Jenny Wren's

Another spring-like day, and went to Rodbridge common in Long Melford. They have a tea room there in a converted container called Jenny Wren's Tea Shack, where Ann went while I took the dogs. Unfortunately it had closed at 3pm, but Ann got taking to the owner who agreed to make two late teas in paper cups. As I walked back, I saw a family with two children go up for drinks, but were refused. "Huh!" the man muttered, "It's who you know." They do a wide menu, and we promised to go back to sample it when it's open officially.

Despite the restful day, I still get very tired by nightfall, and am glad to lie in my extendable chair with a warm blanket. Tomorrow I go back to the surgeon for my first official check up, so I await has verdict with some concern, though there is still no blood in the urine.

Dreams and scams

Bronte and Byron in Clare castle park

My health is gradually improving, like the weather. Clare castle park was lovely today, and enjoyed by many families with the children off school. The dogs too are always happy there to run loose and wild in the woods.

We had someone knock casually on the door last week, offering to clean the gutters, which I agreed to. When he'd done, he said the roof needed repairs, with loose cement and tile, and he could do the job for £1400. When I disagreed, he said he could "do it today" for £1000. I asked for his card and a written quote, but neither came. Yesterday a builder friend of Sam's came round to look at the roof. He said the cracks were minor, and there need be no rush to make them good. He also noted all the loose cement the other guys had thrown on the lawn. He would come when he could, and would do it all for £200.

Last night, I dreamt of two old friends, Colin and Ann. With uncanny synchronicity, Colin's sister phoned today, to say she'd just spoken with Ann, and Colin would love to see me. He has bad Alzheimer's, but Ann is sure he will remember me. I explained I had been too unwell to go recently, but now I'm growing stronger, I hope to make the journey soon.

Strange that in the news, three Tories have joined the 8 labour rebels. They seem to be united by a single issue: they are all ardent Brexit remainers. I can't imagine what purpose they will find to unite them once Brexit has happened; they will probably sink like all such single-issue parties.

Political diversions

Left alone for a quiet day - Ann has gone to London shopping with MA and the two girls; Edwin was at Uni all day, so I am left to work alone - at least that has picked up a little, but otherwise not much happening here.

News-wise, seven MPs have deserted Labour to set up their own party. Minor parties in the UK have a poor history of success, so predictions are that they will collapse within one or two terms of parliament as voters desert them. But all new parties, like ideas, must struggle against the odds or there would be nothing new. It will be interesting to see if any more MPs join them, or if they remain a brief flash in the pan of Westminster.

Closer to home, Edwin is standing as Union rep at his Uni, and had an instructional talk today about how to win elections. He has now appointed an official campaign manager, tasked with handing out leaflets and drumming up publicity. I had no idea these things were taken so seriously - but I guess I've never been a political activist. When I was in junior school, I was asked to stand for an election for class monitor. Naively, I told the other candidate I would vote for him if he voted for me. I lost. The most I've done since was a protest march against the invasion of Iraq, and being accidentally caught up in the protest against climate change (see Brussels). But Edwin enjoys political thrust, and unlike me is good with people, so I wish him – and may he do – well.

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Please send a comment if you have opinions about the new Independence Group, or remember protests you have joined.

Mail comments to: grandad.john@2from.com

Rabbits, candles and leaks

Lighting candles at Walsingham

An unexpected sudden break for one night to Walsingham, when Ann phoned to find a vacancy at short notice. We are staying at The Control Tower, a converted 2nd WW airfield tower converted to B&B rooms. Ann only phoned yesterday so we got the last room - it’s very cosy (small) and cold but a friendly reception with coffee and biscuits. The host reminded me so strongly of the villain from "The Curse of the Were-Rabbit", that I wondered if Nick Park had stayed here while he was working on the film. His name was Nigel, and when he told us he was plagued by rabbits eating all their vegetables, and he was working on ways to trap them and take them to other areas, I could hardly stop laughing.

We visited Walsingham shrine to light candles for those who might need them. We lit a lot of candles; but the church and slipper chapel were deserted so they shone to God alone. Next day we went on to Wells-Next-The-Sea. From the town, we drove one and a half miles out along the breakwater road to reach the sand, but it was low water and the sea of the Wash was another two miles away in the far distance. A lot of families were parking there and walking over the breakwater, the children carrying their buckets and spades for the day was so mild. even in February. One child, looking at the distant sea line, said, "That's funny - the sea's gone dry!" The place should more accurately be called "Wells-Far-From-The-Sea".

Looking for the sea at Wells-Next-The-Sea

On the way home, our peace was broken by Edwin phoning to say the new taps in the downstairs toilet were leaking, and he was having to keep moping it up. We rushed home and carried on moping while Ann phoned the plumber. He had only fitted the new taps a couple of days ago, but he came straight out and fixed it, though inevitably adding, "I don't know why it started to leak like that - it was fine when I left it," as though it was our fault.

In Memoriam

Last night the tumble drier died and dried no more. With a great heap of wet washing to go through, we rushed out to buy a replacement, so going into PC World we asked, "what have you got in stock we can take now?" The guy printed out a list, so we walked up and down stopping only at those on his list. The price varied hugely, but as they never seem to last long how ever much we pay, when it comes to electrical items we have got into the habit of buying the least expensive. We came home with a Hotpoint, plugged it in and away it went, normality restored. Today I took the old carcass to the tip.

Memorial beech tree, Clare

Walking in Clare, I was struck by how many memorial plaques there are. A beech tree bears a brass reminder of Max who died 11 years ago, but still hung with baubles, teddy bears and ribbons freshly planted each Christmas and birthday, still remembered as the 5 year old he was. A bench celebrates an old dog-walking companion, Harriett and her Labrador Victor Hugo, that Bronte would espy across the park and race to greet. When she died, Harriett was unfound for three days, and her dog was so disturbed they had to have him put down. High on the wall of the old castle remnant are more enduring plaques to people who died in 1920, but even here occasional flowers are still left, such are the dead revered.

Castle wall memorials, Clare

Tonight I wanted to hear a talk by Carlo Rovelli, a famous Italian physicist whose books I have read. I allowed an hour and a half to go the 20 miles to Cambridge, but the traffic was so snarled up I couldn't move, and as the hour passed for the talk to start, I could only turn round and return home, frustrated and unenlightened. It is like a metaphor for a life. Next time, I shall have to leave earlier.

Eternity Leave

Today
I read a cancer death
described as eternity leave,
and it is perfect,
to the pinpoint,
accurately describing the end,
no sweet smelling flowers
or lengthy sympathetic words
just eternity leave
going on forever.

Annie Elliott

Hacking down Haverhill

Haverhill willows cut down

Beside Sainsbury’s is a wild park where oft I walk the dogs. Or wild it was until the environmental tree cutters took their power saws to it. It had a fine line of mature willows following the stream in  a vast acreage, now not coppiced but savagely butchered along with the scrub land and surrounding tree line. In whose name do they work such savagery? Certainly not for the wild life nor we who walk here.

I phoned for my blood results this afternoon: they show mild renal failure and increasing anaemia. Probably explains why I get so breathless and tire so easily. Renal failure is certainly associated with bladder cancer, and may account for my severe itching and weakness also. I will start some iron tablets today, and see if they help.

Requiem for days past

Requiem

The war torn faces
staring from pages
of a history book,
could be Syrian or Yemeni,
different profiles,
different politics,
same harrowed, sunken eyes,
the crawling cat of death
with its blooded claws of red,
ready to pounce on innocent prey,
requiem of yesterday
meets war of today.

Annie Elliott

Again walking in Clare Country Park, seeing the destruction of the old railway shed in the name of modernisation. It was an original loading shed with a length of siding still running into it, and an old side-loading wagon against the loading platform with a mini-exhibition of old photos of Clare station and maps of the old railway routes (see "Clare is a different place").

Now they are smashing out the walls and raising the roof to add "insulation" to bring it up to modern standards. Most of the car-park is blocked off by their work, and the main entrance to the park is closed; everyone has to tramp through the mud and bushes at the side if they wish to enter from the car-park. They have also fenced off the far side and dug a deep slit trench to lay something or other. The whole scene has an air of devastation.  I am surprised there was no conservation order on the building, such was once its quiet link to Victorian England, and the coming of the railways.

Mike in his army days

Mike has requested a copy of the pictures of his time in the army. He sent us the pictures, framed, many years ago, and I had to dig them out, but today I sent them off. I'm not sure why he suddenly wants the pictures now; perhaps he is recalling times past, as we all do from time to time. He served in Bosnia and looked very much the professional. We haven't seen his new house yet, but he is always meticulously clean and neat, a hangover no doubt from his early army training.

One of the agencies phoned today with an offer of a 6 month contract, but full time and in central London, so I declined it. However, today also came news that there is a bit more work coming through in my present job, so that's encouraging. We should be alright again this week!