12 January: You can't have your joys ...

...without your sorrows, as my mother used to say.

So yesterday I lost a pound and a half of that extra Christmas weight, set a new personal best in archery practice, and had a violent attack of sciatica.

Oh well, it makes life more interesting, I suppose.

6 April: Wednesday walk on Tuesday

Today we did something we'd spoken about idly several times since getting the Bus Passes - we took the bus from the end of our street, got off at a convenient place for coffee and a bun, then walked home. It took less than 2 and a half hours.

We managed to walk down one path we've never been along before, and found that another track through the woods has been repaired and a footbridge improved since we last came that way.

We walked through fields where skylarks were flying up on both sides, singing as they hung on the breeze. The bumble bees are just emerging this week, too, so spring is really under way.

Crossing this field, we wondered if we were missing something -


- but there was no invisible fence. It might have been a magic stile, the entrance to another world. We went round it, just in case.

3 August: Of bus passes and books

In the Good Old Days, back in 2007 or 2008, an OAP was able to stroll down to the local district council office, where the person at the reception desk used a digital camera to take a reasonably flattering photograph, and after a brief chat about the weather, handed over the completed and laminated bus pass, complete with photo, which had just emerged from a machine on the counter, and the OAP walked out to the nearest bus stop for their first free ride.

Then in April the district councils were abolished, and in the interests of efficiency and improved service (which of course means vastly increased expenses for the councillors - and increased council tax) we are left with just the County Council.

Now a bus pass seeker strolls down to the local council office, the person at the reception desk takes a digital photograph, and informs them that the bus pass will be issued from the County Council offices in "7 to 10 days", presumably by post, with the extra cost of an envelope and stamp.

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Recent reading has included an excellent book by Geoffrey Moorhouse - The Last Office: 1539 and the Dissolution of a Monastery. Lots of fascinating detail about the Benedictine monastery in Durham (the cathedral was part of it), the Prince Bishops, and local and national history.

The medieval theme continues with the current book, Britain in the Middle Ages, an Archaeological History, by Francis Pryor. A different approach to the period, which gives a bit of an insight into everyday life, which is always far more interesting than battles and kings.

And there's been a book about knitting - Invisible Theads in Knitting by Annemor Sundbo; this one was obtained from the author at Woolfest. It has a couple of irritating places where a sentence is unfinished at the bottom of a page or section, and the end of that sentence just never appears. But it's got lots of really interesting stuff about Norwegian knitting; much of the information comes from garments that were sent to her wool recycling mill. There are lots of illustrations and a few patterns along the way, though I haven't tried any of them - yet.

28 April: Just blink

It must be old age, but I have no idea where last week went.

There was a lot of sitting in the garden, knitting, and a pleasant walk (the first house martins are back at the local farm), some gardening and some bead-ear-ring-making; and a shopping expedition.

In the garden, the apple trees are covered in fat pink buds, the snakeshead fritillaries are mostly over, the bluebells (only ours are pink) are nearly out; there are violets, auriculas, comfrey, cowslips and hybrid primulas, bergenias, daffodils, lungwort, hellebores, two tulips and two hyacinths, one rhododendron/azalea, honesty, and about a thousand forget-me-nots - a bit of colour.

There are 3 sorts of potato in bags on the paving, all looking good, and some seedling lettuces on the windowsill in the conservatory.

And we have some birds coming to the feeders; the regulars include a pair of robins (their nest is probably in our neighbour's garden), a pair of house sparrows, a pair of collared doves, several blackbirds, the dunnocks, and recently a small band of starlings - entertaining when they try to hover, but also very untidy feeders. The sparrowhawk has visited, but not fed.

29 August: Lucky, lucky, lucky!

No, not a Lotto win, but the next best thing.

I have been sent an entry coupon for a Free Prize Draw to win a FREE Mobility scooter.

The blurb lists lots of exciting benefits, none of which seem to mention an inability to walk, indeed one of the plus features is that it goes into the boot of your car (perhaps not my car, which is very small). Also I could "travel anywhere you like", with the possible exception of footpaths with stiles, and "Go on trips or a holiday".

Actually, that's just what I am about to do, though with a pair of trainers, a rucksack, and my cycle helmet, not a Mobility scooter.

21 July: OAP

I've been hanging out with the old folk.

One day last week there were a couple of things to be done in Durham, it was raining, and I couldn't think of anywhere to park the car that was convenient for all destinations, so I went on the bus.

I don't use the buses much, for the same reasons as everyone else - standing around waiting for ages in a cold and draughty bus shelter; unreliable arrival of buses; perching a 5 foot 10 body on a seat designed for a dwarf very short and slightly anorexic person; the driver trying to throw you through the front windscreen; and it takes forever to get to not quite near enough where you're going.

But hey, it's free now (or rather better value for the council tax), and there was nothing else to do that day, so with my bus pass in my hot little hand, I joined the queue shuffling and grumbling in the nearest bus shelter.

4 buses an hour from one company, and 3 buses an hour from another - so a 20 minute wait. Out of the 25 or so passengers, only one needed to pay. Isn't a bus-ful of damp pensioners depressing? At least the driver was encouraging introductions - a violent lurch as I was getting out of my seat threw me into the lap of another passenger.

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Then there's M&S's cafe - is there some sort of invisible screening going on? Completely infested with the elderly; made me feel like getting a grey rinse.

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And although I knew Monday's a bad day to go to the Post Office, it was a lovely morning for a walk, and I can't tax the car online, as DH's name is on the registration document. There were also some letters to post (how quaint and old-fashioned!), so as the local Post Office has been closed, I strolled to the next nearest, only just over a mile.

There was a short queue when I arrived, but one customer was posting 4 large carrier bags-ful of parcels - another e-business flourishing. One clerk went out the back and came back with coffee cups. By this time the queue was 25 or 30 strong, shuffling audibly, and starting to grumble. Churlish, as the staff were obviously taking their tea break as they worked, and it's more than likely that few of those queueing, in one case for only one stamp, had anything better, or even else, to do.

So I made a point of chatting in a friendly fashion to the clerk, just so that she saw a smile at least once this morning.

Looks like rain again - still, mustn't grumble....

24 August: Raby Castle (and socks)

Yesterday was a lovely day, so I had a little trip out. Raby Castle is not far away, and I have never been to the castle or the gardens. Sadly, the kiosk attendant didn't challenge my request for an OAP ticket.

In fact, the gardens were pleasant, but a little bit dull. This was the fanciest part, with a view across the little valley to the castle.


The deer in the park were obligingly posing for photographs. The wall in the background of this picture is the outside of the gardens, and there are wonderful fruit trees trained on it, all loaded with pears and apples.


Huge old trees stand in the park - this chestnut has very textured bark.


Part of the moat has water, fed by a small stream. Plenty of ducks live on it, and the deer and cattle trample parts of the bank when they go to drink. I didn't photograph the cattle, as they were not only enormous, but also horned, and were lying quietly in the sunshine - no need to upset them.


There was an extra charge to go into the castle, and a look at the guide book in the gift shop convinced me that I didn't want to go in. Visitors were strolling about on the south-facing terrace which overlooks the lake , and round the west facing entrance to the inner courtyard - I waited till they had moved on before I took this picture from across the moat -

It would perhaps have been more enjoyable in company, although most of the couples I saw there were sitting dourly reading the paper (some of them just in the car park!). I took my own picnic, as had most other people, although the stables tea-room seemed to be doing a good trade. The shop had the usual selection of fancy key-fobs, expensive mugs, and strange music CDs. For a change, the toilets were unvisited, but I did have a look round the adventure playground, partly to see if the grandchildren might enjoy it on a future visit, and partly to see if there were any swings I could play on. No swings, and the death slide was in use.

The latest pair of socks - yes, I'm bored of socks, but there was this ball of Socka wool I bought at the Woolfest, which needed to be knitted up. Lovely subtle colours, sufficiently subdued for DH. Wonder how he got that scrape on his shin?

10 July: Restful retirement

Still haven't started to knit the Yarn Yard merino - but I have dyed 100 gms of Blue Faced Leicester, spun and finished 50 gms of it, and the second 50 gms is spun and waiting to be plyed.

Then I've also knitted a mitten for a project later in the year; the second one is up to nearly the end of the ribbing and the start of the pattern.

Oh, and I've hand sewn a curtain for the bathroom. From hideously expensive embroidered and beaded silk. Lined with polyester chiffon. All of which was extremely tricky to handle and sew. And when I put it up, thinking it was finished, I spotted a mistake, which meant taking it down and altering one side; that took most of this afternoon.

As well as cleaning, laundry, shopping, cooking, gardening, dabbing a bit of paint and a bit of Pol*filla where walls had got a bit knocked, and of course watching Le Tour.

And now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to have a quiet half hour on the exercise machine.

28 May: Still lazy

Is it the weather? The end of the holidays? The imminent arrival of workmen? Whatever it is, I just can't get motivated.

The purple merino scarf (not a football one) has been finished for ages, but I haven't got round to blocking it yet. A crochet project to use up odds end ends has been lurching onwards for some time, and still a way to go; and there's a pair of socks in progress - in a mixture of Blue Faced Leicester wool and soy. Very vegetarian.

StatCounter shows that people have been here looking for "fibonacci knitt**g stripes" (too City and Guilds for my liking), and "agapanthus producti*ns" (though probably not photos of one admiring itself in a mirror), and the evergreen "fred knit**e".

Apropos of which, I see the Zimmers (google them if you don't already know) are getting a whole hour's TV programme this evening. While I admire them for getting up and singing, I don't think the resulting performance is nearly as good as the Young@Heart Chorus.

TV tonight brings the end of the current series of New Tricks. Not popular with the critics, it seems, but I've enjoyed them all. It may not be Art, but I know what I like, and it's not Dr Who any more.

Another series sneered at by the critics, but which I have enjoyed, is Kingdom - wonderful locations, and even if the scripts are nearly as wooden and crackers as Morse or Midsummer, the acting is far better. You will note that I prefer the more gentle, middle-aged dramas, in finite series. Plus, of course, You've Been Framed, and Police, Camera, Action. When they finish, what are we going to have left to watch? Nature programmes?

I've already watched spring here, and it's been strange; plants that normally flourish are struggling, others are doing better than usual, the house martins are back, but only about a dozen of them instead of the scores of last year, the blue tits don't seem to have nested nearby this year, though the magpies have 3 juveniles with them (perhaps they have eaten all the blue tit chicks?). Now the roses and the clematis are out and the forget-me-nots are going over, it's more like summer than spring.

With a bit of luck, there may be photos of bathroom devastation tomorrow - but there again, am I bovvered?

20 May: Back from Jersey

That is not a knitting reference.

We arrived back yesterday lunch-time, and since then we've waded through the pile of mail on the mat, washed most of the laundry, been to the supermarket, watered the house plants, cut the grass and tidied the garden - now needing a lie down!

We had a great holiday. In spite of the weather - variously mist, rain, cloud, wind, and just a bit of sunshine - we managed to do many of the things we wanted to, and have returned rejuvenated, and with batteries re-charged.

Actually, if you are under 75, it's not hard to feel young on Jersey. At Newcastle Airport, the tide of grey heads creeping and hobbling towards the plane was slightly alarming. And the tourist buses and cafes were also wall to wall with white hair and walking sticks. But when I claimed the reduced OAP entry fee for one attraction, the dear lady was very reluctant to believe me.

It was strange to use our usual money and get foreign coins and pound notes (yes, pound notes) in change. There are what seem to be about 2 million cars on the island, mostly enormous BMWs, Mercedes, giant 4x4s, or people carriers. Everywhere is prominently labelled *No Parking*, or *Parking for Residents Only*, so there seems to be a problem with cars. Having said that, all the drivers are extremely courteous to each other, and to the cyclists and pedestrians on the narrow, twisting, and often pavement-free roads.

Little of the island is left from housing and agriculture. There were, surprisingly, not many cows to be seen, but many, many fields were devoted to potatoes - and if they are all Jersey Royals, they may be putting too many eggs (or indeed potatoes) into one basket. Remember what happened to Ireland when they went in for a mono-culture of potatoes? All the woods are in valleys too steep and rocky, or too marshy, for other use, and there are small areas of nature reserve and sand dunes.

We avoided all the parking problems by not hiring a car, but walking everywhere we could, and using the excellent bus network. We did go to several of the visitor attractions, and wondered what the many German tourists felt about the emphasis on WW2 and the Liberation.

Most of the cafes, hotels, and tourist shops are staffed by people from Eastern Europe - as was the excellent Polish Deli near our apartment.

The photos - over 200 - have been downloaded to the computer, but not yet sorted out. They will follow in due course.

Before I whizz round and see what everyone else has been up to in the past week, I'll leave you with the story of the piece of cod that passeth all understanding.

Having arrived on Saturday afternoon and had a brief walk round the locality, we were very hungry. (When on holiday, we are not strict veggies, as it's not always possible, and local food enhances the trip.) So we thought fish and chips were a good and simple meal. And we ate probably the worst cod and chips that either of us has ever had. A day or two later we were in the Jersey Museum (it was raining), and there was a large display devoted to the cod trade, which claimed that the trade in dried cod had completely disappeared; well of course it hasn't, it's alive and well, and being badly battered, teamed with tasteless soggy chips, and being sold round the corner!

22 April: Overdoing it

I've been trying to find a new pair of slippers for a while. The current substitute, some canvas beach shoes, are falling to bits.

It's not Christmas, but a few shops do have slippers. Only not in my size. Unless they are men's leather ones, or sheepskin ones (no thanks), or those check woollen ones with a zip up the front.

So I decided that I would make some, out of felt. Some Internet research gave me some ideas, and when I was in town I found a pair of shoe insoles which will make good non-slip soles. (Don't want to go and slip in your slippers, do you?)

Yesterday I wasted several sheets of paper drawing up a satisfactory pattern. And I planned to make the felt this morning.

So as I was getting dressed, DH suggested we go for a bike ride. It was overcast, with rain forecast for later, so it seemed sensible to go out during the better part of the day.

We ended up cycling about twice as far as any ride we have done recently. And this poor OAP had 2 asthma episodes on the hills. My knees were very wobbly when we got home.

A shower and some lunch, then I got out the felt-making stuff. It needed to be good and thick for slippers, so I made as large a piece as I could lay out, and used plenty of wool.

Hard work, making felt, all that rubbing and rolling and kneading. But the final felt looks good, nice and thick, fairly even and flat. I can dye it any colour I choose.

The only snag is that it's not quite big enough to cut out all the pieces for both slippers - I'll have to make another piece tomorrow!

Think I'll go and have a lie down.

13 March: Old?

I suppose it started when the checkout person at B&Q asked if I needed a man to help me with the bags of sharp sand I'd just bought.

As the men in the store seem to be either under 18 and built like a yard and a half of pump water, or over 75 and built like pumpkins, I declined. I may be in receipt of the Old Age Pension, but I can still deal with a couple of half-hundredweight plastic sackfuls of sand.

But it's been nagging at me. Do I look frail? My hair's not grey or permed, I wasn't wearing a beige car coat, and at 5 foot 10, I seldom get people offering help. The slight frown caused by concentration and short sight frightens most strangers.

I've also recently been reading a few blogs by older people - by coincidence, not because I've been looking for them. And last night's knitting was accompanied by some talking heads on the TV twittering on about *baby boomers*. I was concentrating on the pattern, as I had to work out some shaping, and I'd already had to unpick one area where I'd found a mistake 9 rows earlier, so I wasn't really listening properly, but they seemed to be complaining on the one hand that old folk were spending all their pensions and capital on themselves instead of leaving it to their children, and on the other hand that old folk were a drain on the economy and the NHS.

Now, come on - if us oldies are spending all our money on kite-surfing and facials, that is providing a rich living for the providers of those services. We are still paying for our cars, fuel, food and clothes, and helping to keep those businesses going. When we go on outings we support the visitor attractions or cafes we go to. We are still paying our Council Tax and Income Tax.

And we all know that the NHS can damage your health if you get near it. Lots of us work quite hard at keeping ourselves fit and well without bothering with doctors. Without the old, there wouldn't be much call for consultants in geriatrics, or hip replacement surgeons.

It's all relative anyway - when my Dad was 80, he used to go down to the local club to help out with the old folks - the Over 60s.

Why do we all have to be labelled and pigeon-holed? My age is not the most important thing about me, nor is it about anyone else - unless they choose to be a *rebellious teenager*, *just a housewife*, a *little old lady*, or whatever. (Men can play this game too, if they want.)

People's passions and open minds are far more interesting.

That reminds me - labels. I've been trying to label the old posts on the blog, so that if you really want to you can look at all the knitting related bits. The labelling is probably as patchy and rambling as this post.

25 February: Time flies

It's been a funny old week.

It must be an effect of retirement, because DH thinks it's been a long week, but I feel as if yesterday was Tuesday, when I made my bid for Wildlife Photographer of the Day.

So perhaps it's been a time-warp, or a worm-hole in the fabric of time, or I've been in overdrive and the rest of the world's been in slow motion. Whatever.

But I've been busy all week, and practically nothing to show for it. OK, I read a book one day, unable to put it down; and there are 2 scarves freshly knitted and dyed, now spread out to dry in the bathroom; and there are 2 waterbutts in the conservatory, waiting to be installed - now that could be a saga, or even a series of photos for you and my other reader to caption..... So, try to contain your excitement while you wait for that.

*And Google's top choice for "cat work in Consett"? Well, here, naturally.

13 February: It must be true...

Sunday's posting was contributed by Time Lords, or Al Zheimer, it certainly wasn't evidence that I don't know what day it is!

Mumble, mumble, OAP, dribble, dribble, OAP, shuffle, shuffle.....
........

Anyway, when DH came home yesterday (which was, I think, Monday), he told me that people had been evacuated from houses very near our home, because of a gas leak.

There's possibly a certain former JCB driver going to sign on this morning, after smashing through a large gas main - aren't the mains coloured bright yellow so that you can see them in the ground?

Ceefax had a report that the road was closed; the local TV news programmes had live, on-the-spot reports from a frozen guy (who used to wear surprising red socks when he used to do court reports, as I recall) standing beside a pitch dark road in the wind (very exposed bit of road, that) looking very serious and telling everyone that the gas supply to thousands of houses in a wide area was off. The last of his reports I saw contained the promise that if you still had gas, it would be going off very soon, and might be off for days.

Funny - we haven't had any interruption at all to the gas supply yet, and Ceefax now tells us that the main was repaired early this morning. There do seem to be houses without a gas supply today, but it seems that the problem has been nowhere near as dramatic or widespread as advertised.

Why must the media try to make things sound so much worse than they might really be? Over-the-top drama belongs in the soaps.

Perhaps the media needs making healthier by the addition of a large dose of salt.

Bird flu? Looks like the slaughter of those thousands of turkeys stopped it before it spread to every corner shop in the land. David Cameron's drug-taking? Looks like it might have been just a bit of a schoolboy experiment. And let's not start on WMD...

12 December: The End, or The Beginning?

And just as I'd decided what I want to be when I grow up.*

Today was my last day at work. I am now on leave until the end of next week, when I become an Old Age Pensioner.

If I repeat that often enough, will I stop giggling?

Anyway, with luck I'll never see the inside of a court again. I shall miss the people I worked with, and all the chat - but I probably won't miss the customers, though I'll be seeing plenty of them every time I go out. And if I fall asleep after lunch, there won't be the worry that I might snore, or fall over.

And now, to fill the time, perhaps there should be new hobbies.
Unicycling round Europe?
A new language - Polish, or Swahili?
Stilt-walking?
Learning to play that guitar I've had for 39 years?
Belly-dancing?
Beach volleyball?

*Taller.

1 November: Memory Lane

It started with garden plants.

Not being able to remember their names, that is. The Latin names never used to be any problem till a couple of years ago, when I realised that some of those names were sliding away from the edges of my memory. Put it down to the brain being full, and as something new came in the front, something dropped out the back.

But it's spread to people now. At work, I see someone come in - good suit, armful of papers, and instantly I can remember that I once bumped into him in an up-market shop, all the intimate details of an embarrassing ailment, I can remember his first name, but his surname? No.

Another arrival - slightly eccentric manner, I can remember the drinking habits, marital status, vehicle and pet, but his name? No.

Why can I remember all the details - who always wants a pen or a hankie, things they've told me like their new deep-fat fryer, their motorbike or their pet chinchilla, or they've never eaten quiche; but names? No.

It's getting difficult.

Thank goodness I'll have to cope with it for only another six weeks.

This has been a knitting-free posting. Thank you.

13 September: Outings

Blackberries!
The hedges are heavy with them, and after an expedition one afternoon now so is our freezer.


The rowan tree is also lighter, as the blackbirds have been feeding on the berries. Have you ever watched 4 young blackbirds trying to hover?

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DH and I had a walk round Houghall woods the other day, and then we went along the river bank into the centre of Durham for a cup of coffee and an enormous cream bun.


And last night DD rang and asked for some photos for a project at DGD's school, so off I went among the albums, seeking out seaside holiday photos. There was the famous one of me, aged 4, scowling as I picked my way across the stones at Swanage. The mood was not lightened by the scratchy gingham beach/swim suit my mother had made for me.
My mother on the beach at Clymping (do you like Clymping? I don't know, I've never Clymped) back in 1934, in an early bikini; her parents in deckchairs at Ventnor in 1939; and a wonderful photo of my mother and her parents in swimsuits at Torquay in 1932, all as glum as can be sitting in a row on some steps.

The photos of Dad's family at the seaside were all too small and murky to copy, but there are some gems there - Uncle Bill in a natty pair of knitted trunks, with a white belt round the waist ; an Aunt in a seersucker swimsuit, and my Dad on the beach at Southend in his school cap and tie, with his father in collar and tie, jacket and cloth cap.

And another reminder of the flying of time - I've just sent off my application for my State old age pension.

3 September: Scraps

Is it possible to watch BBC News 24 for more than 10 minutes? By that time, they've been through the 3 news items at least 4 times, repeating apparently endlessly - one report from their correspondent, followed immediately by "going live" to the same person, who repeats what they just said on tape, then a brief interview with somebody who doesn't have a clue what's going on (or who knows only too well, and isn't saying!), and then a short piece of film looped so that it repeats and repeats the same (usually harrowing) scene.

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A comment from kaz on NOT DEAD YET! reminds me that one of the things I have thought about doing when I retire (less than 16 weeks now, not that I'm counting) is to dye my hair the sort of colour that's totally inappropriate for work - purple or green.
I mentioned this at a Growing Old Disgracefully meeting once, and it was pointed out that it costs some people a small fortune to keep their hair the colour that mine is naturally, so I should be grateful I don't NEED to colour it.
Any ideas about this?

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And at last the Muppets are getting a major exhibition in London - HERE.

Going to work

It occurred to me today that when I retire at the end of the year one of the things I may miss about going to work is having to go out of the house first thing in the morning. OK, when it's raining or icy, it's not much fun; but yesterday a skylark was singing , and today the sky was a lovely shade of navy blue towards the north.
On the other hand, there will be the choice of going out or staying in, and a choice of time to do it, and a choice of stopping to look.