Not a real blog post today, just something for you to enjoy -
www.katelycett.co.uk
Tuesday, 30 July 2013
Monday, 29 July 2013
Wet
It's been soggy the last two days. It started with the thunderstorms on Saturday night. I hadn't noticed the rain starting, and I was making such a lovely job of sorting out the remaining stuff in LYS's room and putting it all through the wash. There's still a soaked bath towel and a sodden Newcastle United rug flapping wetly on the washing line.
On Sunday was another big farewell do, when people said very nice things about us and cried. What was especially lovely was that all the family were together (except Daughter's Chap, who couldn't be there, but we gave him a mention). LOS and Daughter both contributed to the speeches which we hadn't expected, and it turned our hearts over. Daughter also sang that lovely Irish farewell song, The Parting Glass, and sang it beautifully.
They presented Tony with a cheque and a painting by a favourite artist, Kate Lycett, who can make grim wet Yorkshire streets look radiant. We've often looked at her paintings and wished we could own one. And for me there the most beautiful and enormous bouquet of white lilies and roses that scents the whole house. When I got it home I filled up the water reservoir and missed, so the carpet got wet. In fact, everything got wet. Never mind.
But today there have been more thunderstorms. Yet again, everyone is looking anxiously at the sky, the hills and the river, and putting sandbags against their front doors. We're safe here, but after the floods of last year everyone is nervous and there has been some flooding higher up the valley. I was supposed to be meeting a friend (Henrietta, another author) this evening, but we had to cancel because the road was closed.
Yet another flood makes it easier, in a way, for us to pack up and go away from this wild wet valley. But our hearts are with the ones who have to stay, and it seems unfair.
On Sunday was another big farewell do, when people said very nice things about us and cried. What was especially lovely was that all the family were together (except Daughter's Chap, who couldn't be there, but we gave him a mention). LOS and Daughter both contributed to the speeches which we hadn't expected, and it turned our hearts over. Daughter also sang that lovely Irish farewell song, The Parting Glass, and sang it beautifully.
They presented Tony with a cheque and a painting by a favourite artist, Kate Lycett, who can make grim wet Yorkshire streets look radiant. We've often looked at her paintings and wished we could own one. And for me there the most beautiful and enormous bouquet of white lilies and roses that scents the whole house. When I got it home I filled up the water reservoir and missed, so the carpet got wet. In fact, everything got wet. Never mind.
But today there have been more thunderstorms. Yet again, everyone is looking anxiously at the sky, the hills and the river, and putting sandbags against their front doors. We're safe here, but after the floods of last year everyone is nervous and there has been some flooding higher up the valley. I was supposed to be meeting a friend (Henrietta, another author) this evening, but we had to cancel because the road was closed.
Yet another flood makes it easier, in a way, for us to pack up and go away from this wild wet valley. But our hearts are with the ones who have to stay, and it seems unfair.
Saturday, 27 July 2013
Closer
Sorry, I've been quiet this week. I haven't been on holiday, I haven't been ill. But our move to Northumberland is getting closer, and there's so much to do.
There are obvious things, like sorting stuff out and packing books into boxes and running out of boxes and going to the shops to beg for even more boxes. Then are the really important things.
We have less than two weeks left in the village. I want to spend all the time I can with the people and places I'll leave behind.
On Monday, I went with two friends and a small child to Judith Wigley's excellent bookshop in Skipton so that when I've gone they'll know the best place in all of Yorkshire to find resources for children's work. (And funny stuff. And very good coffee and lunches, and by the way the scones are good too.) Tuesday was a sorting stuff out day, and in the evening I saw the funniest and most original piece of theatre I've seen in years, 'Inspector Norse', a two-woman show by Lip Service Theatre.
Wednesday, LYS and The Lassie arrived in her shiny new car, in the afternoon I went to the dentist for my 'check out and clean bill of health' appointment, and in the evening - at last, hoorah, hooray! - our new vicar was inducted, or authorised, or enthroned, or whatever it is. She is a star, and will be well loved here. Joy, music, food, the Church of England knows how to do big occasions.
On Thursday I was at a Society of Authors do at the Old Swan Hotel in Harrogate. Harrogate is an old-fashioned elegance sort of place, and the Old Swan has 1930's grandeur about it. It's famous for being the place that Agatha Christie disappeared to when she had some sort of breakdown, so crime writers flock to it. It's even got a library, but we didn't go in there so I never found out if there's a body in it.
Finally - yesterday was our farewell party. Too happy to be sad, so tears, for me, will come later. When you're leaving, everybody says nice things about you. Great company, a lot of fun, music, Bucks Fizz, and as it was a fine evening the beautiful children could run about outside if they felt like it. The Sunshines pitched in to help, and as they are sort of the Village Love Story, or at least the Church Love Story, they did what they always do and brought the sunshine with them.
Today, daughter arrives and I haven't made her bed yet. LYS and the Lassie are in Poland for a wedding but we'll see them tomorrow. At some point I will get on with clearing out and packing up, so if you stand still for five minutes you'll be put in a cardboard box and labelled.
So the prince is George, as we suspected he might be. I have to say that I was appalled by the baying and shrieking of the crowd when his parents first brought him out of the hospital. This is not what you do in the presence of a newborn baby who's never known anything but a quiet maternity suite. Ladies and Gentlemen of the press, and the people who pay for the newspapers and the TV channels, this is a baby, not your newest plaything.
There are obvious things, like sorting stuff out and packing books into boxes and running out of boxes and going to the shops to beg for even more boxes. Then are the really important things.
We have less than two weeks left in the village. I want to spend all the time I can with the people and places I'll leave behind.
On Monday, I went with two friends and a small child to Judith Wigley's excellent bookshop in Skipton so that when I've gone they'll know the best place in all of Yorkshire to find resources for children's work. (And funny stuff. And very good coffee and lunches, and by the way the scones are good too.) Tuesday was a sorting stuff out day, and in the evening I saw the funniest and most original piece of theatre I've seen in years, 'Inspector Norse', a two-woman show by Lip Service Theatre.
Wednesday, LYS and The Lassie arrived in her shiny new car, in the afternoon I went to the dentist for my 'check out and clean bill of health' appointment, and in the evening - at last, hoorah, hooray! - our new vicar was inducted, or authorised, or enthroned, or whatever it is. She is a star, and will be well loved here. Joy, music, food, the Church of England knows how to do big occasions.
On Thursday I was at a Society of Authors do at the Old Swan Hotel in Harrogate. Harrogate is an old-fashioned elegance sort of place, and the Old Swan has 1930's grandeur about it. It's famous for being the place that Agatha Christie disappeared to when she had some sort of breakdown, so crime writers flock to it. It's even got a library, but we didn't go in there so I never found out if there's a body in it.
Finally - yesterday was our farewell party. Too happy to be sad, so tears, for me, will come later. When you're leaving, everybody says nice things about you. Great company, a lot of fun, music, Bucks Fizz, and as it was a fine evening the beautiful children could run about outside if they felt like it. The Sunshines pitched in to help, and as they are sort of the Village Love Story, or at least the Church Love Story, they did what they always do and brought the sunshine with them.
Today, daughter arrives and I haven't made her bed yet. LYS and the Lassie are in Poland for a wedding but we'll see them tomorrow. At some point I will get on with clearing out and packing up, so if you stand still for five minutes you'll be put in a cardboard box and labelled.
So the prince is George, as we suspected he might be. I have to say that I was appalled by the baying and shrieking of the crowd when his parents first brought him out of the hospital. This is not what you do in the presence of a newborn baby who's never known anything but a quiet maternity suite. Ladies and Gentlemen of the press, and the people who pay for the newspapers and the TV channels, this is a baby, not your newest plaything.
Monday, 22 July 2013
Sunday, 21 July 2013
Grafting
When the kids were small, they had a set amount of pocket money each week which they could supplement by doing odds and ends of jobs around the house and garden. It didn't include things like 'making your own bed and putting your dirty socks in the wash', but things that were over and above. I seem to remember hoovering came into it, but I can't remember what else.
After church this morning, some of us got into a conversation about how we used to earn extra holiday money. I said that my sister and I used to weed the garden, and I think threepence in old (pre-decimal) money for a wheelbarrow full was the going rate. It was a small wheelbarrow, so I think we came out of it pretty well. Daphne said she used to get threepence for a hundred dandelions, which I think is slave labour and definitely along way below the minimum wage. Then Geoffrey, who goes back a long way, told us a story about somebody from before his time.
Jackie was the youngest of thirteen children. A neighbour who kept rabbits paid him to bring dandelion leaves, so on Saturday mornings Jackie would go off looking for dandelions. The churchyard was a good place to find them, and one morning when he'd picked all he could carry he went home past the chapel.
"And there was me sister coming out," he said. "She'd just got wed that morning, and nobody had told me!"
I don't suppose he minded. Small boy. Wedding, or earning pennies for pulling leaves up?
After church this morning, some of us got into a conversation about how we used to earn extra holiday money. I said that my sister and I used to weed the garden, and I think threepence in old (pre-decimal) money for a wheelbarrow full was the going rate. It was a small wheelbarrow, so I think we came out of it pretty well. Daphne said she used to get threepence for a hundred dandelions, which I think is slave labour and definitely along way below the minimum wage. Then Geoffrey, who goes back a long way, told us a story about somebody from before his time.
Jackie was the youngest of thirteen children. A neighbour who kept rabbits paid him to bring dandelion leaves, so on Saturday mornings Jackie would go off looking for dandelions. The churchyard was a good place to find them, and one morning when he'd picked all he could carry he went home past the chapel.
"And there was me sister coming out," he said. "She'd just got wed that morning, and nobody had told me!"
I don't suppose he minded. Small boy. Wedding, or earning pennies for pulling leaves up?
Friday, 19 July 2013
Willow
We now have less than three weeks in this valley before we move back to Northumberland. This year we were due to move anyway, and to move back to such a lovely area is something we're looking forward to. Oh, but leaving here will be hard. We are at the stage now when we're doing the last of everything, starting on the round of goodbyes. People make speeches and say nice things about us and it's so lovely of them, but it makes it harder for us to go.
Yesterday I did my last todddler group. (It's called 'Angels'.) I knew they were planning something, but I hadn't expected my superb colleague Sam to come in with the most beautiful mauve clematis in a pot. It's an 'Angelique', and she's even drawn an angel on the container. They've ordered a rose for my new garden, too, and I realised they know me too well when they presented me with a teddy bear. What a cutie! He's big, fluffy and toffee-coloured wearing a hand-knitted red sweater with 'With Love From Angels' emrboidered on the front, and of course he's called Angel. He's settled in very quickly with a bit of help from Hamilton.)
This morning Tony did his final school assembly and came home with a tree, as you do. The school is called River Side, so they thought a willow tree would be appropriate. It'll have to live in a pot because willow roots are notorious for going where you don't want them to, but it will be a very fine tree as it grows up.
We expect our first few weeks in the new house to be pretty disrupted as we get the new fire put in, decorate, work out where all the furniture goes, and so on. But the garden will be fine. I'll be out there urging the willow to grow tall and strong and telling Angelique how beautiful she is, and thinking with love of my Angels.
Yesterday I did my last todddler group. (It's called 'Angels'.) I knew they were planning something, but I hadn't expected my superb colleague Sam to come in with the most beautiful mauve clematis in a pot. It's an 'Angelique', and she's even drawn an angel on the container. They've ordered a rose for my new garden, too, and I realised they know me too well when they presented me with a teddy bear. What a cutie! He's big, fluffy and toffee-coloured wearing a hand-knitted red sweater with 'With Love From Angels' emrboidered on the front, and of course he's called Angel. He's settled in very quickly with a bit of help from Hamilton.)
This morning Tony did his final school assembly and came home with a tree, as you do. The school is called River Side, so they thought a willow tree would be appropriate. It'll have to live in a pot because willow roots are notorious for going where you don't want them to, but it will be a very fine tree as it grows up.
We expect our first few weeks in the new house to be pretty disrupted as we get the new fire put in, decorate, work out where all the furniture goes, and so on. But the garden will be fine. I'll be out there urging the willow to grow tall and strong and telling Angelique how beautiful she is, and thinking with love of my Angels.
Wednesday, 17 July 2013
Much
The amount of stuff that's coming out of that house just now, it's like a blooming Tardis. There's four boxes of books waiting to go to a sale and five bags of stuff just got carted off to the Oxfam shop. Young LYS came over today and they filled up the car with 'is stuff and took it over to 'is new place. Them lizards'll 'ave to move over. The bin's full and 'er filled two more bin bags with rubbish today. The amount of paper going off for recycling, blimey, it'll keep the nation in loo rolls for a month.
It takes 'er hours to turn out a drawer. 'Er ends up sitting on 'er study floor sorting through all this stuff, papers, cards, dear knows what, then it's 'oh, I'd forgotten I had that!' and 'er's off on a sentimental journey into two Christmasses ago, or whatever er's found. The stuff that's in that attic! It's got 'er study at one end, Daughter's bedroom at t'other and a little sitting room in the middle, but you wouldn't call it a sitting room any more, it's like a blooming ware'ouse. It's a wonder the ceiling don't come down.
It's so 'ot just now, I'm glad of me bit of shade, so 'er don't cut back the branches too much. Plenty of company, too, what with folks sitting out in the garden, them little birdies 'opping about and a duck on the river with a late brood of littl'uns. In the 'ouse they keep windows open a lot just now. Sometimes a fly gets in, 'eaven 'elp it if 'er sees it. 'Er's a fast 'and with a swatter, 'er's always got last week's Radio Times at the ready. Or 'er sandal. 'Er goes around barefoot these days, I reckon 'er only keeps 'er shoes handy for walking on rough ground and whacking flies.
I get to 'ear The Archers, too. 'Er says you like to keep up to date, so 'ere goes -
Matt's 'ad enough of Lilian, so 'e's off. I 'ad enough of Lilian a long time ago. So has Brenda Tucker, er's gone abroad somewhere. (Sounds to me like an actress looking for a new job any time now.) Caroline ain't well. There's a creepy guy hanging around Helen Archer. Tony Archer's sold 'is cows and 'e sounds like 'e's about to cry, but 'er says 'e sounds like that all the time so I reckon 'e's all right. An' the old sheepdog died.
It takes 'er hours to turn out a drawer. 'Er ends up sitting on 'er study floor sorting through all this stuff, papers, cards, dear knows what, then it's 'oh, I'd forgotten I had that!' and 'er's off on a sentimental journey into two Christmasses ago, or whatever er's found. The stuff that's in that attic! It's got 'er study at one end, Daughter's bedroom at t'other and a little sitting room in the middle, but you wouldn't call it a sitting room any more, it's like a blooming ware'ouse. It's a wonder the ceiling don't come down.
It's so 'ot just now, I'm glad of me bit of shade, so 'er don't cut back the branches too much. Plenty of company, too, what with folks sitting out in the garden, them little birdies 'opping about and a duck on the river with a late brood of littl'uns. In the 'ouse they keep windows open a lot just now. Sometimes a fly gets in, 'eaven 'elp it if 'er sees it. 'Er's a fast 'and with a swatter, 'er's always got last week's Radio Times at the ready. Or 'er sandal. 'Er goes around barefoot these days, I reckon 'er only keeps 'er shoes handy for walking on rough ground and whacking flies.
I get to 'ear The Archers, too. 'Er says you like to keep up to date, so 'ere goes -
Matt's 'ad enough of Lilian, so 'e's off. I 'ad enough of Lilian a long time ago. So has Brenda Tucker, er's gone abroad somewhere. (Sounds to me like an actress looking for a new job any time now.) Caroline ain't well. There's a creepy guy hanging around Helen Archer. Tony Archer's sold 'is cows and 'e sounds like 'e's about to cry, but 'er says 'e sounds like that all the time so I reckon 'e's all right. An' the old sheepdog died.
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