Just a perfect day

J and I have now done the deed and Got Married.

It was a perfect day: everything went smoothly, we were relaxed and happy, and our 18 guests - family and one of my friends Wendy - enjoyed themselves.

I woke up at the Paddington Hilton, adhering to the tradition that the bride and groom don't see each other the night before. After a slap up breakfast (no nerves!) I was relieved to hear J was in the cab on his way to the hotel, writing his speech on the way (!).

We were a little early at Westminster register office - Marylebone Town Hall - so we went round the block a few times in our white London taxi with ribbon.

The service was charming, conducted by Tracey Zimmerman (we think she was South African). We then had photos taken in the beautiful building and outside, and went to the reception at a nearby bistro where we had a private section. I loved the fact we could offer a menu and choices to the guests. Angel Flowers really surpassed themselves. My posy was freesias and sweetpeas, and at the restaurant there were goldfish bowls full of purple and lilac sweetpeas, stocks and freesias and a tall arrangement including purple hydrangeas.

A very enjoyable lunch ensued: both the bride and groom gave a speech. We cut the cake, from London Cake Company, and in late afternoon sunlight bade farewell to our guests. In the evening we went to see Jersey Boys.
The official photos are great. Here are a few taken by myself and others. We're off to Greece now. Kalispera!

Come On My Son...

As Mrs Doyle memorably said in Father Ted, the one where she and some other redoubtable ladies were watching the clerics' football championships.

I was determined this time to try to get with it. To try to watch the football. At the time of the last World Cup, we were in Ischia, an Italian island. J dragged me along to see a match in a bar and I zoned out, so that when he turned excitedly to me and said "did you see that?" I had to admit I hadn't, and he got quite annoyed.

So this time I have been eagerly reading the breathless prose, wondering about the 4:2:2 and if Fabio will use it, and wondering also how Sven-Goran managed to get another international gig (this time with Ivory Coast.) None of us, least of all the players, could probably take SG seriously after the Ulrika Jonsson accounts of his stacked heel shoes left neatly outside the bedroom.

Anyway, back to the football.

I promised J last night I would sit in the same room when the England match was on, but I would be reading because I find watching England too stressful.

Sadly dear reader, I was right.

The early Gerrard goal, well, even I put my book down. Was this a sign of a newly reinvigorated Fabio super side? One that would get the goals in, fast and confidently?

But then it all limped into the usual tragedy, where you hope desperately someone will get their act together and score, and all you get is a goalkeeper's schoolboy error and that dejected look we remember so well from years gone by.

I feel so sad for all the fans who got so excited.

J keeps stoutly telling me that they could still finish second in their group and go through to the next round, but I'm thinking that Brazil, Spain and Germany are hardly quaking in their boots now that we can't beat the USA.

Next week we will be watching the Algerian match in a Greek bar and I will try to pay attention. Maybe Fabio will try the 5:2:1 with Rooney on his own up front (he sometimes seems like the only one that can be arsed.) But I'm having one of my premonitions that Slovenia are going to do quite well, and this doesn't bode well for England......

A good year for the roses

The roses are magnificent. In full bloom and untroubled by any diseases or pests, they lift my heart every time I come home.

J shows his romantic streak

Now with just over a week to go before our nuptials ("a step in the right direction," said Uncle Teddy), J has often felt unfairly maligned in these despatches for his unromantic nature. Although he is quite fond of rom coms, he is not the type for spontaneous or lavish gestures. He has never sent me flowers although he did once buy me a spade for the garden and he is methodical about working his way through a Christmas list.

He has always been at pains to point out that lavish gestures are often meaningless, whereas he is a man of action who will do things, or buy things, thoughtfully for me. And do you know, I think he's right. I can imagine that Sgt Troy would have been the type to send extravagant but essentially superficial bunches of flowers, whereas Gabriel Oak did more vital work like saving Bathsheba's hay ricks and sorting out her sheep when they had bloat.

Back to J.

On Sunday he was very excited about a surprise he said was heading my way. Yesterday he was crushed when the postman failed to deliver.

Today two jiffy bags arrived and I asked if I was supposed to open them. Out came an ipod charger for a car and a strange looking cable which, on closer examination, had an iPOD wotsit too, for connecting to the "aux" in my car. J assured me that I would be able to listen to podcasts at normal volume with this road warrier kit. I've been omplaining bitterly that when I'm on the motorway the volume of podcasts becomes too low to listen properly (and no I'm not mutton.)

By jove he was right so I'm now able to enjoy my favourite podcasts: Woman's Hour, Learn French by Podcast and Claudia Winkleman's Arts Show.

J is cockahoop about his thoughtfulness, and I think he's hoping that I've forgotten the observation in Wedding magazine that the bride and groom normally give each other a present......

Back to the 70's: Bournemouth, 1974

I'm very glad that I was an inveterate documenter of my childhood and that I managed to hold on to "my archive" despite my mum being an inveterate thrower-outer.

In 1974 we stayed in a hotel for the first time for a week's holiday in Bournemouth. Mum had started working part-time and she used her wages to fund our holiday treat.

I faithfully documented everything, from the colour of the wallpaper and carpet in the two bedrooms to the menu for the week and the impressions that Mike Yarwood did.

We had a very busy time in Bournemouth. Every day is filled with activity, from going to three shows and the cinema for The Three Musketeers, in the evening to taking in the delights of Corfe Castle, Tucktonia and Compton Acres by day. We only had one day on the beach and it was a grey overcast day with just one person swimming: me.

The hotel was called the Hollyhurst. There were no TVs in the rooms or en suite bathrooms. Guests were summoned to breakfast and dinner by the sounding of a gong by the waiter we named "Carlos Alberto," on whom I had a bit of a crush. I was devastated to see him hanging out in the park with his girlfriend.

The menu highlights were: orange juice starter (!) followed by roast chicken and trifle for pudding. Very 70s.

Everyone watched Top of the Pops in those day and  remember all the guests crowding into the communal sitting room to watch The Three Degrees, who were number 1.

EXTRACT

Time: 8.45am. Destination : Bournemouth

The intrepid party climbed into their red Ford Cortina eager for the off. They had ample luggage, four suitcases plus bags and buckets. The journey took six and three quarter hours. The party passed through Exeter, Honiton and Axminster. Unfortunately the anxious holidaymakers were held up at Dorchester for over an hour. They also had to push the car, which was in a very stubborn mood.

Once in Bournemouth, another incident befell them...they couldn't find the hotel! After half an hour of map poring and arguing, they found the Hollyhurst Hotel in West Hill Road, firmly sandwiches between the Kiwi and the three-star Tralee, famous for its clanking of dishes in the kitchen,
Opposite was the salubrious four-star Savoy, complete with pool.
"Looks better than it did in the book" remarked wise Mrs Tyler, a woman of medium height with hair of an undecided colour.
Out came the cases and in marched the Tylers. They collected their keys - no 19 and 22 - and climbed up the two flights of stairs......

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?