Quiz night

We held our weekly quiz last night, this time compèred by Matthew and Rosie. They gave a good assortment of questions, including some on Rosie's speciality of food (she was a professional chef), and Matthew's work on motorbikes and insurance! The number attending each week has slowly grown, with 11 groups logging in this time.

I have finished another picture of one of the grandchildren. I feel there is some improvement, but still considerable way to go before I establish smooth tonal blending, and better colouring. However, it remains a good relaxation, for when I have to concentrate on this, I cannot think of anything else. I imagine art must be a good distraction therapy for agitation or tension. Whether it helps people with depression though, I don't know. Judging by the agitation it induced when I painted my other grandson (see Painting problems),
I rather think it might make someone more depressed when it all goes wrong.   

On the political front, Dominic Cummings remains in his post despite a week of ridicule and degredation of the prime minister. When the story first broke, Ann as usual showed great insight; she predicted this saying he would not be going, whereas I was certain he would have to be dismissed. It seems that Boris cannot do without him, though the vitriol it has stirred will almost certainly come back to haunt him.

Meeting up again

We are all cheered by the news that lockdown is to be eased from Monday. We drove out to our old sailing haunts of Woolverstone and Shotley to enjoy a change of scene and the fresh sunny air, watching the newly awakened boating fraternity getting ready for a delayed season. I had prepared a picnic which we ate in the car, on obedience to the rules, but Shotley was already too busy to walk the dogs without closely meeting people.

In the evening, an arranged visit by one of our neighbours to share a beer and a whisky in the garden. To try and keep the Hundon men's group going, he had invited me and several others round for drinks in his garden, but not feeling ready to meet a large group I ducked that one. This was by way of compensation.

Busy bees

We continue to see large numbers of bees, generally busying themselves in the fruit trees. Today however a huge queen landed on our window, mounted by a drone busy in other ways. They remained occupied for about 15 minutes, before he finally fell off exhausted. She preened herself for a few moments then flew off through the trees, presumably to found another colony somewhere.

Things are moving foreward

We had visitors yesterday in the form of our friends Rae and Malcolm. We sat in the garden at the requisite distance, and gave them cold drinks in throwaway cups. I know only one visitor is supposed to come at a time, but we could hardly leave one of them sitting in the car or ask them to take it in turns. It was really good to see them and have a good catch-up. That particular rule is foolish anyway; if one visitor has CV, the chances are their partner has it too; and if one is clear, they should both be clear. Likewise us: we wouldn't accept anyone coming into the garden if we had symptoms of CV, but the pleasure in seeing new faces more than compensates for a mild flouting of the law. Beside, we can now use the example of Dominic Cummings and cite pressing mental needs and the requirement, nay the necessity, of company to alleviate the symptoms of boredomitis.

I've finally finished my portrait of my grandson. As reported earlier, I have worked and reworked the face to try and get the shading right, but have finally stopped. I have come to accept it for what it is, so you will have to also.

In my previous blog (Hundon-honey) I spoke of the anguish of the many people denied proper care under the NHS whilst this pandemic rages, or awaiting follow-up appointments to check for recurrence of cancers.   Well, I have finally received a follow up appointment I was due for the chest clinic. It is to be a telephone appointment by the consultant, so I presume he will ask me to place the phone on my chest and take some deep breaths so he can check my breathing. He might ask me to pull my shirt up and put my hands over my ribs to see if I can feel any rales. I'm not sure what he'll do about the follow-up chest X-ray though; perhaps he'll ask me to stand in front of a bright light.

We are listening to the SpaceX launch sequence as I write this blog. It is the first human US launch for some time, since the Shuttle programme shut down. At T-22, the team is uncertain if the weather will be favourable of if they will have to abort the flight. If it does take off, it is scheduled to pass over Cambridge at 21:45 so we may be able to see it pass, although it is still quite light at these high latitudes. [Hot news: lift-off cancelled because of poor weather outlook over launch site].

Hundon Honey and the wrong bees

This lockdown is causing a lot of difficulty for we who don't have CV but need some other service from the NHS.  Ben was told he needed a fasting blood test, but when he turned up at the surgery, starving and hungry, he had a slight sore throat, probably from hay fever, so they refused to admit him for the test. For my own part, I was due to go for a number of follow-up appointments and a body scan to check I have no recurrence of cancer, all now cancelled. When our neighbour had another mini-stroke recently, the doctors refused to come out, but just sent an ambulance round. It's as though GPs are getting paid full whack for doing virtually nothing.

Bees in the birdbox

Today started off busily with an early phone call to say the new vacuum cleaner would be delivered soon after eight. I went to unlock the back gate ready for the delivery and noticed a swarm of bees buzzing round the entrance to the bird nesting box Sam had made for us. I noticed them first last night when it was already dusk, but thought they were flies and there might be a dead bird on the box. But in the morning light, they were definitely bees, so we called Luke the bee man who lives in Hundon and has a notice pinned up asking for information about any swarms he could collect. He came within half-an-hour, a young man with a childish, innocent face, telling me he had taken up beekeeping as a way of giving something back to the environment. He already has a good number of hives in Hundon, and sells the honey locally, and hopes to do it professionally full-time eventually. He was dressed head to toe in a boiler suit of brilliant white, with a hood covering his face with netting. Unfortunately, he took one look at them and pronounced "Those are Bumble Bees, not Honey Bees!" However, he taped up the entrance hole to contain them, and took them away to allow them to resettle somewhere away from the housing.

Luke the Beeman tackling the swarm

I walked the dogs round the quiet fields at the back of the house. Ann advised against going to Clare for this, as it was reported to be packed with no room in the carpark and people unable to keep any distance apart, social or otherwise. Yet a letter in Hundon Facebook reported a couple playing music in their garden who were reported by neighbours, and four policemen in two squad cars turned up, which is a bit excessive by any measure. What happed to the solitary village policeman, putting in a quiet word of caution?

I have attempted to correct the face in my newest picture, but it is getting more difficult, and the layers of paint are becoming so thick it is more like a bas-relief than a painting. Nevertheless I am determined to try and get the colours and deep shadows better, and will not show a picture of it yet until it is done.

Yesterday, the boys came round bringing some welcome food and a picnic they had prepared, which we enjoyed in the warm sun. Tonight, we ate a delicious mushroom stroganoff they had prepared and left for us. We are being truely spoilt.

Frustrations with art and tech

It's interesting how we stick first-founder names to first inventions. We often call ball-point pens Biro's, or use Google as a verb to search for information. Yesterday was a day of trauma when our Hoover broke. The brush was still rotating like a crazy cyclone and the motor was making hefty noises, but the main point of its generic name was defunct, for it no longer had any suck. A vacuum cleaner it was not; a child with a straw could get better suction. In fact, newborn babes have reinforced cheeks, and their suction on the teat can generate a phenomenal negative pressure. But this cleaner sucked not.

Close examination, which in this case needed only a swift glance, showed a massive perforation in the main tube, with air entering the fistula rather than the business end. I was able to order a new hose on Amazon which I hoped might save the cost of a new cleaner. One dealer sold a hose for £9.36 including delivery, but it wouldn't come till Tuesday, so I paid an extra £5 for another supplier who promised delivery on Saturday. After I had placed the order, thinking it would be delivered today, Ann checked it, but I had totally miscalculated the date; it will not be delivered until next Saturday! So this morning, I wrestled the thing onto its back, undid numerous screws wherever I could see them, and started to dismantle it. I finally got down to the innards concealing the hose to pull it out from each end, repairing the gash with electrician's tape. As so often happens with these simple jobs, I finally reassembled it to find two screws on the bench staring defiantly at me, so had to start over. But eventually it worked again and will hopefully last the week out.

I spent the morning struggling with the picture I'm doing. I left the face till last, knowing it would be the most difficult, but perhaps I should have tried it first. Anyway, it is not very satisfactory, so I'm now thinking I might be best to paint it out completely in white and start over. I've now put it to one side before I do anything too rash.

Walking the dogs this afternoon, a lady suddenly popped out of one of the houses and called me back. "Hello," she said, "I'm Gill. I just happened to be looking through the window and thought I recognised you and the dogs from your blog." Byron usually barks at strangers, but I think he had met her from when Edwin lived at home and used to walk the dogs, for he was silent this time as though he knew her. She introduced herself as the correspondent who had helped me identify several plants recently (see Unexpected visitors), so I duly thanked her, then hurried home to prepare for tonight's quiz. We are presenting so I am a little nervous, hoping all goes smoothly. After all our trouble with House Party and Google Hangouts, tonight we're going to try Google Meet.

Reminiscing

Yesterday would have been my father's birthday. He died 24 years ago, but we were reminiscing about him while sat in the warm sun when brother Richard rang to say he also had been thinking of him. I was reminded of him by my palette knife, an antique piece that had been given to dad when he was a lad by a professional artist, so it may now be more than 100 years old.

We have had a full week preparing questions for the Saturday quiz, when it will be our turn to present. It is surprisingly difficult. Ann prepared rounds on Literature, History and General Knowledge and I've done the Science and Picture Quiz and put them into PowerPoint. MA's girls helped by creating a Young People's round. I couldn't answer Ann's questions, so we showed them to MA, but they were generally too difficult for her too so we've toned them down a bit. I sometimes think Ann doesn't realise just how much she knows, and assumes others know as much as she. We don't, Ann.

We have continued to watch more episodes of Bob Ross (Bob Ross sets a rare pace). I enjoy his relaxed style, and clever combinations of colour, but I do feel he is becoming quite repetitive. None of his pictures contain figures or personality; they are all models of "his world" as some rural idyll. We can almost predict where he will place a happy tree or plop a cloud in, and his many rustic barns look identical to his rustic houses. We feel it may be time to move on to some new art teacher; happily there are many on-line instruction videos on YouTube; but the problem there is that they are so contradictory. Basically, each artist has their own way of creating a painting, and the only general rule seems to be "in art, anything goes". But one thing I have learnt from Ross is, there are no such things as mistakes: only "happy accidents".

Bob Ross sets a rare pace

It is another hot day, so I walked the dogs early to avoid the coming heat. Now free to go out, I drove to Clare for a change in scenery hoping it would be quiet, but there were more people at 8:30 in the morning than I ever used to see on a week-day, all with similar thoughts to myself. There were many dog walkers, but also as many runners as I usually only see on an organised run. Even at that time, they seemed to be running in a lackadasical way as though they didn't really mean it, not being in a monitored race. Perhaps they felt out of training, following all these weeks of lockdown. One older woman, dressed the part in tight, black lycra shorts and with a pace tracker strapped to her arm, seemed to be attempting a record at the fastest hobble rather than the slowest run. Unhealthy though I am, I could have walked faster.

Knowing so little about painting, or its myriad kindred techniques, we have started to watch The Joy of Painting by Bob Ross. He was born the same year as me, but died 25 years ago, yet is attracting a new audience attracted by his laid-back style and quirky comments as much as by his instructional videos. Bob presented many series on painting from 1983 to 1994, and is being reshown now on BBC. Each programme follows the same format: thirty minutes in which he starts from a blank canvas and produces a brilliant landscape, painting wet on wet (I'm showing off here, using a technical term I've just learnt). The only problem is, he makes it look so easy it is deceptive. He is backed by years of experience, so when he quickly mixes several paints to produce a joyful, glowing, vibrant colour that shouts from the canvas, he knows exactly how much of each tint he can casually throw together, adding to his white base. I can do the white base, which is a start. But when I add colours, it more often ends up a muddy mess. When he dabs paint on in rapid jabs, you feel you can see each individual leaf and every dappled shade; all I seem to end up with is a smeared uniform mess. Taking up painting late in life, although I too may have a lifetime to perfect my technique, in my case a lifetime may not be quite long enough.

However, there are positives to this painting business. It's great to be learning something new; hopefully it will keep this old brain active. So far, my portraits have lacked any background to keep them simple. But painting's a great way to take the mind off any other troubles: when I am in our new studio, carefully preparing a new drawing and trying to get a background that looks half decent, I become so engrossed I seem to forget anything else. It's worth the humiliation of watching Bob Ross perform. Like the old jogger, I have have the right equipment but I'm hobbling slowly behind him.

An unwanted link

There has been much recent talk about the possibility of Covid-19 infecting young infants to produce a rare disease. The evidence is slowly accumulating, and is certainly supported by some circumstantial evidence. Kawasaki disease mainly affects children under 5 years of age. It is a rare disease, and results in a fever and swollen lymph glands, especially in the neck. It is a form of vasculitis with blood vessels becoming inflamed throughout the body. The cause is unknown, but may be due to an infection triggering an autoimmune response.

Little is still known about CV-19, but recent studies at the Royal Brompton Hospital suggest that it too is linked to a vascular condition, with the formation of microclots in the lungs and other organs. The most recent treatment recommendations are to give a blood-thinning drug. It is therefore all too plausible that CV-19 may cause a rare but devastating illness in infants. For some reason yet unknown, this disease is uniting young and old in the blanket of unexpected death.

Expanding boundaries

The lockdown has been eased and we are allowed to drive out. We broke our enforced retreat by visiting Thetford Forest, with a flask of coffee and a packet of biscuits. It was a warm, clear day and the roads and woods were crowded, but we found a less crowded spot and could walk the dogs in isolation.

Getting back, we had a message from our friends Robin and Yvonne, whom we haven't seen for many weeks. They had read of our recent interest in art, so wanted to bring round an art set they had in their attic. It had belonged to Robin's mother, Grannie Jan, who died a few years ago aged over a hundred. She was a good artist, and this set comprises her table-top easel and an old wooden box filled with brushes and oil paints. I don't know how old they are, but they are still fluid and were clearly top quality. There were also a number of art books on learning to paint, but I think it will be a long time before I am ready for oils.

 Adding to the conspiracy theories about Corona virus is a variation on the theme of the careless, filthy Chinese, spreading it from their wet meat market. The next phase was to acuse the Chinese of accidently losing it from their laboratory, where they were performing research on it. However, this virus is so virulant and pervasive that it is acting more like a bio-weapon.

The theory therefore is that it wasn't just released from the Wuhan laboratory accidently, but was designed and deliberately created there as a bio-weapon. The Chinese, so the theory goes, were hoping to develop a vaccine for their own people so they could release the virus safely in the rest of the world. The fact that it did escape was presumably more cock up than design, but the overall effect has been the same. Certainly, if they were designing it, they would select strains that survive best in the USA, while being less virulent among Asian peoples. In those terms, they have certainly succeeded.  The way the disease has progressed in the USA compared to China, with total destruction of the US economy and loss of jobs, means that China may be propelled to the top super-power in terms of GDP and production. They couldn't have planned it better.

Our art studio is commissioned

Tories

send the builders back to work
because you do not give a damn
for the safety of our English salt–
the normal working man

Annie Elliott

There is much debate at present about children returning to schools. Having no children of school age, we are in the position of disinterested observers. Certainly Mary-Anne does not want her two returning yet, and it seems many parents think similarly. Many parents are happy to spend so much time with their children, especially those forced to work from home for the first time; they are building new bonds they never knew they could. One of the agency people I speak with regularly had a new baby four months ago, and has welcomed home working with open arms. Usually, he would be commuting to work from early morning to late evening. Now he has spent solid, precious time with his baby, time that can never be repeated for they grow so quickly. He is in no hurry to return.

This art business takes a lot of thought

For the children, some are learning new skills they would never learn at school which is confined to formal lessons, many with a left-wing social bias, such as neglecting English history. If we don't teach our own history, certainly no one else in the world will except to carp and condemn us. Our nation has a history we may be proud of, and teachers should sing its virtues from the rafters. Parents can teach subjects the children actually enjoy, including practical and life skills, rather than rote learning for exams. Ann and I having succeeded so well with Edwin, and enjoyed the experience, we're all for it.

Today, I tried the new art studio Ann has designed. It is quiet and isolated, with the huge advantage that we don't have to clear the table each day so we can eat. I can make a mess to my heart's content, and it doesn't even matter if paint gets on the table of the old chair, or even into the carpet. It is really homely; I've moved an old radio in to listen to Radio Three music while I work.

My first commission

Today, I started my first "commission": Lucy asked me to paint our granddaughter. It is only my fourth picture, but I can see some improvement at last. However, I acknowledge that I have way to go to master the more subtle techniques of colour, shading and blending. As for painting from life - I think that will always be beyond me. One of the guests on Grayson Perry's show specialised in painting animals. She always uses photos because animals won't stay still long enough for her. I reckon what is good enough for a professional is certainly good enough for me - I can't imagine humans (especially children) staying still long enough either.

Clearing out the old

The new art studio awaits

 We cleared out the garage today, under Ann's direction. This was something I had deemed impossible, for rubbish was heaped on rubbish in mad profusion as we had thrown everything in "that might come in handy" one day, or that was "just awaiting a trip to the tip." But under Ann's perceptive eye, the day rolled by with things being moved out, or to another junk area, or commandeered for use in the new room.

Finally, we have ended up with our own art studio, with back-to-back desks and chairs, and all the art things moved in so we don't have to keep clearing them away when we want to eat a meal. The only thing missing now is the art - it still has to be Christened with our first paintings.

Ann is ready to paint

Now the tumble drier has broken. All the lights are flashing and the clothes are still dripping wet. It's a Hotpoint, and barely a year old. I've cleaned the filters and tried turning it off and on and but it remains terminally ill. Looking up possible causes on line, the pundits suggest this is indeed terminal - it sounds as though the main software board may be at fault, so we need a new machine. In these days of lockdown, we can't go to a shop to choose one, so we're having to order one blind online. They can't deliver it till next week, so we will have to spare the washing. The machine was full of washing when it broke, so at the moment we have towels draped round the banisters, and underwear hanging off every radiator, and I've had to turn the heating up to get them dry. I can only say to anyone reading this and thinking of buying a tumble drier, don't buy Hotpoint!

Unexpected visitors

 It is amazing that we have now received yet another gift. Confined to the house by lockdown, Edwin and Andre had done some shopping for us in Cambridge and brought it round yesterday. In addition to the shopping, they had also treated us to a superb boxed art set, with many different mediums such as acrylic, watercolour, Indian ink and charcoal. It also contained an easel, so we have no excuse now not to at least attempt some artistic creations.

We sat outside in a cold wind, but Edwin insisted on seeing his guinea pig to see how he'd grown. Andre, more used to warm S. American climates, was shivering so brought out coats for them both and gloves for himself. He told us how they were more fortunate than friends of his who'd landed a job in Cambridge just before the lockdown. They rented a small unfurnished flat and were just moving in when the lockdown struck, leaving all their luggage and furniture locked in a warehouse on the continent, unable to be delivered or collected. They have ended up sleeping on a mattress on the floor, unable to buy anything until the lockdown ceases. The boys were not allowed in the house, so we brought the cage outside. Edwin was delighted to greet his friend, not having seen him for over two months.

Andre and Edwin visit their guinea pig

Today we had planned to try to clear the garage to set up an art studio, because at the moment we do our painting on the dining room table and have to clear it each evening. But like mice in the cosmic schema, our plans were thwarted, as so often seems to happen now. For some days, we have suffered a weird electrical fault whereby the main trip switch keeps triggering. Taking all the fuses out and replacing them one by one did not narrow down the fault, because each time it seemed to be a different fuse that triggered it. It would eventually reset, but trip again in a few hours and had become a great nuisance, so we had to call a professional electrician in.

Jamie came promptly at 8:00 a.m. this morning. He worked steadily without a break until midday, working round the house to disconnect various wires and appliances, but was no more able to pin down the fault than I was, so had to call in an even more experienced friend of his. The two of them spent a further couple of hours going round everything, finally deciding it was some obscure fault in the bubble system for the bath. They have disconnected that circuit, but will have to order a new circuit breaker, and will come back one day to finish the job. In the meantime, they left hoping it would not go off again, but asking us to phone if necessary, so I'm not sure how confident they are in what they've done.

Mystery weed in Hundon

In the garden, Sam has bought us a couple of shrub trees and he also came round this morning to plant them. In the corner, we discovered a new, strange weed, which neither of us could identify. I worried it might be the Giant Japanese Hogweed we've heard of recently, but it looks a bit different. I can't find it online, but if anyone reading this knows, please send me a message via the comments box or email me.

Unexpected treats

Wonderful Yorkshire cheeses

Suddenly we are getting some wonderful presents. Yesterday, the fruit from Lucy; today, a selection of Wensleydale Creamery cheeses, butter and crackers from Yorkshire, sent by Matthew and Rosie! We love cheese, and will enjoy these. I especially like a slice of Wensleydale eaten with rich Christmas cake in the Yorkshire tradition, with a glass of mature port. Delicious.

Also out of the blue came a copy of a letter from brother Richard. Ann had asked him if he had any information about my father in the war. This was a letter he wrote to mum when he was courting, in 1941, and everything in it was new to me. Seven pages long, it is extraordinarily well written, full of good humour while showing great strength of character. He was a sapper in the Royal Engineers, which I had not known, billeted at that time in Grimsby. He was looking forward to meeting mum again in Southsea when she was to be bridesmaid to someone I knew as Aunt Jenny (In those days, all my mother's friends were 'Aunt' or 'Uncle').  He even mentions indirectly the recent budget, saying:

"This budget sure is a robbery. I feel sorry for your dad whose beer and tobacco is his only enjoyment. It looks to me that they have taxed the working people far greater in percentage than the rich, & that we don't only have to fight this war for them, but pay for it for them. take us lads up here for instance, most of us are broke & have to keep in nearly every evening... it is going to take all my time saving up for fares etc, can't afford to go round to the local pub so much as I used to."

He also adds that they must write longer letters to make the most from the newly increased postal charge of 2½d [old pence - equivalent to 1p in new money]. I was intrigued so looked up details of this wartime budget. It had been presented by the Chancellor, Sir John Simon, in April of that year, and sure enough makes reference to increasing the duty on cigarettes and alcohol. Definitely "plus ca change...", for the papers today also refer to increasing the duty on everything to pay for the war on Corona virus.

A slow return to normality?

A welcome gift

As the government ease restrictions, allowing a short drive for a walk, I chose to visit an old haunt in Clare. I kept seeing people I used to know in our former life reminding me that, one day, things will return to normality. Parking behind the Swan to go up through the fields beyond the nuttery I met the manager, Nick, mounted on a mower. He has furloughed his staff, but is fortunate that the pub owner has agreed to waive rent for the duration, so hopes his cash reserves will last out the lockdown.

Talking in the street to a couple of old customers was his neighbour, the owner of Hudgies. The house was built for linen weaving in the late 17th C. before becoming an ironmongers and hardware shop. David, the owner, has run it for eighteen years, but has been trying to sell it for the last couple of years to retire. In the present climate, he may be there for a while longer.

Driving home, I saw a familiar figure, name unknown, walking his dogs. He is a large man but walks two tiny Norfolk terriers and always wears a black rodeo hat. I only see him walking between Clare and Chilton Street, but I used to see him so often, whatever time I went, walking in one direction or the other I used to think he must do it all day. The path along that stretch is very narrow, with generally a lot of traffic passing, so I always wonder why he chooses such a location with numerous walks and woods round Clare.

Then, on the doorstep this afternoon, had been left a box with a wonderful gift inside. It was filled with a delicious selection of fruit, a gift from Lucy. It is fantastic to be so remembered, and hugely appreciated. She had arranged a big family get-together in August, but this has now been cancelled. We are separated by a large distance, so are unlikely to meet for some time, so this is a good reminder of happier times to come.

Beware strange men

Ann answered a knock at the door this morning to a man offering to trim our large maple tree. It does cause a lot of work from the vast quantity of leaves and seeds that fall, plus constant birds' mess on the parked cars. We've had it trimmed a couple of times when branches were overgrowing the road or getting too close to the house, but it's not too bad at the moment. I'm not supposed to even answer the door at the moment, but the man was very persistent so to try and get rid of him, Ann told him we didn't need it cutting at present, but we were thinking of having it cut down at the end of the year. He immediately countered by saying he'd give a quote to cut it down, so to try and put him off Ann said she'd have to speak to me. A little later, he came back so I answered the door.

"I'm working in the neighbourhood," he said, "so I can do it for a good price. It would normally be £450, but I can cut it down to the ground today for £350." I said I'd have to think about it, and would call him back if I decided to have it done. "I'll tell you what," he then said, "I'm just finishing your neighbour's tree, so I can do it for a bargain price of £320, and take away the bits."

I still said no, and asked him which neighbour, "Is it Number 1 opposite?"

"Yes," he said, "I'm working at Number 1." I told Ann, and went upstairs to look while she went outside to see if she could see where he was working. There was no sign of him, then Ann came in and said, "I was looking at the house opposite, and suddenly saw a big Number 2. We are Number 1!"

This lockdown is certainly addling our brains. "Well, it was a good trick question to set him," I said defensively. "He fell straight into it - he didn't realise it couldn't have been Number 1 either." Later, we found a message on the Hundon Facebook page warning that he was touring the village looking for work, but also looking for somewhere to dump his rubbish. I think if he had cut down our tree, he would have left the bits on our drive, telling us he'd be back later to clear them up!

My hair was beginning to look more scraggy than Boris's, for it hadn't been cut for several weeks. Today, Ann volunteered to trim it. In her youth, Ann had a Saturday job in a salon, so she has some experience, and I'm pleased to say she did a very good job. Meanwhile, we continue to enjoy the box of wines Edwin and Andre sent us (see Enjoying lockdown), and pondering Boris's ambiguous message about whether we can go out or not, to sit on a beach of picnic (but not in any beauty spots), and what shops may open when. He has managed to make the whole process sound as confusing as it ever was, with ministers contradicting each other and no clear instruction whatsoever. I think the lockdown has addled his brain too.

Art vs. science

We held another quiz last night, run by Edwin and Andre. HouseParty has a limit of 8 channels, so this time we used Google Hangouts, which allows more participants, and worked very well. Edwin has a mug with "Don't make me put on my school-teacher's look", and took on has school-masterly voice to present, with Power-Point illustrations. This time, Ann and I won. Some people were saying, "Clever dad", and other complementary comments, but these days I am brain dead and it was Ann who gave the majority of the correct answers.

Walking the dogs yesterday, it was so hot it was hard to remember it is still spring. The track was lined with huge arrays of hedgerow flowers, the chestnuts are in glorious display, and the path had a thick carpet of catkin blossoms underfoot. Through my window this morning was a solitary vapour trail, clearly visible on Flight-Radar in its isolation as an ancient Douglas MD-11 cargo plane from Liège to Whidbey Island in USA. Nothing else was flying north of London. Whidbey Island is so small it was hard to find on a map, and there seems to be nothing much there. The sky has been so clear, warm and dry recently, more like the summers we imagine from our childhood. I wondered if there is a link; could huge numbers of vapour trails world-wide affect the weather, bringing cloud and rain? Air traffic has fallen by over 95%, an unbelievable change, so perhaps it is having an effect beyond just blue skies and peaceful days.

Moon over Glastonbury Tor by Ann

Yesterday, we continued our art work. At least, Ann did - producing a beautiful picture of a full moon over Glastonbury Tor. I am realising how little I know about art. Artists go to art school for a reason - to actually learn about mixing colours, brush technique, and a thousand other topics of which I am totally ignorant. I have tried watching some lessons on YouTube, but every artist has a different way of doing things, often completely opposite to each other.

The beauty of science is when the equations work out. One can repeat the experiments, or re-do the maths, and generally the results are in agreement. Where they are not, either we have discovered a new understanding of nature or - more likely - we've made a mistake. To my mind, the biggest mystery in science now is why our two greatest theories - quantum mechanics and general relativity - are irreconcilable, but even there we live in hope and expectation that one day another Einstein will provide an answer. Art has no right or wrong way - it is supposed to be an expression of feeling, or of the inner soul for the more spiritual. My art is just a blobby mess, and doesn't express anything except a total lack of ability. There may be no one right way to do things in art, but there sure are a lot of wrong ways.

V.E. Day in Hundon

V.E.-day in Hundon

Today is V.E. day, with a few houses in Hundon celebrating. On our road, four neighbours sat outside with drinks, while down the road a couple of families gathered on the grassy strip in front of their houses to have picnics and listen to 40's music. At 7pm, someone found an air-raid siren to stir the air with its deep wailing, followed by the all clear signal. We raised a flag in our garden, salvaged from our boating days, while across the road another neighbour hung Union Jack bunting and a large flag outside, but otherwise celebrations in the village were sparse.

Ann's father was a Chindit still serving in the Far East on V.E. day, for that war went on for another four months. Part of any war celebrations are the songs of Vera Lynn, and Ann's father heard her sing when she flew out to the Far East to entertain the troops there in the Burma campaign, for she realised that everyone else had forgotten them. Indeed, they were called "the forgotten army".

Matthew's Rose Moon

Back in this century, the government continue to send mixed messaging, first releasing strong hints that the lockdown would be relaxed this weekend, but now contradicting themselves, saying there will be minimal easing yet. We are all confused, and it is no wonder we treat them with disdain. Leadership they are not showing; merely vacillation and uncertainty.

Last night was a full moon, the last supermoon of the year, called a Flower Moon. It was clearly visible, but the best image was sent to us by Matthew.

Enjoying lockdown

Blocked off benches

The government has proclaimed that short drives for long walks are permissible, so today, I tested that indulgence. I drove to Rodbridge Park at Sudbury to walk the animals. For me, it was a short drive and a long walk, though clearly "short" and "long" are ill-defined measurements; others may claim it's a long drive and a very short walk!

A notice at the entrance instructed us to "park carefully", and only if we could leave a good gap from others. In the park, there were a good number of walkers, but the open spaces are enough to leave plenty of room as each group manoeuvred round the other. All the benches were taped up to stop us sitting down, which is hard for the oldies who need a rest, even on a short (in this context, I mean long!) walk. I was walking through a heavily wooded area when the phone went; it was one of the agencies updating me on the work position. Happily, the council had not taped off any of the fallen trees, so I could sit comfortably on a massive felled oak for my conversation. The dogs went exploring in the woods, then tried to paddle and swim in a stagnant pond amongst the trees, so I had to keep calling them out. I think the recruiter was more envious than annoyed at me.

A case of wine arrives!

Back at the house, we were totally surprised by an unexpected gift — this time from Edwin and Andre. They sent a dozen bottles of high quality wine to enjoy through the hours of confinement. What a welcome treat. We seem to be getting through rather more wine even than we habitually take. We enjoyed a sample as we await the next guidelines on relaxing the lockdown. At the moment, the messages are of total confusion. Is it to be extended for another three weeks? Or will the hints appearing in the papers of a partial relaxation really occur on Monday? No one seems to know, much less the government. If it's safe on Monday, why not now? Are they waiting for the number of infections or the death rate to fall below some magic number? No one can tell. We are left completely in the dark. Meanwhile, we can enjoy the view from the window of a sunny, warm spring day, with a glass of delicious wine. There are worse ways to suffer from house arrest.

The view from the window

Painting Grayson

At last the daily death rate in the UK appears to be falling rapidly. Although the timing is broadly in line with my original projections, it may be seen that the initial rate of infection was much higher, and the total numbers increased rapidly. Once lockdown was imposed, the curve flattened dramatically and I have revised the predicted total rate downwards to 40,000, and at the current rate, the final figure from this first wave is likely to be nearer 30,000 deaths. The lockdown has certainly been effective, and will soon be eased. But the one certainty is how little we know of this Chinese disease, only time can tell what will happen next.

Flowers from Mary-Anne

We received a mystery box in the post today, which contained six small pots of flowers, bright and cheerful. We discovered that Mary-Anne had sent it, which was lovely surprise.

We are also continuing our painting. We were inspired by Grayson Perry's new Channel 4 program, Art Club. On television he is boisterous and lively, with a ready laugh and totally encouraging to the artists who send him their work, but Ann looked him up to discover he came from a very poor background with a dreadful childhood. In homage I chose to paint a portrait of him and his wife, Philippa, who in contrast was from a very wealthy background having been to bording school and finishing school in Switzerland. I have therefore portrayed him with a deep, sad look rather that the jocular face he shows the world. Also, I have painted him in straight dress rather than his trademark doll-like cross dressing. Knowing now something of his background, I believe this is part of his front to the world, a thin cover for a deep unhappiness.

Grayson and Philippa Perry

His wife appears in the programmes as someone who is always there for him. I believe she is fiercly loyal, and would defend Grayson to the death. I have therefore tried to show her as standing behind his shoulder, with a look of  gritty determination to defend him from anyone who dares to attack him. She is an artist in her own right, but also a professional psychotherapist. She has a very round face, accentuated by huge circular glasses that dominate her face. They have already turned our lives to a new direction, and are both so expressive it is a pleasure to paint them.

Moving on

Moving on

This silent lockdown
has made me analyse
the story of my life,
the gains, the losses,
the constant proding
of memories past,
time for me to reconnect
with those I loved most dear
and put away the cruel sham
that has trapped me here.

Annie Elliott

Many of my previous blogs have railed against the lockdown, the restrictions to freedom, the huge economic destruction, and the loss of the local pubs. It is time to redress the balance and consider the gains this enforced stillness has given us.

For Ann, it has given a time for reflection to think of her life, her memories, her friends and relatives near or distant who have meant so much. For me, more exercise than I have done in a long time, walking the dogs daily; some gardening (but let me not overstate this virtue); to carry out repairs that have been waiting, sometimes for a few years; to connect with our family directly each week through HouseParty and the quiz night. Also, and so valuable, a quiet time of peace, with little work coming in, and no high-level conference calls or travel to London or beyond to visit companies; no queueing in traffic jams down the M11, or facing the horrific squash of tube trains at rush hour. Also a time for pastimes such as the painting we have started. I'm just sorry we don't have access to lessons - we are having to find our own path with no guide. We may not be earning much money, but the respite is a delight - almost the first time I have been so idle since childhood.

Kingfisher by Ann

Outside the home, there have also been many blessings from all of this. There is a tremendous sense of peace, with no traffic, no children running down the street, no harassed mums dragging them to school each day, or crowding their cars along the road at 3:15pm. On the dog walk, one garden has hung celebratory discs from the tree with rainbows, and put a large painted wooden disc with a message of optimism. There air seems cleaner, with no airoplanes above. In the garden, the birdsong is louder and more cheerful than I have heard it for years, We are seeing all types of birds, even a kingfisher flew into the front garden and landed on the table before flying off to the hedging, while overhead, so high it was hard to follow, a large bird of prey, possibly a buzzard, was turning on the wind, barely moving its wings as it looked for lift. For the first time for many months, I am not getting hospital appointments - though that is probably an uncertain blessing, as all my checkups and follow-up scans have been cancelled.

Message in a Hundon garden 

No, such times as these may never return once the "new normal" fades into history to become the "old normal". I know the majority will want to get this time behind them, but for now, it is wonderful to enjoy this special time and - for those not stricken with the dread bug - consider how fortunate we are.

Stay at home to stay active

We have a lovely fishpond in our garden. I can speak fondly of it for I dug it out myself many years ago, when I was young and healthy and capable of solid labour. The pump and filter were powered by a cable underground to a switch in the house, but a couple of years ago it stopped working and each time we switched it on it blew a fuse in the fuse box. The cable itself was old: it had been installed before we moved in to feed a light in the garden. Beside being buried, it now lies under the patio and somehow comes up inside the wall to the light switch, so it cannot be simply replaced.

Since the pump stopped, the pond has become green and overgrown, though the fish still seem to survive and breed. We've had it cleaned a couple of times, but now I have time off I decided to lay in a new wire, so spent the morning drilling through the garage wall and connecting a new cable to the garage supply, which is easier than trying to go back to the house. Unfortunately, the old pump has now seized up, but our son-in-law had a spare one, larger and better than my original, which he's brought round for us. As the pump wire is also buried until it emerges at the pond, I have had to send for an underwater connector. Next job will be to connect them up.

We had another family quiz night last night, run by Andy. It was much harder this week, but next week Edwin and Andre will run it, so it might be even worse! I will plead for a few easy questions. However, an article in today's paper suggests that social isolation is even worse for our health than smoking, so I'm grateful for all contact to keep us in touch with each other, even difficult quizzes. Also, a lovely snippet in The Irish Times: "For God's sake reopen the pubs soon, before we all become alcoholics!" A nice thought, but what with that and with isolation being as bad as smoking, I think they are killing us all off without any need for a doomsday virus.

A problem with painting

A room with a view

 Ann sits by the window reading as she sups her wine. The sun is streaming in, and it's hard to believe the world is not to rights. I did a little more work this morning, meaning I clipped the hedge back. The garden is so green and peaceful, Ann couldn't resist taking a photo to record these days of confinement.

I cannot believe painting is so fraught with problems. I expected it to be a peaceful, relaxing task to fill an hour or two during our lockdown, but there always seem to be complications to the simplest thing. A couple of days ago, Ann painted a modern skyscraper scene with a background of bright stormy cadmium yellow (please note, I am beginning to learn the technical details already!). Our painting set has quite small tubes, and I had used a lot of titanium white, so we ordered some replacements. The tubes are no bigger than 15 gm, so we tried to order a slightly larger size. Today, the yellow arrived with a note saying they were out of our order, so they were sending a substitute. It is a two litre tub of the stuff, enough to equip a whole art school for a year or two, I should think. How I am supposed to pour a drop or two onto my palette to mix in with some other colour I do not know.

We plan to have our second quiz night tonight with the children. Even that is not easy; it has grown more popular, so more of our extended family want to join in. However, HouseParty can only host 8 groups, so we tried a new one: Discord. I can only say, its name describes its problems. I logged on with Matthew to test the system, but even the voice channel kept breaking up to the point of being inaudible. I think we will have to revert to HouseParty, and take turns to drop out each week.

One helpful bit of news: we have identified the shrub I asked about yesterday (see Art and identifying shrubs). Robin was quite right: it is Red Robin. A neighbour of ours has planted some for his hedging, and seeing him outside today I was able to call across and ask him. Further verification came from a fellow villager in Hundon, who sent a comment to yesterday's blog also identifying it. Now we will try to order some for home delivery. Thank you all for your help and support in these difficult times.

Art and identifying shrubs

What hedging shrub is this?

We are hoping to plant some hedging between us and our neighbour's house. We have some in the front hedge which has lovely red stems, and bright red leaves that die down to a nondescript green. It grows to well over 2 meters and seems to be in leaf all the year, but is not a beech. Our friend Robin, a keen gardener, thinks it might be Red Robin, but the book of words thinks this is a smaller shrub. If anyone can recognise it, I'll try to order some more.

I received my letter from the NHS today, confirming I am on the list of vulnerable people and therefore to be treated with kid gloves. The restrictions they advise are too onerous: not going out at all, even for exercise or to walk the dogs; wholly separate facilities such as room and towels; even sleeping in separate beds. It's bad enough as it is - I would not like to be forced to endure further confinement.

Daughter Lucy

Ann and I continued our art therapy this afternoon, whereby I attempted a portrait of Lucy. It is very therapeutic, for me if not for Lucy. The total concentration forces one to relax and move at a slow pace, with a vague sense of achievement even for such poor efforts. Lucy is a sport and says she loves it! Thank goodness her name isn't Meghan or she might have sued me.
 I still have much to learn in this game while it is still fun. For the eyes, particularly, I must find a thinner brush as they look like heavy mascara. Also I need to learn how to graduate shading; at the moment it looks more like "painting by numbers". Perhaps I would do better just sticking to leaves, like the picture above.