Brassed Off

When I was young the five sure Signs of Ageing were:

1) Getting a mortgage

2) Wearing slippers

3) Irrational happiness at the idea of a cup of tea and a sitdown;

4) Perusing seed catalogues

5) Listening to brass bands

I now own up to all five, having today overcome my aversion to the brass band, previously sullied by Terry Wogan and the floral dance.

I was enthralled by the The Black Dyke Colliery Band on Aled Jones' show this morning.

The mournful timbre of the brass band is all the more evocative now as I recall the deserted mines and the dashed hopes of families mainly in the north and Wales. The brutal closure of the mines was one of the worst atrocities of the Thatcher government.

Check out the Black Dyke band at their website and on Spotify. You'll be pleasantly surprised, unless you're still young enough to be appalled by any of the Five Signs.

Return of the Squirrel

A couple of interesting developments with our daring squirrel raider.

Yesterday I replenished the birds' nut feeder and J set up the camera and tripod. Unfortunately we missed the daring deed, when the squirrel released the nuts, but J got a couple of pictures of the creature tucking in.

I wonder about its methodology. Does it shin up the pole, or does it dangle from a tree? The full length picture shows the bird feeder so you can figure it out.

Then last night, the lid of the bird feeder disappeared. Did the squirrel drag it away, determined to remove this blockage to its bounty? Or was it a hungry fox looking for a nibble?

Answers on a postcard.

I'm going out to look for the lid, as I'd like to fill up the bird feeder again and see what happens (Groundhog Day Part 3.)

Daring squirrel raider

More four-legged fun in the garden, this time involving a squirrel.

This cheeky Sciuridae had scampered up the bird feeder post (somehow) and released the nuts. It was then frantically gathering its bounty and hiding them under a tree.

Molly was somewhat nonplussed by the intruder and sat watching. When the squirrel had gathered every last nut, she went sniffing around where it had been, trying to find out what had obsessed it so.

I was lying on the floor in the lean-to poking the camera through the cat flap in a bid to get some photos without scaring the squirrel away.

This post is dedicated with love to the crew at Squirrel Net, who have been following me on Twitter since my post "Squirrel bites blogger".

Eurovision Yawn

I used to love the Eurovision song contest. There would be great excitement around the choosing of the UK song, the semi-finals and then the big event itself.

This year: nul points. Zippo. Nada.

I tried to revive my interest with Justin Lee-Collins' quest to find a country that would let him sing. And my brother keeps trying to entice me into watching a semi by telling me it's the same as it used to be.

But I lost interest two years ago when Terry Wogan did, when the voting had got completely out of hand and UK, along with the other countries who fund it, were always going to be bottom.

So on Saturday I'm going to be watching Avatar.

But good luck to the UK entry, Josh Dubovie, pictured, singing a commercial little ditty written by Pete Waterman. Poor kid needs the luck: he is 200 to 1 in the bookies' odds, which may well see Royaume Unis getting nil points again.

My new car: BMW M6 convertible

OK, OK. In my dreams. In fact that's where it was. I was enjoying a delightful reverie in the car today (while diligently looking out for Dentressangle and Bailey's horse feeds lorries, of course.) It was the daydream I call "when we win the lottery," where I spend the millions.

Now it's always been a source of frustration to me that when I've played this game before, I couldn't decide on a car.

The trouble is, I wouldn't want anything too ostententious or dare I say pretentious, so to me that rules out Porsche, Maserati, Lotus, Ferrari etc. Sorry guys but that's the way I think.

A cute veteran sports car would be ideal: an old Morgan, for example.

And now I have chosen a BMW M6 convertible. It's just perfect. It doesn't scream out "loads of money" but the discerning driver knows full well what's under the bonnet. Plus they're so nice at the dealers. The only one I've come across that patronise women.

In great excitement I called J to ask him how I could find out more about this marque. Highlighting the main difference between us, he couldn't understand why I was even bothering to fill my head with such notions. "You need to keep your feet on the ground" he suggested.

But I can start the day with a light heart, knowing that when Deadly reads out our numbers in the Lotto, my car is chosen.

Now all I have to do is decide on the house. Architect built new build or old building with original features? Aaargh.

Which car and house option would you go for?

Ice cream weather arrives

Hurrah, the weathermen finally came good and the country basks in sunshine. Barbecues are stoked, plumes of acrid smoke billow across the land and pale British skin starts to redden.

I am already a very healthy brown, as if I have been on two weeks' holiday in St Tropez, thanks to the spray tan I had this morning. It was a "dry run" for the pending nuptials. I wanted to see if the colour would be OK, fearing I might turn orange like Michelle Heaton or one of the WAGs.

The prevarication over which motor continues: faithful readers will recall that J has mandated that we share one car instead of having one each: something to do with his government's austerity measures.

The trouble is, each week there's a change of mind about which car it's to be. Last week we were sharing "his"choice of car, a looker to be sure, but this week the pendulum has swung in favour of my more sensible choice, better suited to pounding the motorways and clocking up the mileage.

Anyway, despite poring over the car brochures for hours on end, J has to see the choices of alloy wheels again (another extra, grrr), so off we went to Loughton and the Sytner showroom. I'm surprised they're not on first name terms with us. I took this photo on the way.

My strategy is to order my choice before he changes his mind again. And they said women are ditherers.....

135/365: Stop the Pigeon

Came home after doing the shopping to find the lean-to and garden a blizzard of feathers. The immediate suspect was the cat, but it turned out J was the culprit. A pigeon had found its way into the lean-to (perhaps to check out my crafting supplies) and in the ensuing kerfuffle, a good many of its feathers were lost. I even found a couple in the washing machine.

134/365: Whatever

Been a bad week for taking a picture a day. I had some great photo opportunities one day when I was in London - the setting up in Leicester Square for the premiere of Robin Hood, for example - but the camera battery was flat. Memo to self: make sure that doesn't happen again.

Instead I have been learning editing functions in Photoshop and so I "gussied up" this photo of me with the cat. Suffice to say, the cat didn't need any gussying.

129/365: Car shock

My dear faithful car did a Lewis Hamilton today - a puncture but on the first lap rather than the last, which meant I had to turn round at 5.45am and return home.

Anyway, while I sort that today,  at least it's nice and shiny. J, for the first time ever, cleaned my car yesterday.

He was trying out a new pressure washer and a strange fleecy mitt thing which he reckons is The Business.

128/365: The asparagus season

Three of my favourite things were on the shelves when I did the shopping: British asparagus, Jersey Royals and scented British stocks.

I was a relatively late convert to asparagus - it was only a few years ago that I made it a New Year's resolution to try some. I like it steamed and sprinkled with lemon and parmesan.

When I lived in Germany I found the Germans go completely bonkers over spargel as they call it. Restaurants have special spargel menus and along the roadside, spargel honesty boxes appear. Their asparagus is white though and to my mind not quite as tasty.

My mum and I adore stocks. The smell is so heavenly you want to eat them. They will definitely be featuring at The Nuptials.

And "JRs" as we call them are sublime in salads and roasted.

Any special recipes for asparagus or JRs?

To heighten my enjoyment and anticipation of this wonderful trio,  I only buy them when they're in season from these shores.

124/265: In love with a Kindle

I am beyond excited. My new Amazon Kindle DX has arrived, hopefully giving me freedom from taking at least 10 books (thick ones too) on holiday.

I didn't open it immediately but eyed the parcel from Amazon US with some suspicion. As we girls know, opening a new gadget is often fraught with problems. However, the Kindle is simplicity itself. Honestly.

I started charging it and as if by magic, instructions appeared on the screen. I was already registered with my usual Amazon account, and the wireless (I think it's 3G actually) was, well, just there. It didn't need configuring. I was able to order my first ebook right away. It was The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. J has just read this but his copy has been read by several people and it was a little too battered for me. It cost just over five dollars which compares very favourably to what it would cost in the UK.

According to Which, the Kindle and the Sony eReader are level pegging. I chose the Kindle because I wanted a larger size (the DX is 9 inches and very thin, similar to holding a light hard back book.) And also because it's so easy to buy with Amazon One Click. Too easy in fact because when I placed my order, I was horrified to discover I had ordered two Kindles, having put one in my shopping basket a while ago. I couldn't change or cancel the order either, but fortunately Amazon's Kindle support team were very helpful and amended the order.

I am very pleased with my purchase. How handsome it looks in its classy leather wallet!

And think of all the extra clothes I can now take to Rhodes, without lugging all those books around.

I don't think an eReader will ever take away the joy of opening a pristine new book but for a voracious reader like me it makes sense. I accumulate  too many books, even though I give lots away. I used to use Read It Swap It a lot but the problem is that you give away a book and get sent another in return. Charity shops often won't take books and the nearest Oxfam book shop to me is in Marylebone, which, if I was taking a large number of books, which mean a car trip to central London (ugh!) with parking costs and the congestion charge. There's a big opportunity up for grabs for charity shops, as I read that second-hand book sales are on the increase. Why not create drop-off points or organise pick-ups?

123/365: The first spraying

Here are the roses getting their first spraying of the season - ahead of any signs of trouble. As far as greenfly are concerned, it's personal with J. He won't allow them house room. This follows an incident two years ago when we returned from holiday and found the roses crawling with greenfly. Yuk.

People complain that roses are demanding and prone to disease but I disagree. Provided you give them a little attention every now and then - spraying a couple of times in  the season and fertilising with Rose Plus - you get strong vigorous bushes and profusions of blooms. They are one of the hardiest plants I know, brutally pruned in the winter and then bouncing back every spring.

There are lots of buds so I'm looking forward to the first flower.

121/365: A flurry of blossom

It's a bumper year for cherry and apple blossom, they tell us. Perfect weather conditions over the last year have resulted in a blizzard of blossom, all bursting forth at the same time.

Our gnarled old apple tree has done itself proud. Each year it produces a few mean, maggotty little apples which I throw away, too squeamish to sit down with a knife like my grandmother used to do.

In a nearby road the cherry blossom trees are in full flower. I took this photo standing beneath one of them. I remembered a Pause for Thought on Radio 2 last year, where a Japanese woman with a hypnotic whisper talked about the significance of these trees in Japan. Parties are held and people picnic with tea lights beneath the blossom.

120/365: The Edinburgh fringes

I'm handing over photographic responsibilities to J today. He has been faithfully going to Edinburgh every Monday, returning on Thursday, for the last few months. Normally he goes out for a run in the evening but as he's resting since the London Marathon, he's been walking instead and took a few photos.

Top left is his running route. Very hilly as you can see. The other pic shows a different view of the park. The Scottish Parliament building is on the left of the roundabout.

I've only ever been to Edinburgh once. We went for a weekend a couple of years ago and I was amazed by the look of the city - very different and distinctive. I'd love to go back for the Edinburgh Festival. J ?!

119/365: Sore Misgivings about Sex and The City II

I have always loved Sex & The City. I have the boxed DVD set of the TV series and the film. When  the first film opened, I scuttled off to Leicester Square to see its inaugural showing. There were lots of corsages on some very highly excited women, and a huge cheer went up when it turned out dear Dame Vivienne supplied the wedding dress.

But I have Sore Misgivings, to quote Mrs Fussey from Carry On Camping, about the latest film, due out on May 28th.

From what we have seen, the odd photo here and there, the fab four end up somewhere that's either Morocco or Abu Dhabi. Somewhere hot with camels. Kim Cattrall on a camel?? And I'm thinking: all too improbable. 

I could understand how, in the first film, they dropped everything to be with Carrie on her wrecked honeymoon. But for four busy women, how easy would it be to do that again?

Plus, I hear Aidan is back. I always thought he was totally unsuitable for Carrie and long gone, married with a baby etc. Yet we hear that he's back. Does this mean her marriage to Big has run into problems? Or is Aidan's reappearance just a red herring? There was a story that Big falls for Penelope Cruz. Well, after all the fuss about the wedding in the first film, and our notion that at last Carrie and Big were together For Good, this would be a crushing blow.

I'm afraid it's all sounding a bit silly. When you look at the first TV series, it was really quite edgy and ahead of its time. Now it's increasingly becoming like Golden Girls. And there's no reason why we won't still be watching it in 30 years' time, with Carrie and co talking about zimmer frames and rest homes. There would be nothing wrong with that provided it still remained edgy and current. Challenging.

By the way I had to laugh at the photo published today by the ridiculous Daily Mail. They chose the most unflattering picture of Sarah Jessica Parker they could find so that they could slate her as "too thin!" A female celebrity is only ever too thin or too"curvy". This is nonsense. In any batch of photos of any women, there will always be one or two where you look odd or have your eyes shut. So why do they always choose the worst one? Why do we let them get away with it?

118/365: Tall buildings

I've spent quite a bit of time in London this week. It's only 26 minutes away by train but "going in town" feels like an event.

I happened to be in the Chancery Lane area to collect some contact lenses so I took a picture of the former BT International building where I spent two happy years a long time ago.

When I first pitched up at BT, having moved from Devon and a fun radio job, I didn't think I could bear it. I was in a huge room filled with people but strangely silent, the hum of conversation muted along with the air conditioning.

I wondered at lunchtime, that first day, if I could chain myself to the Mirror Group Newspapers building, which was opposite, until they gave me a job  (MGN having been my first employer.)

But I quickly adapted to live at BT and look back on it with very fond memories.

The joy of running

We're back home after J's endeavours in the London Marathon today. His time was a very commendable 3'43 which puts him in the top 15% of finishers. It wasn't a personal best but the weather was a little too warm.

As before, I had a great vantage point at an elite runners' drinks station in Shadwell, manned by J's club The Orion Harriers. Some of the drinks (right) and one of them being grabbed by its owner (below.)

I was able to see J twice from this vantage point: first at 14 miles on the opposite side of the road, and then at 20 miles. He looked very fresh both times.

I didn't see the caterpillar of people including Princess Beatrice, or any of the celebrity runners (Lorraine Kelly, Natalie Imbruglia.)

Below is J's brother-in-law Don plus a couple of his Orion colleagues. More photos here.http://www.flickr.com/photos/14963062@N04/4553755143/

113/365: Marathon preparations

Today is the day. J is running the London Marathon for about the fifth or sixth time. He still gets a bit nervous and yesterday was spent sorting out his kit, pinning his vest to his t-shirt (left)and eating pasta. He left at 7 to board a bus with his fellow Orion Harriers runners, and I will set off a little later for a great vantage point in Shadwell where you see the runners twice.

I will also be looking out for colleague Julie Penman, who's running her first marathon.

The camera is primed and ready! More later.

112/365: Bluebell wood

Going to the bluebell wood, about 20 minutes' walk away, is always a highlight of this time of year. It's always such a surprise to come across it, walking through the leafy glade and then suddenly seeing all the bluebells before you. They've only just come out and will probably be at their best in a few days.

110/365: Back to the 70's

First: did anyone see a marvellous programme on BBC2 last week called "Electric Dreams?" Those saps didn't seem to promote it very well, but it was a real nugget. A family went back to the 70s, 80s and 90s in three programmes looking at how technology has developed.

I love shows like that, particularly when (ahem) I was there, which I wasn't for the Victorian House and the 1930's House. Contrary to what some of you might think.

In the 70s the family were subjected to a power cut - I remember those - and there was a big fanfare about getting a colour TV, which cost the equivalent of £3000 today. That was why most people rented them. That and the fact they broke down so frequently. I sniggered also at the arrival of the huge chest freezer, just like the one we had in the garage. Mum and Dad would go off to Windwhistle Farm and come back with half a cow (literally) to fill up the freezer. There was very little in the way of convenience foods then except for fishfingers and arctic rolls.

Meanwhile, still in the 70s, I've been reading two books which take me back to the wonderful days of Ziggy Stardust. I was an avid reader of NME and remember very well the writing of Nick Kent - in particular his huge sprawling article on Iggy and the Stooges, long before they were well known. I was a bit disappointed by his autobiography, Apathy for the Devil. The writing is lumpy and flowery in places; there are no pictures, even though his friend was Pennie Smith the photographer, and there are too many mentions of BOFs like the Rolling Stones and Led Zeppelin. I think the drugs may have addled his brain. I was hoping for more anecdotes and more about the Main Man (D Bowie.)

Also disappointing was Weird and Gilly's account of the life of Mick Ronson, the virtuoso guitarist in David Bowie's Ziggy -days backing group The Spiders from Mars. Now Weird and Gilly are a couple of die hard fans rather than writers or journalists, and this shows unfortunately. They seem to lack the probing instinct and many big questions go unanswered. I got the impression they didn't want to upset Ronson's family because two of the more interesting  happenings are brushed aside.

The fact that he left his wife and went off with a woman in Sweden, having a son with her, is dismissed in one paragraph. And there is a lot of mention of Ronson drinking a lot, but no-one seems to confront the issue. Was he an alcoholic? Then there was the time he joined Mott the Hoople, while still under contract to MainMan. He lorded it over the band, being chauffeured in a different car and not even speakng to "the lads" who quite justifiably got a bit upset. Weird & Gilly don't seem to question his behaviour or motives.

The desired take-out from the book, as fa as Weird & Gilly are concerned,  is that Ronson was a nice bloke whom everyone liked, and he was FAR MORE than just the virtuoso guitarist in the Spiders from Mars whose solo career bombed.  Interestingly Nick Kent refers to Earl Slick as the greatest guitarist that Bowie had.