Grin

This makes me smile every time I drive past

Maybe it is the work of Bansky’s country cousin.

Smile please

How do you measure a quality smile? There has been much in the UK press this week about the need for nurses to smile and Gadgets post of yesterday had me mulling on this conundrum

Ok so I am dumbing the issue down a bit here, but what its really about is the need for nurses to show compassion and empathy and they are entirely different things to a low grade smile. Nurses (and that’s a good number of my friends and acquaintances) have to carry the mantle of nurses somehow being ‘angels’, throughout their shift and that can’t be a light load, but I know there is scope for improvement, I’ve been there, well Mum has.

But how do you quantify a smile? not all smiles are equal, so do ‘they’ plan measure the smiles on a scale of 1-10? #10 being the nicest smile you have ever seen and #1 being a sneering sarcastic grin (oh dear an image of Gordon Browns ’smile’ has just come into my head, it’s not pleasant, think the joker from the batman movie.)

But anyone can tell when a smile is not genuine, a faux smile may stretch from ear to ear, but if the eyes aren’t smiling it’s not for real. And that’s the thing, you cant, slap a stick on smile on the face of the NHS and pretend its all OK, it has to come from what deep within, and that’s more (or at least I think it should be) than a stack of statistics and tick boxes.

Cut Backs

I am hairdresser in residence to the Uphilldowndale household, a lot of this has to do, not with my skills with a pair of clippers but the fact that my men folk are unwilling to spend time traveling to, or waiting for, a barber or a hairdresser.

(Model, Mr Grasshead, styling and photography by Joe Uhdd aged 11, earring, models own)

Much to the delight of Mr Uhdd this also saves us a wad of money (but no one is coming near my tresses, thank you very much, other than a  professional, somehow a number 3 cut isn’t very flattering on a girl of my age, Sigourney Weaver might be able to get away with it, I cant.)

It’s not a task I enjoy, and its just as well the guys are happy with a short back and sides, because I can’t do anything else, my tools are not the most sophisticated, (although I have got new scissors) in fact, between you and me the clippers are in fact dog clippers.

Not that they have ever been used in anger, on a dog; we bought them for our our old dog (RIP), however with his sore arthritic hips he was not going to let me anywhere near him, whilst wielding a pair of clippers, he would rather have matted fur than that, thank you very much. So he hid under the table and refused to come out and the clippers went back in the box. But his fur was such a mess that we did have to call on the help of the professionals, it was a bit of a blow for a ruffty tuffty working dog, to have go to the poodle parlour, but there you go, not sure the cut he got looked like ‘what he wanted’ though, bless him, it’s not very easy maintaining your dignity, when you are old.

Indoors if wet

Plan A was have an away day and go to the Cheshire Show today, we like going to the summer agricultural shows, although I am not sure they are that reflective of country life, (nor does Lavenderjack) but they are a good day out; the boys and I usually go to the Bakewell Show in August, but we won’t be able to make it this year, this is my post about it from last year. As the boys are at school I was going on my own, just to mess and mooch about with the camera, But the weather is the pits, wet and windy, the grass in the meadow is flattened by the weight of the rain and the garden is being thrashed by the high wind.

It’s a while since I went to ‘The Cheshire’ it’s a great place for people watching  situated near Knutsford and the epicenter of the Northern social scene for footballers, WAG’s, and   those who are flash with their cash,  the so called ‘golden triangle’ of the villages of Wilmslow, Prestbury and Alderley Edge, there’ are many who attend the show just to be seen;  rather than to look at the latest innovation in control of parasitic worms in sheep, buy a handy little gadget for cleaning Venetian blinds or a pot of lemon curd from the WI stand. (you can spot them by the deep orange perma-tans, that’ are the colour of Sainsbury’s carrier bags  that and inappropriate foot wear.)

That said, the shows attract a variety of people for other reasons, I had my purse and mobile stolen one year, that will not be happening again, what a load of hassle.

Today’s weather must be a blow for the traders, many of them tour the big shows, a washout will make a serious dent in their expected turnover for the year, but then again, they are not committed to a ten year lease, rent and rates 52 weeks a year and fixed staffing costs, unlike high street retailers; so maybe it just a case of choosing which horse to back, placing your bet and hoping it doesn’t fall at the first fence

So I shall remain at home today, there’s lots to do including a host of photos to up load to Flickr and a raft of half written blog posts to re-visit, but first I’ll put the kettle on.

Perfect day

The wedding, was wonderful, the ceremony was all the more meaningful for it’s simplicity, so many of the fripperies  of a traditional church wedding are cleaved away in a Quaker ceremony, leaving the bride and groom, and what we have all come to witness, their commitment to one another, at center of the occasion, it was very moving. Having spent over two decades dealing with the hype and drama of other peoples weddings, when I worked in the flower business, where I am sure many couples had given more thought to whether or not the colour of the bridesmaids dress clashed with the best-man’s cravat, than to the reason why they are getting married in the first place, it was like a breath of fresh air. Most of the ceremony is conducted in silence, this was a bit of a challenge to some of us, in spite of the fact I had checked three time that I had turned my mobile phone off, I still wished I had left it in the mini bus, just to be on the safe side.

We could not have been made more welcome at the ceremony by the other friends at the meeting house, they made us a splendid tea that included my all time favourite cake, ginger cake

After tea, cake and photographs in the garden, we went on to the reception, did I mention I thought some care might have gone into the selection of the reception venue and that real ale might be involved?

 

The meal  at the Thatchers Arms, Mount Bures, in Essex, was divine, I had rack of lamb with rosemary mash, served with a rich gravy, as dark as Tudor oak; the wedding cake was chocolate, with just a hint of something, alcoholic and citrus in the cream, the boys ate two servings, well most of us did actually, truth be told.

We sat out in the sun for a while, and took part in one or two ‘activities’ that had been arranged for us, (I may post more about that) to allow time our ample meal to digest and the band to set up. A cracking band, brought about much dancing, (even Tom felt moved by the music, to get up on the dance floor and he was particularly impressed by the drumming) there was just a little disappointment that the band didn’t have ‘Tiger Feet’ by Mud, in the repertoire but they did have this Elvis

One of the things that made it such a special day, was not only seeing the bride and groom so very happy, meeting old friends, but in addition to that coming home having made some new friends too.

I don’t normally post personal photos on my blog, and I’ve not asked them if they mind, but I’ll chance it: here you go,  ladies and gentlemen, please raise your glasses, a toast.

  ‘The bride and groom wishing them health and happiness, always.’

Dotting and Crossing

I have spent the morning in an exam, don’t ask what on, I won’t tell you (sorry, it’s half a story, I know)

It’s the first time I have ever sat down at a proper, grown up exam, that starts at the top of the page and goes on and on, until, you either run out of time, things to compare and contrast, apply theory to, or just waffle about.

Readers who have been calling here for a while, will know, that I don’t like writing without the comfort blanket of Microsoft Office and the F7 button, I’ll stand up and talk to and for England; but ask me to put pen to paper, it brings up all sorts of demons. So you can imagine I wasn’t looking forward to the exam; now that my dyslexia has a piece of paper to prove it’s existence (and we could debate that topic ’till the cows come home, but please not now) I have an entitlement to some extra time in exams, to check my work. I must admit I was glad of it and used every second.

I wasn’t alone, another candidate was in the same situation and we placed ourselves at the front of the examination room as far away as possible from the door, so that when everyone else left, it would be less distracting for us. So when the time came and the invigilator said ‘ Everyone, put down your pens, except the two candidates with additional time.’ And everyone else filed quietly out of the room, before bursting into relieved and excited chatter as they dispersed down the corridor, I was transported back to being a child again, its a beautiful summers day, I am still inside the classroom redoing my work, my classmates are out in the sunshine, playing.

I hate my hand writing, its not good at the best of times, but under pressure, like this morning I like it even less, and whilst I’ve got used to writing essays, assignments and reports over the last few years, and goodness, I’ve even been known to enjoy it, but it’s only because I can ‘cut and paste’, edit and generally tidy things up; but no matter how hard I try, I remain convinced my messy writing and poor spelling, will have antagonized the examiner and the outcome will come back to not what I have written but how I’ve written it.

Rereading my work at the end of the exam, I discovered that my writing of the word ‘that’ looked like ‘t*at’ (for * insert ‘w’) and you can see this makes the word takes on an entirely different meaning (overseas readers, on a need to know basis, can read a definition of t*at here.) So it was not just the ‘I’s’ that needed dotting and the ‘T’s’ that need crossing, the ‘W’s needed a bit of remedial work too.

So back home, and not one, but two fried egg butties and two mugs of steaming hot tea later, I am both replete and exhausted, but I am still going out to play.

Reading Between the Lines

Noddy tagged me, it’s all about books; well the reason it’s taken me well over two weeks to write this post is that the prospect of writing it put me into therapy! I have a complex relationship with the printed word, I’ve touched on it before

But here is the brief

“Books are scarce in the world. They are illegal in some provinces. They are not easily replaced, if not impossible to replace if lost in many if not most circumstances. If you can replace a book or buy one, it is usually through the black market at astronomical costs that you cannot afford. Yet you have been able to maintain one of the best collections in the world. If your entire library was about to burn up and you could only have one* book to take with you other than the Bible, what would that be and why?”
Simple Rules:

Answer the question.
Offer one quote that resonates with you.
Tag five people whose response is of genuine interest to you and inform him or her that they have been tagged.

*and it cannot be an entire series of something, that’s cheating.

I feel a bit of a charlatan even doing this meme, I just don’t feel qualified I am not by any stretch of the imagination ‘well read’, my reading is eclectic to say the least, I can identify with Noddy’s comments,

Reading books is almost like going on a diet or stopping smoking. You know it’s good for you, but……

I didn’t grow up in bookish household (my mum will contest this by reminding me that I went to the library every Saturday morning, it’s true I did, on the way to junior youth club, but it doesn’t mean I ever read the books, and as likely as not they were of the Blue Peter ‘how to make’ genre.

When Tom was only a few month old I can recollect getting caught up in a conversation at a family celebration, with the ‘extremely well read’ division of my extended family the question went along the lines of ‘So  Heather, who are your favourite children’s authors?’ at the time my sleep deprived, addled mind, distracted by issues of breast feeding and nappy rash,  I could only manage a reference to enjoying ‘Winnie the Pooh’(and wishing my mums dear friend Laura, a sound, grounded ‘earth mother’ lady who read it to me would come to my rescue.) I’ve rarely felt more out of my depth.

I am envious of any one who can ‘get lost in a book’, my dyslexic brain just finds it a bit of a slog, maybe that’s why I like blogs, they come in bite size pieces.

Any way on with the story, there are three contenders,

Wild Swans: Three Daughters of China is an autobiographical family history by Chinese writer Jung Chang. First published in 1992, it is the story of her grandmother, her mother and herself, and in telling their stories gives a unique perspective on 20th century Chinese history.

Do you think the brief of this meme is a little far fetched? you won’t if you read this book.

Next up is

The curious Incident of the dog in the Night Time by Mark Haddon

Writing his first novel from the point of view of an autistic 15-year-old, Mark Haddon takes the reader into the chaos of autism and creates a character of such empathy that many readers will begin to feel for the first time what it is like to live a life in which there are no filters to eliminate or order the millions of pieces of information that come to us through our senses every instant of the day.

It was written for a teenage audience (having got my copy down off the shelf to write this post, Tom pounced upon it and read it cover to cover) but I think anyone who read it would be richer and wiser for doing so

But if there could be a number one it is

‘Letter To Daniel, Dispatches from the Heart’ by Fergal Keane

 

it’s a collection of his reports, broadcast by BBC Radio 4 program ‘From Our Own Correspondent’, I heard a broadcast of Keane reading ‘Letter to Daniel’ when Tom was a few weeks old; it stopped me in my tracks, I can’t think that any parent would not be struck by the emotion and power of it, nor that of his other reports from some of the most desperate, desolate and war torn areas of the world. For me it is an added bonus that when I read it I can also ‘hear’ it in his honeyed Irish accent, if you want you can listen to it here I recommend you do.

Your coming has turned me upside down and inside out, so much that seemed essential to me has, in the past few days, taken on a different colour. Like many foreign correspondents I know, I have lived a life that, on occasion, has veered close to the edge: war zones, natural disasters, darkness in all its shapes and forms. In a world of insecurity and ambition and ego, it’s easy to be drawn in, to take chances with our lives, to believe that what we do and what people say about us is reason enough to gamble with death. Now, looking at your sleeping face, inches away from me, listening to your occasional sigh and gurgle, I wonder how I could have ever thought glory and prizes and praise were sweeter than life.

I suppose if there is a theme to this selection it is that they give a perspective on other lives and other worlds, that I would other wise find hard to imagine, a bit like blogs.

There has been a lot of tagging going on around the blogs on my feeds, so I think I shall just tag three.

Flighty, because books are more than just the tools of his trade.

Spencer, because he is being far to modest over at ‘Siren Voices’,hiding his light and his superb writing under a bushel, and

Andrea, because I am curious to know what books tempt someone with such diverse interests.

At the Seaside

No sooner had we got last weekends muddy clothes from our trip to the Lake District through the wash than it was time to pack again, it’s half term holidays for the boys and we’ve come down to St David’s South West Wales, part of me wanted to stay at home, (I’ve got a lot of work to finish in the next couple of weeks) but now we are her I’ve chilled a bit, sadly the work had tocome with me.

Yesterday was warm and sunny, or so it seemed on the door step of our holiday let, in that very English way, I threw caution to the wind and decided it was warm enough to expose my tripe white legs to some sunshine by donning a skirt to the beach, it was a mistake, it was windy on the beach and I spent most of the day with beach blanket and towel wrapped around my legs, I should have heeded my dad’s favourite saying ‘Never cast a coat till May is out’ (I won’t  even try to write it in the sort of dialect he would have delivered it in) or in my case not only should I have kept my coat on, but my trousers as well, till the end of the week at least!)

But as a precursor to summer Tom and I munched our way trough a punnet of strawberries, that did just for once taste as good as they used to.

In the late afternoon the wind dropped and with the sun on our backs Tom and I fell fast asleep in that sublime melting holiday sort of way; silly me not wanting to go away, it’s nice here.

Today, Sunday its raining, a tea and papers sort of morning, I’m not sure how easy it is going to be post or get at my emails, so family and friends  who might be looking for us, we’ll be back soon.

See ya later.

All Roads Lead to the Lake District (part III)

Buildings, fixtures and fittings

I suppose the more isolated an area the more vernacular the style of buildings, building were built to a specific style because they worked well, the local workforce knew how to build them and the building materials were readily available, its what gives an area its distinctive look.

Apologies to this family, for posting a photograph of their undergarments on the washing line across the ‘tinternet‘, it’s the house we are supposed to be looking at.

Farm buildings

This is Yew Tree Farm, as well as a working farm, it is a guest house and a cafe, it makes my heart sing, it is a business that is run with such finesse and attention to detail it is a joy to behold.

I went in the cafe for a cup of tea and a sit down, the tea is sold in half or pint mugs, you can see why this establishment has a place in my heart; the ladies in the cafe sold me a pasty, ‘just baked, fresh out of the oven’ I could write a whole blog post on this culinary delight, but a synopsis will have to do. The pastry, firm yet melt in the mouth, the filling, stuffed full of veg; potatoes carrot and marrowfat peas, farm reared lamb, with a hint of mint,served with home made chutney, eat one of these and you will never buy a ‘Gregg’s’ pasty ever again.

Fastened to the wall of the porch of Yew tree farm is the original back door of the farm, dating to C1720

I was going to say that it is it’s simplicity of its construction that appealed to me, but closer inspection shows it to have been, what I imagine for it’s period, to be ‘top of the range’, piece of joinery and a bit ‘posh’ for the average Lakeland farmhouse C1720. The face of the door is three planks of oak wide, studded with oak pegs, through to a second layer of smaller oak boards,

it is carved with a diamond pattern, (not easy to see on the photo) and the original hinges are to match.

Once upon a time some one would have been very proud of such a fine door.

Role Reversal

Jack Sprat could eat no fat

His wife could eat no lean

And so betwixt the two of them

They licked the platter clean

So goes the traditional British rhyme, well in this household the roles are reversed. Mr Uhdd continues a pace to prepare for his attempt at the ‘Bob Graham’ fell running challenge next month (its a while since I mentioned it, so here are the statistics; length 74 miles, taking in 42 Lakeland peaks and over 28,000 feet of ascent, to be completed in 24 hours.)

The amount of training required for this sort of challenge, needs fueling and ‘catering control’ (and that’s me) is struggling to stop him from eating himself, his body mass index is now down to 20.6 and his body fat is 3.7 that’s heading for pro cyclist levels. Meanwhile I am shopping for and living amongst food I most defiantly shouldn’t be eating; it’s high in protein and fats and there seems to be no restriction on the flapjack, chocolate and biscuit consumption. It’s hard to cater for a more modest diet for me and keep focused on the salad draw in the fridge, when the other shelves are laden with so many tempting goodies and the fruit bowl is juxtaposed with the biscuit tin.

I’m awash with commitments and challenges of my own over the next few weeks, though non so energetic. So posting and blog reading may be a bit spasmodic till mid June, when normal service will be resumed.