headed out from the caravan at about 9.30 and followed my nose.

After struggling up the hills of Denhead and Strathkiness I headed to the beautiful Tentsmuir Forest where the cycling is flat and easy and before I knew it I was in Tayport. This is the farthest that Marion and I had ventured on our bikes so far so anywhere West of here was unchartered territory for me as far as cycling was concerned.

Ten minutes past Tayport I came in sight of the Tay Bridge. I was pretty tired by this point but the bridge spurred me on as a goal and I carried on pedalling. As I approached the bridge the cycle track (National Route 1) offered two options - to cross the bridge or carry on to Newport On Tay.

As I hadn't been to Newport before I took the second option and rode into and around this small riverside town stopping off for a quick coffee and cake to give me a bit of energy before turning back towards the bridge.

Which I obviously had to cross simply because it was there and also because there is a super safe elevated cycle lane in the middle.

I turned round when I got to the end of the bridge, pausing only to take this photo to prove that I had done it. After that it was the same route back to St Andrews (missing out the diversion to Tentsmuir). I got back at about three thirty after about five solid hours of cycling. I don't want to exaggerate how long the ride was but it certainly exceeded forty miles and was probably not far short of fifty. I enjoyed it and am certainly managing to climb some of the hills with less effort now so it must have had some benefit.

Marion arrived on Sunday evening and we've enjoyed being back together again after our long spell apart. We're helping Sarah with a bit of babysitting this week and then it's back to Framlingham for a day on Sunday before helping out with some more babysitting duties next week in Kent. 

It's quite hectic this retirement lark but we wouldn't change it for anything.

I Ain't Afraid Of No Cows

It’s Friday evening here at the caravan site which means just one thing – if you want to use the internet you’re basically ****** (insert your own expletive of choice here). You see, whilst the internet is not exactly on a par with that geeky guy in the BT ad’s, during the week it does work (after a fashion). As soon as more than two people with an iPad or with kids who are into the latest worldwide blockbuster game turn up it grinds to a halt. So, if you are reading this in August, apologies, it was written on Friday 24^th May.

I’ve had a day on my own. Although I offered my services to Sarah I didn’t get called up for babysitting duty so I decided to go metal detecting. As I drove around my favourite spots my heart sank as I found all the fields freshly sown with crops and out of bounds. So I headed for some pasture and asked the farmer if it would be okay for me to try my luck. “Fine” he says “The cows willna bother you”. The phrase “The cows willna bother you” rang alarm bells in my head and conjured up visions of me and my dad, weighed down by an assortment of fishing tackle, being chased by a herd of bullocks across an Irish field sometime in the 1970’s. I was also aware of a recent news story in which a man was trampled to death by a herd of cows.

With nowhere else to go it was a case of braving the cows or no detecting. I wasn’t expecting to find much. Past sorties on this field had produced scores of pre-decimal coins and that was all I expected with the faintest hopes that a silver (or even gold) one might turn up.

And the coins duly turned up along with a heart shaped horse harness fitting, which was a welcome novelty. The cows were lying down in the distance ignoring me. But I wasn’t ignoring them and had an eye on them for the slightest movement. Sure enough, about an hour after I arrived, one stood up. I know it was only a cow but she had some pretty big horns. She pawed the ground like a bull facing a toreador and let out a moo, which I think translated as “there’s that bloke who ran like the clappers when confronted with a few little Irish bullocks. Let’s show him what Scottish cows are made of”. Instantly the rest of the herd was on its feet and within seconds were galloping (if cows gallop) towards me.

This time, carrying just my lightweight XP Deus detector, I was not hindered by fishing rod, basket, keep net, landing net, groundbait and a ton of maggots and headed for the gate. Fortunately the cows ran towards where I had been rather than where I was heading and I made it to the gate with enough time to have given them the finger (had I been so inclined). And then I realised that that was the day’s metal detecting finished.

So I went off on my bike. It was a glorious spring afternoon and, after a pretty difficult ride I drove down to St Andrews and walked around its most beautiful spots before buying some food to make my evening meal.

Tonight it was chicken Caesar salad. And very nice it was too. Only two days before Marion arrives. I can’t wait to see her.

   

Perfect Weather...................For Reading

With the weather here at the caravan in St Andrews no different to how it was when we were here in January there was no chance of getting on the bike today. I'm not a fair weather cyclist (honestly) but when the wind is strong enough to keep Sir Bradley Wiggins at a standstill and it's so cold that the central heating is on at full blast, it's time to leave the bicycle in its locker.

I had a good day - lunch at Zizzis in town with Sarah, Duncan and Rose followed by a trip to the supermarket and an hour or so babysitting. But after dropping Rose back home and with the hurricane force winds eliminating any thoughts of getting out with the metal detector I decided to head back to the caravan and read.

We loaded the Kindles up a week or so ago so I had a good look through what we had downloaded. I found one called Crooked Letter Crooked Letter which I think Marion must have bought after it got good reviews in The Guardian.

Although I suppose that you could describe it as a thriller (which is not my usual cup of tea), the blood and gore were left to the reader's imagination leaving us with an intriguing story of two Mississippi boys one black, one white, one cool, one not, whose lives are inextricably linked. The novel jumps between their 80's childhood and the present where one is now a cop seeking a missing girl, the other a vilified loner who everybody thinks is linked to her abduction. Tom Franklin creates a vivid and atmospheric evocation of life in the backwoods and swamplands around the small town of Chabot with well drawn characters you can see and dialogue you can hear. I read the book in no time and felt like I had just watched a very good film. Great stuff.

I'm glad that I managed to finish it quickly as Scott Pack (blogger meandmybigmouth who is linked over there on the right on my blog list) is doing another of his periodic online book clubs next week. This time it's The Amazing Adventures Of  Kavalier And Clay and I'm really looking forward to reading this as it looks very different and entertaining. I hope it is as I am regularly disappointed in trying to find entertaining books. I'm doubly pleased that this was chosen as Scott had put it to a vote and it was neck and neck with current bestseller Gone Girl which both Marion and I read recently. We both wondered what all the fuss was about. Marion hated it and I thought it was so-so although we both agreed that it is a page turner albeit one with a big disappointment at the end. 

In an attempt to read something entertaining, I read Oh Dear Sylvia by Dawn French a few weeks ago and, although it is readable, I was expecting something funny from such a great comedienne. It didn't raise as much as a smile I'm afraid. If anyone can recommend something to make me laugh I would love to hear from them.

Say Cheese For Nanny

I spent a lot of today with granddaughter Rose. I took her to her dance class in Cupar this morning and , amongst other things in the fun filled hour, enjoyed singing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star (as well as doing all the actions) and doing a toddler caterpillar conga where I, as both the only man there and the only person over thirty five, must have looked slightly incongruous. Fortunately nobody asked me if I'd missed my way to the bowling green and Rose had a lovely time.

She's grown up in the two months since we were last here in St Andrews. She's not that much taller but she's got more teeth (as demonstrated in her photo for Nanny above) and her talking has come on in leaps and bounds. I haven't experienced a child so small holding a proper conversation and speaking in sentences of half a dozen words or more before (and she's grammatically correct too). It must be in the genes. Or there again it could be because Sarah and Duncan have been such attentive parents. She's going to be a wonderful big sister when her new sibling arrives in the autumn.

After we got back from Cupar I did a further short stint of babysitting. Rose enjoys being read to whilst sitting on a huge beanbag that Sarah and Duncan have in their lounge. Sitting in the beanbag and reading the story is fine but getting out of the beanbag is another matter and, enveloped in it's folds, I felt like I was drowning in a giant blancmange and had visions of having to call for assistance to get out of the damn thing. Fortunately a puzzled Rose, who is used to her parents springing out of the bag in a trice, offered me a hand and I somehow extricated myself from its clutches. I think we'll read tomorrow's story on the sofa.

After that it was another three hour bike ride before returning to the caravan for tea. I was going to watch TV but there's nothing on that I fancy. Last night I started to watch The Fall on BBC2. I only lasted five minutes. The sadistic sexual assault and murder of a young woman and her subsequent immersion in a bath for some sort of ritual cleansing made me wonder why everyone is surprised when people like Stuart Hazell and Mark Bridger do the sort of things they do. I am certainly no prude but to go into such detail was simply uncalled for at best and voyeuristic at worst.