From Jack

 

Hi Everyone! 

Today I’ve been to the vicar’s.  This time there wasn’t a list waiting for me, just a forewoman giving me orders. 

We planned for me to go to shampoo the carpets.  The vicar had done a lot of moving stuff into her bedroom.  On arrival a bacon buttie was waiting for me.  After that moving the heavier items began.  Everything I could move went into the kitchen, bathroom and hallway.  First, I went on hands and knees and brushed the edges of the carpet before I used the vacuum cleaner to collect all the bits.  Then I got the shampooer.  I kept moving the three-seater settee and two heavy chairs to where I had cleaned already.

After I finished, I noticed that Mary didn’t look too good, so although she is always kind enough to cook me some dinner, I told her to give that a miss and go and get some rest. 

Some of you may remember the ducks (faggots) she made for me.  A few days ago, she took great delight in telling me they had disappeared from the freezer.  I told her that if she’d given them to anyone outside Britian there would be an international incident.  But wait a minute: who do you think ate my promised ducks?  MARY!!!  How selfish can a person get?  She made some more then texted me to tell me she had eaten them herself! 

Here I am working my socks off, and what do I get in return?  A hole in the top of my head because the vicar left cupboard doors open for me to run into!  Now I’ve got eight holes in my head!

She’s also giving me grief about my pronunciation of words, mainly because I said I was ravishing when I meant I was ravenous. 

Tonight I cooked spaghetti bolognaise with garlic bread and I told her I was becoming a gourmet chef.  I know what she was thinking and it’s a wonder she didn’t text me.  She would have said a gormless chef.  But I forgive her just this once.

I took my best friend and daughter-in-law out for a pub meal and they agreed I out some very funny stuff into my mouth.  When I told my vicar friend she laughed and said that a lot of funny stuff comes out too.  You can go off people!  There was no need for that.  Just because my linguistic skills need honing a little.  I’m just a country boy who went to an ordinary school whereas the vicar went to a posh townie school.  (All of this is just banter: the vicar knows me rather well.)  And I know the Man upstairs loves everyone equally. 

I don’t know if I’ve said too many nice things to the vicar but it’s got to stop. If we’re texting, she always has to have the last word.  In fact, whatever I do she has to have the last word.  That 25-30 minute phone call each morning puts us both in a happy frame of mind.  I’m sure we both start the day with a smile on our faces.

 I hope this post has cheered you all up if the vicar has posted it – after all she’s the typist and editor!

 I’m back at her house in the morning putting the furniture back in its place when the carpet has dried.  Mary will be able to relax in her chair with her pooter and, with a bit of luck, she’ll print everything I’ve written.

I hope you are all in the best of health and the elderly people you know get visited – it means so much to them.  Take good care of yourselves and everyone around you.

Best wishes

Jack

The vicar here, once again having the last word.  Jack gave me this post several weeks ago.  Since then he's cleaned another carpet, had another birthday and taken home another batch of ducks as well as several portions of his favourite leek and potato soup..  He will be able to read any comments you leave but not respond to them

F is for Fitness - or not!

Often in the winter I struggle with the blues but that hasn't really been so this year.  'Orrible inertia, yes.  The blues, no.  What I have struggled with is physical fitness.

At the beginning of the year, I was walking around the block most days but alas! no more.  This year the cold has affected me more than I can ever remember.  If I get cold, I take several hours to get warm no matter what I do.

And the cold has affected my joints.  The batmobile looks very tempting at the moment!  On good days I get around the house unaided but I've needed my stick a few times recently.

But, all that is better than the winter blues!  I'm happy to phone friends, zoom a bit, sort my stuff and be cheerful.  I'm making myself get out of the chair a couple of times each hour and Fitbit tells me I'm doing around 2000 steps on the better days.  I'm cooking.  I led worship yesterday.  

I may not be fit (to be honest, I'm definitely not fit) but life looks pretty good.

E is for Energy Gap

 

I googled "energy gap" looking for the old advert about snacks  to get you through (can't remember which snack!) but was surprised to find that energy gap a "thing" in physics!  I never was much of a scientist.

What I am is a woman who is in her personal energy gap today!  I feel as though I have been busy this week.  I've visited a couple of friends who are ill or have been in hospital.    I've led on-line worship.  I've been to a new sewing group.  I've sorted a new bank account.  I've done a day of doggy day care.  Come to that, this is my fourth blog post of the week!

And I've hit my personal energy gap.  No oomph.  No mojo.  My get-up-and-go has got-up-and-gone.

I feel OK with that.  There's nothing spoiling.  Everything can wait until tomorrow.  I need to give myself a little TLC.  Soup from the freezer.  A nap.  Maybe paint my nails.  Or maybe not.

How do you deal with energy gaps?

D is for Ducks

 

Mallard

Not the sort that floats.

Bombay duck

Nor the sort that swims.  

Savoury ducks

But these.  

Savoury ducks are real country food.  They are called faggots in many parts of the country.  I used to buy frozen faggots until I read their ingredients list! From now on, it's homemade only.

Lincolnshire has a strong tradition of pork-based dishes.  When I was a little girl one of my favourite meals after the pig had been butchered, was pig's fry.  There would also be haslet, stuffed chine, "scraps" as well as more recognisable pork recipes.  Our sausages are wonderful but the items labelled "Lincolnshire sausage" or (even worse, "Vegetarian Lincolnshire sausage"!) bear little resemblance to the offerings made by my grandmother or, indeed, by local butchers today.

Good, old fashioned food.  Local specialities.  Can't beat them.  

Ducks are made of pork, pork liver. bacon, onions and breadcrumbs with lots of herby seasoning and baked.  I then make a rich onion gravy and cook them a second time in the gravy before serving them with carrots, potatoes, cabbage - the vegetables which grandad grew.

A feast fit for a King!

C is for Cranford

Anybody else love theTV adaptations of the classics?  I find that a good drama series really inspires me to read or, more likely, listen to, the original book.  

Over the years I've read The Forsyte Saga, Nicholas Nickleby, Vanity Fair and many, many more.  Until they are brought to life on the small screen so many classics look too boring to leap onto my reading list   

I loved the TV adaptation of Cranford and rewatched it recently.  With a cast including Judi Dench, Imelda Staunton and Julia MacKenzie, it was bound to be good!  I got an audiobook read by Prunella Scales and it is now my bedtime favourite.

But I can hardly believe how different the TV series and the book are.  The televised version is actually a conflation of three books: Cranford, My Lady Ludlow and Mr Harrison's Confessions.

Mrs Gaskell's "Cranford" has no real plot.  It was written as a series of short pieces about some spinsters and widows who work very hard to keep up an appearance of "gentility".  It's about a changing society and strong aversion to change.  Threats to the established order must be fiercely resisted - and they are!  The lack of a plot doesn't matter: what I enjoyed is the insights into mid-Victorian provincial life.

Have you been inspired by classical adaptations?

Precious things

 I've been sorting some of my paperwork and that's no small task!  Some things need lengthy attention, some are very easy just to sling in the bin.  Some can be scanned and stored digitally but for some things, the paper they are written on is so precious that I will never throw them away. 

I found this little purse, green but very clumsily sewn in yellow thread, and it was in my memory box.  I remember my Mother putting a few coins for the cloakroom in it and tucking it in her bag each time she went out in evening dress.  It might not look very special to you, but it was the first present I made for Mummy after I started school.  It was only after she died that I looked inside it and there I found this little note, written on a tatty piece of paper but so dear to her that she kept it for fifty years until she died eighteen years ago.  

As I go through my possessions it's wonderful to find things like this.  It makes me so grateful for a secure, loving childhood.  And it moves me to pray and thank God for the love and kindness which I have received throughout my life.  

I hope you have many little things which move you to prayer too.

B is for Batmobile

No, not that Batmobile!

This Batmobile!

When this three-wheeled rollator entered my life I thought it looked as though there was a bat hanging from the frame so, inevitably, the contraption became Mary's Batmobile.

So much language surrounding disability is boring and/or condescending.  "Mobility scooter" sounds very dull, even though many children would love to whizz around on one.  There was once a rumour that the late Professor Stephen Hawking would deliberately run over people’s toes, including the pedal extremities of the (then) Prince of Wales. When asked about it he said it was a "malicious rumour" and he'd "run over anyone who repeats it".  I don’t toe squash deliberately, but I call my scooter my trundle truck which seems to suit it. TT's can be fun!

My Batmobile is purely for indoor use when I am feeling more than usually decrepit, so few people have ever seen me use it.  The black thing is a bag which usually contains my flask.  Which contains coffee.  Honest!

 

SO COOL!

 I am not much of a one for pimping and preening.  When everyone else was moaning during lockdown because they couldn't get their hair cut, it never bothered me.  I finally got mine done last May, at least five years after the last salon visit.  I'm clean and decent but, apart from that, when it comes to my appearance, I have much to be humble about.  

I'm very happy to let students at a nearby college cut my hair.  They are a bit slow but they are well supervised and I have always been satisfied,  So, today I booked my appointment.

I was a little disconcerted when Phoebe confided to me that I was her first ever client at the college but she quicky reassured me that the tutor would be doing the cutting, and Phoebe would be watching.  In the event she practised meeting the client, listening to what was wanted, washing my hair and some of the blow dry.  

While she worked we chatted about Christmas, her work experience, her hopes and dreams and she asked me what I did.  I said I would tell her but only when she had finished.

So while she helped me on with my coat I told her that I am a semi retired vicar.  She looked amazed.  "I've never met a vicar before.  That is SO COOL!"

I am still a 72 year old, disabled, semi retired vicar with grey, thinning hair but two things have changed.  I am a 72 year old, disabled, semi retired vicar with grey, thinning hair but I am SO COOL!

And I shall have a smile on my face all day.

Phoebe will go far!