hanging baskets – Page 6

Morrison’s Petunia

This morning the Castle Malwood Card Making factory, despite Jackie’s illness, was very busy. Fifty three cards were added to the forty seven produced two days ago. Our division of labour remained the same. My assistant is indispensable. She does, however, continue to wonder what we will do with them all should they not sell.

Helen, having read yesterday’s post, kindly offered to help with the cards and bring a meal over. She did, however, correctly judge that routine activity helps to take the mind off Shingles.

An intensive course of treatment to arrest the spread of the virus has been prescribed, but no-one thought about obtaining pain relief on prescription. We therefore had to shop for Ibuprofen. This meant a trip to a town. We chose Romsey so that we could also check out a house over that way. The reason it has been on the market so long that the price has been reduced, is possibly that it has been hemmed in by in-fill building, some possibly in what were once its own grounds. We won’t save that one to favourites.

Parking in Romsey was impossible, so we gave up and headed for Totton, where we bought the medication and went home to lunch. The previous tenants of our flat have clearly not told a number of their friends that they have moved. We are quite accustomed to receiving and forwarding their junk mail, but just recently there has been a spate of what are obviously greetings cards. Dave has given us the Pikes’ new address, and we readdress their correspondence. Another card came today, so we took it out with us to post. It travelled to Romsey and to Totton, and finally back home, where I took it out of my jacket pocket and reinstated it on the hall table. Perhaps I’ll remember it next time. I doubt these cards are particularly urgent. After all, the intended recipients moved at least a year ago.

As we sat in the sunshine this afternoon, through the Chequerboard fuchsia standing on a little occasional table, I could see some of the vast array of profusely filled pots, including one placed temporarily on the dry grass. (It wasn’t me standing on the table.)

This hanging basket doesn’t belong on the ground. It has been positioned there to catch the afternoon sun, because it normally lives on the side of the building that doesn’t benefit from that. This is all part of the committed nurturing that Jackie brings to her gardening. What she particularly likes to do is to rescue supermarket plants that are often in such poor, neglected, condition that they are virtually given away.

The petunia in question had neither buds nor flowers, and its leaves were yellowed, when she bought it in Morrisons about a month ago. Frequent doses of Baby Bio, sufficient water, and adequate sunshine regularly applied produced the thriving specimen we see today. Many of the other plants in the garden have similar provenances.

Taking it slowly, our caterer-in-chief insisted on producing our dinner. This consisted of slow roasted lamb chops and vegetables, including a courgette donated by Elizabeth’s neighbour, Jackie; sauteed potatoes; cabbage and carrots. All very tasty, with a smattering of garlic. New Forest ice cream was to follow. I drank Roc des Chevaliers 2010 Bordeaux superieur.

Aviemore Revisited

Jackie was thrilled this morning to see that the third of her sunflowers donated by the birds has bloomed. She tried very hard to coach one bee simultaneously into each of her trio. Two out of three can’t be bad.

For as long as I can remember Louisa has been disgusted at me for ‘wasting paper’ when I use A4 paper to print smaller photographs. She has always said it is very easy either to use smaller paper or place two or more alongside each other, and I have always been reluctant to attempt to get my head round it. When Elizabeth suggested I produced a series of greetings cards for sale at the Open Studio I knew the time had come to grasp the nettle. By sending me a link on ‘how to print multiple images on a single page’ Chris ensured that I didn’t cop out of it. I had a little trouble working out how to print the resultant document so that I could have it in front of me when I tackled my phobia. I was doing this on my small Epson printer which chose that moment to require head cleaning.

Eventually I was as ready as I was ever going to be to try multiple prints. I couldn’t produce more than one picture, although I thought I was following the directions reasonably well. That meant I needed to ring my brother Chris for further elucidation. He realised that I couldn’t do it because I had only highlighted one picture on the screen. I explained that I wanted multiple copies of one picture; not one copy each of multiple pictures.

Ah. That was different. By this time I couldn’t be doing with exploring this any further. As I needed more than one copy of each picture I thought I’d settle for placing two different images side by side. I did, of course, have to be instructed in the art of holding down the command key in order to keep more than one picture highlighted for the purpose. Well, it worked.

I suspect the final paragraph in the aforementioned article does explain how to do exactly what I want, but I think I’ll just rest on my laurels for the moment. I’m a fairly old dog after all, and one new trick is enough for one day.

This afternoon Jackie drove me to Hobbycraft in Hedge End where we bought enough blank cards with envelopes and Pritt stick to produce a decent stock for the studio.

The main event of the day was the eagerly awaited second open day of Aviemore in Bartley. Today I will let the photographs utter their thousand words, for I wrote at some length about this marvellous village garden when we first visited on 2nd. June.

Sandy and Alex Robinson welcomed us most warmly, demonstrating their appreciation of my post of that day.

Indeed, a printout of the relevant pages was on display on the tables in the tea room, as well as an article from a gardening magazine. I was very pleased, as they had been with my piece.

Jackie thought that Mata Hari, reported lurking in the bushes last time, was probably being played by Theda Bara.

The garden attracted a range of butterflies, including Meadow Brown and Cabbage White, bees busying themselves replenishing the hives, and other smaller insects such as flies, to which the eyes of my camera were more alert than those in my head.

The ‘meaty, stewy, veggy thing’ that Jackie served up this evening was deliciously tasty. Among those ingredients that were identifiable were slices of pigs’ hearts, pork sausages, various vegetables and herbs. Various different well-reduced stocks formed the base. I am told that it is like ‘the lost chord’ and therefore cannot be repeated, which is a shame. I drank Roc des Chevaliers Bordeaux superieur with mine.

Tour Guides

Today was another Sheila day. We drove to Sway to collect her and drive her around the unspoilt forest villages to the North of the A31. To some extent we followed in reverse the route along Roger Penny Way that we had taken yesterday evening.

Sheila had been fascinated by the animals loose in the forest, so it was pleasing that there were so many on display. The ponies in particular tended to be clustered under trees, gathering what shade they could on another blisteringly hot day. Cattle and donkeys were also in evidence.

The bloated corpse of a large cow, its softer elements covered in flies, still lay where it had been last night. A large label printed in red with the words AGISTER AWARE remained attached to it. As we are bound to report such a dead animal, the notice prevents us doing so when its removal is already in hand. It certainly needed to be shifted soon.

As usual, the road tended to be blocked by the living creatures, none for a longer time than the foal that stood gazing into our windscreen for what seemed an eternity until it was persuaded to move. I made Sheila a print of this young animal which she christened Millie.

In the vicinity of Frogham we revisited Roy to offer to prune his rose for him. Whilst he was most touched, he said he had a long handled cutter with which he would be able to do it himself. The donkeys hung about outside hoping for a taste of Camperdown elm (see yesterday’s post).

Roy directed me to what he said was the best view in the forest. When he named it I realised it was from the Abbot’s Well car park where Jackie waits for me when I walk across the heath from Roger Penny Way (see, for example ‘A Damsel In Distress’ posted on 25th April). She can see me approaching from quite some distance. We drove up there to show Sheila the scene.

We returned to Castle Malwood Lodge for lunch.

Jackie’s garden pots now total 83. Those to the western side of the house, added a bit later, now rival the original collection. As reported in ‘Merton In Bloom’ on 9th July last year, Sheila, as Mayor of the Borough, had presented Jackie with one of her winner’s certificates. It was therefore most appropriate that our friend should see the current display.

After lunch and a short rest during which Sheila was entertained by an i-Mac slide-show, we visited All Saint’s Church, where we met

another couple who were also taking friends on a tour of the area, in particular visiting the grave of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and his wife.

The next venue was Ringwood where we walked along the High Street until it was time to enter the Curry Garden restaurant where we enjoyed excellent meals, Kingfisher, and sparkling water. Following the failure of the car’s engine cooling system of 12th, we should not have been surprised at the failure of the restaurant’s air conditioning.

Finally, we took Sheila back to her hotel in Sway, drank coffee, and returned home.

The Ladybird

It was all go at Castle Malwood Lodge this morning. Virtually simultaneously we were descended upon by Autoglass to replace the windscreen; by someone else to fix the intercom system, including ours and Steve’s at number eight who had left his keys with us; and by a surveyor to inspect what I think is imperceptible damage to the ceiling as a result of the leak from upstairs.

Ever chivalrous, I left Jackie to it and went for a walk. I had decided to investigate a footpath I had noticed behind the cottages at the foot of the hill into Minstead. It now seemed dry enough to see where it led. I thought London Minstead likely. As I reached the turn-off I met Gladys and Dave who confirmed my speculation and said they were going that way to Hazel Hill Farm to buy eggs. They led the way.

Dave told me that if I walked on further there was a path that led through the forest and came out near our gate. At the far end of London Minstead a right angled bend takes you to the Cadnam/Lyndhurst road. To the left of this is a gravel path marked ‘No access. Suter’s Cottage only’. This was the road to take. I took it. It stops at Suter’s Cottage, beyond which is a field containing a mare with her foal. There are many such little families around at the moment.

I walked straight past the idyllic home in its sylvan setting and into the forest. There was no more footpath. However, I am now quite good at clambering over fallen trees into the unknown, and avoiding twisting my ankles on the hardened lips of pitted clay cups stamped out by ponies’ hooves.

Having a pretty good idea of the direction in which I wanted to go, I nevertheless zigzagged all over the place, surmounting the above-mentioned obstacles and living branches, especially of hollies. My ears told me that somewhere ahead lay the A31, and that there was at least one horse or pony over to my left. I decided to go as straight as possible. Then I saw the flash of pink through the trees on the left. That might be a guide of some sort. So I diverted left. The colour came from a plastic bucket in a field. Two parallel fences and a few trees separated me from the field and the rows of houses beyond that.

I should probably have ignored the bucket. Instead, I kept as close to the fences as I could. A considerable amount of zigzagging was required. Eventually I espied the back of a cottage that I thought might be Hungerford, and decided to make my way round to that. It was the very same, and I soon found myself on the shaded tarmac of Running Hill. Had I not been diverted by the bucket, and had I held my nerve, I would no doubt have left the forest just where Dave had said I would.

It is now so hot that Jackie’s garden pots need to be watered twice a day. I was to feel great relief that I had taken an early walk as we set off in the car to Totton in the afternoon for a shop at Lidl and Asda. The chillers in Asda were most welcome.

Some days ago Jackie told me the story of the ladybird. When Flo was about three years old, Becky had taken her to a garden centre to buy her grannie a present. She bought one, wrapped it, and full of expectation, handed it over. ‘Oh, that’s beautiful’, exclaimed Jackie as she opened it. With her arms thrust behind her, as was her wont, little Flo asked: ‘Is it very, very beautiful?’. Of course it was. The present was a stick to plant among the garden flowers with a plastic ladybird attached to the top. Jackie told me the story with regret, for the gift was now rather disintegrated, and had been lost in her move.

Yesterday, my birthday, was not long after Jackie’s. She was given her presents before I had mine. Flo presented a small parcel. ‘Is it very, very beautiful?’, asked Jackie. This delighted our granddaughter, because Jackie then unwrapped a small ladybird on a little stick.

The new creature now has a special place in the garden.

This evening we took Elizabeth to The Plough Inn at Tiptoe. I ate a wonderful fish pie; Jackie’s choice was cajun chicken; and Elizabeth chose liver and bacon. All lived up to expectations, as did the crumble and creme brûlée to follow. Doom Bar and Becks were the draft beers we drank.

The Fly Whisk

We are now basking in hot, sunny, weather. To celebrate I walked the Mill Lane/Emery Down loop in sandals.

Near the farm holiday cottages at the top of the lane, in addition to the usual crop of ponies, two young donkeys grazed in a field. Even from a distance I could tell they were asses because their ears were clearly elongated.

The millpond’s streams are now less full and the lake, for that is what it is, now bears irises and waterlilies.

Many of the roads and lanes around Minstead have barely enough room for one vehicle. Passing tends to be a pretty dodgy affair. Whether driving or walking you have to take care not to be persuaded into a ditch. The road leading to Emery Down on today’s route is particularly narrow. Despite signs indicating that there are passing places, some cars are forced to back up quite a long way. All the roads were very busy today. At one point a car meeting two others and a motorbike head on took the better part of valour and went into reverse. As there was no way a pedestrian could thread himself through there, I could only ‘stand and stare’. Well, I now have plenty of time for that.

There is far more concern for those on foot as one enters Emery Down. Especially as there is also a blind bend near the village hall, the sign warning drivers what they may encounter is really rather necessary.

Whisking and flicking at flies, mares’ tails were much in evidence today. (Anyone who cares to humour me may wish to read yesterday’s post to glean a full appreciation of that sentence. It will, after all, be my birthday very soon after this ramble is posted.)

Jackie hoped to retain her resolution to be rather mean with the birds today. Except for the two near the feeding station, her myriad of hanging baskets are now chock full of gorgeous flowers. The exceptions are suffering from a surfeit of guano. They have required mucking out, which means they have been shorn of clumps that had the misfortune to lie under the avian post-prandial evacuations. The miscreants were punished by being sent out into the forest to forage for a day.

Later this afternoon I began reading my friend Michael Kindred’s book ‘Once Upon a Game’.

For dinner Jackie served up Dandy and Beano style pork and leak sausage and mash with which she drank Roc Saint Vincent sauvignon blanc Bordeaux 2011. I finished the Maipo red and began a Cimarosa shiraz cabernet sauvignon of the same year.

Later Mat and Oddie turned up to eat the last of the sausages and a tin of Butcher’s.

Platinum Shine

I had a bit of a lazy day today. The morning was spent getting back into Henri Troyat’s ‘Grandeur Nature’, which translates as ‘life size’.

Jackie then drove us to Totton to buy a second garden chair. She hadn’t quite had enough money with her to buy two yesterday when she acquired the first.

As we emerged from the garden onto Upper Drive, we disturbed a mare and her foal. The adult pony was keen to shield her infant from our gaze, whilst the baby metaphorically clung to its mother’s skirts, anxiously tripping over itself to keep pace. The mare led the way into the bracken in an attempt to steer clear of me.

Then it was next stop Frys (no apostrophe) Lane in Everton for the first of two external observations of potential eventual purchases. Number 56 looked to me the better option, although the semi-detatched house in Hare Lane, New Milton that was the second, was also acceptable. The baying of a hound next door in Frys Lane was a little disconcerting.

Back at home we sat in the garden marvelling at how mature Jackie’s planting now looks. It is as if she has transported the hanging baskets and pots from The Firs to Castle Malwood Lodge.

As tenants we are allowed neither pets nor children in residence although either are welcome to visit. That suits us fine. However, many of the flats in the house are owned by their occupiers. A number have dogs. Some of these bark. Some a lot.

As we sit in our corner of the garden, we see the owners walking their pets, and they often come and have a chat with us. A frequent visitor is Jean who has until quite recently been subject to considerable embarrassment because her dog barked a great deal. It was impossible for her to have a comfortable discourse because Nevis, her Coton du Tulear, would bark all the way through. She has, however, been working very hard on this, and today we enjoyed a lengthy conversation with Nevis looking his usual happy, friendly self, and not barking once. Congratulations were in order, and we gave them.

On 31st May I wrote about Eleanor and Henry, our resourceful young neighbours. This evening they buzzed our entryphone to gain access to our side of the building in order to distribute leaflets for their ‘Platinum Shine Car Wash’. I happily granted them admission.

Soon afterwards Jackie, resisting the temptation to produce roast pork, served up her smoked haddock dish with cauliflower cheese (recipe) and sautéed potatoes. Delicious. The cheese produces a lovely tangy flavour, which meant the last glass of the Berberana was not an inappropriate accompaniment.

The Bird Feeder

The squirrel has won the latest battle in the baffle wars. What he managed to do this morning was to shin up the pole until level with the edge of the concave dome. He now realises that climbing any further up the pole is counter-productive and anyway gives him a sore head. Whilst clinging to the pole by his back legs he one-handedly grasped the baffle’s rim, then reached out and grabbed the bottom of the green suet ball holder with his other arm, using which he pulled himself onto the table. A raging tigress shooed him away and chased him across the lawn. She then raised the bottom of the suet feeder in an attempt to place it out of reach of this creature who is able change his shape and extend it like a Disney cartoon character. For simplicity this tale is being told as if there were only one bushy-tailed invader. Our suspicions that there are two were confirmed later when there was a face-off on the lawn. The jury is out on which has the brains.

Oblivious of the frustrating conflict for the rodents, the birds, such as the great tits, carry on regardless, and one unusual duck, surely out of its element, alighted in the dish as Jackie was preparing dinner.

As the day began to brighten after a morning’s steady, heavy, rain, I walked the Bull Lane/Trusty Servant loop. The more pampered relatives of the sturdy forest ponies, who are left to their own devices, throughout the long cold wet months of winter have, as my readers will know, been covered with warm jackets. Although they neither read books nor inhabit tents, these more delicate creatures are given further protection in warmer weather in the form of fly sheets worn to repel winged pests. On the fence surrounding a paddock in the village, a pair was hanging out to dry.

Sunshine and rain vied with each other for ascendancy throughout the afternoon.

Our great friend Don, having spent five and a half hours driving from Bungay, arrived this evening and shared our meal of roast pork smeared with mustard and topped off with roasted almonds accompanied by perfectly timed vegetables followed by bread and butter pudding. Don and I drank Chateauneuf diu Pape with this, while Jackie had her Hoegaarden. We talked about a lot, reminisced a lot, and drank a little more. I’m past elaborating.

Holiday With The Jubilee Sailing Trust

Today was a beautiful autumn day. At last we are reaching the stage in The Firs garden where we can spend as much time in sitting and enjoying the display as in ’tilling and sowing’. This was just as well today, because I had left my camera battery charger at home in Morden, so we went to Jessops to buy another. It will be useful to have one in each abode. The shop was unable to supply a specific charger for my Canon camera. They could sell me a universal charger which seems to be magic. It charges mobile phones, AA and AAA batteries, cameras; and even has a lead with an adapter for the car. Unfortunately when we got it home, not one of the three of us was able to pass the intelligence test required to make it work. After an hour or so’s trial and error, the emphasis being on error, we had to go back to the shop where the assistant acknowledged the paucity of the instructions, and showed me how to turn a couple of wheels and position the battery without closing the back of the gadget. It looked rather precarious to me, but seems to have worked.

The shape of the new bed is now established. All that remains is to compost it tomorrow. Planting continues apace. Yesterday, Jackie finished her work on the bay tree. A few months ago this large specimen was surrounded by suckers, so that it looked more like a shrub. She began by removing these, to give it more shape. This being a very stony garden, she began to place stones around the base of the plant. Finally she gave the stones a framework of hexagonally shaped tiles. Like much of what is happening here this was incremental. If I wanted to misquote Topsy of ‘Uncle Tom’s Cabin’, I would say it ‘just growed’. Topsy explained her arrival in that phrase, not, as is generally assumed, her manner of gradually developing. This living supply of an essential cooking ingredient now has the appearance of a lurcher practicing deportment.

Danni joined us for lunch. Capitalising on the success of my coastal walk yesterday, she tried her hand at persuading me to join the crew of one of the tall ships of the Jubilee Sailing Trust. My post of 3rd. June featured Tenacious, one of their two sailing vessels providing holidays on tall ships crewed by people of all physical abilities working alongside each other as equals. Apparently they are in need of two septuagenarians, slightly younger being acceptable, wishing to join a week-long holiday group. As it is not actually my scene, I declined. But if you fit the bill and would like to join, visit www.jst.org.uk/ or telephone 023 8044 9108.

The main course of our evening meal was the same as yesterday. To follow, Jackie had made blackberry and apple pie, using blackberries from the garden. These were completely worm free. You can tell that by soaking them in water. If no grubs come up spluttering, there aren’t any in there. Elizabeth and I drank Carta Roja Reserva 2005, whilst Jackie consumed La Gioiosa Pino Grigio 2011. If anyone is wondering, there is a purpose in our having roast chicken two nights running. This is so that I will have enough left-over meat to curry, and enough bones to make stock, for tomorrow night when Danni is joining us. I will produce Jalfrezi, which Indians would serve dry, but we English like our gravy. This is perhaps why chicken tikka masala is now, in the view of many, our national dish. Personally, as you know, I love my curries, but for English food, give me steak and kidney pie any day.

Vertigo

Before the rain set in, Jackie in particular having got up early, we managed to get quite a bit of planting done, and even start a bonfire. New and older, refurbished, beds are being filled, and, where necessary, thinned out; some plants being separated and moved.

The variously hued heuchera make a colourful display.

The patio area, which has received Jackie’s attention all through the year, now looks splendid.

Jackie has, in this area, and in her hanging baskets transplanted her small London garden into Elizabeth’s The Firs. For the short length of time the sun was out today the flowers could be seen in all their glory. By about 11 a.m. we gave up, left the planting, the bonfire, and the new bed I was starting, to the elements, and went off, smelling of wood smoke, to Sainsburys to buy wine for Bill’s birthday. Helen and Bill are hoping to hold a barbecue to celebrate this tomorrow. As we were nearing Sainsburys Jackie mentioned that last week their entrance hall had been totally given over to a display of raincoats and umbrellas for sale. They had obviously had a run on them because there were none there today. What they clearly had not had a run on was their stock of garden recliners. An announcement came over the public address system offering them at a price reduced to £10. We didn’t think we would have much use for one this year. We did, however, wonder whether one of the gazebos sold in Hilliers’ garden centre which we visited on the way back, might be a good method of keeping the rain off the gardeners at work. Later, without knowing this, Elizabeth made the same speculation.

From Sainsburys we went on to Wickham where we found a present for Flo. Before arriving at Wickham we stopped off at the vineyard for a tasting. Although I could manage, at a pinch, to recognise the taste of strawberries in one of the wines, I struggled with some of the other fruits which differed from the grape. What was more difficult was to discern any aroma other than the charred wet wood lingering on the fingers holding my glass. Having sampled everything in sight we came away with six bottles and two tea towels. Jackie thought it was quite ridiculous of me to buy two French tea towels to take to France. It seemed perfectly logical to me. We returned to Elizabeth’s for lunch, and, as so often when eating, the subject for discussion was the efficacy or otherwise of various forms of dieting.

Over breakfast Elizabeth and I had discussed Cottenham Park, the theme of yesterday’s post, and she had also remembered trips to Dundonald Recreation Ground in Wimbledon. The path along which we would have walked is featured on 11th. May. As a little girl she had been disconcerted by the gaps between the flooring planks of the bridge over the railway to that destination. Being able to see through them to the railway lines, to her so very far, below, she thinks is when she discovered her fear of heights. My similar awareness came much later when, in my early forties, deciding that the guttering of our house in Gracedale Road needed attention, I bought a nice long ladder. Starting to scale it, I began to get a bit wobbly. The ladder remained firmly fixed; it was I who was unsteady. I never did get to the top, and, for all I know, the guttering still needs attention.

My paralysis was always worse when there were children involved. I feared for them as much as for myself. A few years before I bought that ladder, in 1973, I had, alone, taken Michael, Matthew and Becky to North Wales for a few days. The little ones went running towards the pitch dark waters of a lake. I was concerned that they might fall in and called them away. Had I known at that moment that it was an extremely deep disused slate quarry I would not have been half so calm about it.

Much later, when Sam was about ten, and therefore older than Mat had been in 1973, we were walking as a family in Cumbria. On our return journey I was faced with a sheer rock face we had to climb. Looking back now it wasn’t much more than fifteen feet or so, and we had come down it with no difficulty. The problem for me was that I could not see beyond the skyline at the top. Emptiness beckoned. Sam clearly sensed my fears. He took my hand, said: ‘this way Dad,’ and led me up.

Later still, again in the Lake District, the family and Ali and Steve wanted to climb up from Grasmere, across Striding Edge, to a summit whose name I can’t remember. Striding Edge is a notoriously narrow ridge with a sheer drop of thousands of feet either side. No way was I going that way. I took a softer route, but, seeing it as part of my marathon training, I ran all the way up. I was going great guns until I slipped on some scree and looked up to see a straight line on the horizon above me. My brain produced a similar affect to the time mentioned above. I sat down. After a while I gritted my teeth, rose to my feet, and began to climb. Pretty soon I sat down again. This went on for about three quarters of an hour during which I’d covered about fifty yards, but had reached the top. The sheer drop I’d feared turned out to be a very wide path about as wide as Oxford Street. ‘What a twit’, I thought. I then strode along to the agreed meeting point, glancing across the wide open space to Striding Edge. I could see my family silhouetted against the skyline on the sharp bit of an enormous razor blade. I sat down again. Gradually piecing myself together I managed to arrive at the summit at more or less the same time as the others. Somewhere there is a photograph to prove it.

Until I began my reguIar flights to France I always had similar discomfort on a plane. This was mostly on takeoff and landing. It is now no longer a problem. Should I go on climbing expeditions with the same regularity? I don’t think so, somehow. I understand Tom Cruise is rather short; nevertheless watching him at the beginning of ‘Mission Impossible’ was a tall order for me.

This evening I made a beef rogan josh. Elizabeth and I committed the crime of drinking red wine with it; Marques de Montino Reserve rioja 2007. Jackie had the Co-op’s Jubilation beer. There were a couple of slight hitches over the samosas, which were from Sainsburys. I called the ladies for their food and Jackie asked me if I’d done the samosas. I hadn’t. ‘How long do they take?’, I asked. ‘Oven. Top. Ten minutes.’ was the reply. Elizabeth turned on the oven. I waited a while and put the samosas in. Ten minutes later I was ready to serve up. Unfortunately the samosas were cold. What had I done? The cooker is a Belling range model and I had put the samosas in the top left section which happened to be the grill. The bottom left oven had been blasting away with nothing on its top shelf. Something got lost in translation. However, the meal went down very well, and as, as always, I wasn’t quite sure what my method had been, Jackie told us the story of the Victorian parlour song ‘The Lost Chord’. You may need to Google it.

During the ten minutes or so that we were finally waiting for the samosas we did a tour of the garden to admire the work that Jackie had been able to do during intervals in the rain. It was then that we realised we had been engaged in a triple role reversal. Jackie had done the gardening, Elizabeth had been hanging pictures, and who had done the cooking?