News from Nowhere

The North-East of England now has one Labour and two Brexit Party MEPs (formerly two Labour and one UKIP who left the party and declared himself Independent): the only sense in which this is not bad news is that it is not really news at all, but very much as predicted.

In theory proportional representation means that you get a better representation of the minority parties: it works better in the larger constituencies, where one of the six or seven people elected might well be from the party you voted for. Where there's a lower population, and only three MEPs, not so much. Yet the North-East of England is a large and diverse area. But then, Scotland only has 6 MEPs...

I don't know the solution to this. I handwashed my Icelandic knitted waistcoat, and used the two very ripe bananas to bake blueberry muffins.

The upholsterers have arrived and collected the sofa. This is not Nicola, who upholstered our armchairs, but the people we were already talking to when I met Nicola at the Christmas Fair. They told us they couldn't start until March, whereas Nicola was able to do the armchairs over Christmas - but her price for the sofa was higher than theirs, and there was the complication that it would not fit in her car (the armchairs did, just, one at a time). So we went back to Plan A. I was not looking forward to getting the sofa out of the house, but it went surprisingly easily, once we had moved a few boxes...

The morning's next task is to change out of furniture-moving clothes, and into something appropriate for the funeral of an old but not particularly close friend. What to wear? Something smart and dark enough to be appropriate, robust enough to walk to the far side of town on a blustery March day... I fear the red coat is unavoidable.

The only Jewish museum in Albania.

Gail-Nina Anderson spent Christmas in Athens, and, being a lover of postcards, she sent a postcard home.

And turning that phrase the other way round, our armchairs have been away to be reupholstered and are now both home again. I realise that some people would regard this as an opportunity for a complete new look, but our aim was to match as closely as possible how they had looked before, and we are pleased with the mossy green velvet and the brass studding. We chose this firm partly because she was able to start straight away, and was willing to take one chair at a time, leaving us somewhere to sit over the New Year. so we got to try out one chair before the other one went away for treatment. Now that the springs no longer trail on the floor, the seat is noticeably higher than it was, and we must have joked about this, because when Nicola returned chair number two, it was accompanied by a matching footstool! (The next question is, will she be able to reupholster the sofa? And if so, will the three of us be able to move it?).

So, that quiet Christmas: just the two of us, no particular plans. How's it going? Busier than expected in the run-up to the great day, and I'm struggling now to remember why...

Last Thursday, after a routine medical visit, we went to the Farmers' Market. I was planning to buy a turkey from the cheese stall (durham_rambler having expressed a preference for turkey) but we were too late. I'm used to our pre-Christmas visit to London falling just at the time when we ought to be buying a Christmas tree, but I was taken aback not to be able to buy a turkey on the 20th. We considered going elsewhere, but settled for snapping up their last capon, and a gammon joint - so that was the shape of the catering roughed out. And in the evening durham_rambler went to the last parish council meeting of the year: no more meetings until January 4th, so we must be on holiday now!

Friday was the solstice, and I must have been busy with something, because the post I'd meant to make here didn't happen until the following day. We had decided against going to Essex for A.'s funeral, and I'm sorry we weren't there, not because we were missed but because it sounds like a very suitable farewell, with music and morris, and I'm left with a sense of unfinished business. But it would have been a long journey, and not a good time to be travelling. (In the interim, durham_rambler had found himself a funeral to attend locally, someone he knew a little through various civic stuff, and I barely knew at all). We may have managed to write and deliver the last of the Christmas cards, the ones for the neighbours.

On Saturday morning we took the car to the end of the North Road, and filled the gaps in the shopping list: vegetables, Iceland, Sainsbury's... And was it Saturday afternoon that the upholsterer arrived to collect one of the armchairs? It may have been. Long story, but the executive summary is that the sofa is threadbare and the chairs are losing their springs, we have been looking to get them reupholstered, and just at the point where we were about to make a commitment to a very pleasant couple who would add us to their list for the springtime, I met someone at the Christmas fair who was newer in the business and able to make a start before Christmas. She has collected one chair (which was, in any case, all she could fit into her car, and even that was touch and go) and we will see what happens next.

On Sunday we could have gone to Washington Old Hall, to see the gardens illuminated. But we didn't, because their website said - and still says - that we could go instead on Monday, Christmas Eve, and we agreed with J. that we would go together then, and she would come back to dinner with us, and maybe stay overnight... Which called for a certain amount of preparation on Sunday: I cooked the gammon for dinner, so that the following day we could come back from our excursion to hot soup and cold ham and salad. This felt a little back-to-front, starting on the leftovers before Christmas, but when it comes to celebrations we make our own rules, don't we? It wasn't until lunchtime on Monday that we realised that, while one page of Washington Old Hall's website said they were open until six o' clock, to allow us to enjoy the illuminations, another page said they would close at three, because it was Christmas Eve; and a phone call confirmed that the latter was the case. Which was disappointing. We had a very pleasant evening with J., but we all felt a little flat - and she didn't stay over, which made things simpler, but not more fun.

Yesterday was all the cooking and washing up and more cooking and maybe a bit more washing up. I'm a great believer in not having to wash up immediately (it's not as if it would go away) but sometimes I want that particular dish or pan over and over again. I thought it was a very simple meal: smoked salmon and rye bread, roast capon with sausage stuffing, potatoes, parsnips and sprouts (it didn't need any trimmings and I didn't do any), pudding bought at Booths on our trip to Kendal. Oh, and a bottle of Katie Jones' old vine Fitou, courtesy of the Wine Society.

I like Christmas dinner as a very late lunch which drifts into the early evening and allows time for digestion before bedtime: so when we had eaten I demanded to be entertained, and we caught up with a little television. I'm dreaming of a Jewish Christmas was - I'd call it an essay rather than a documentary, because I wondered how far the evidence (and the witnesses) had been selected to support the thesis that was being proposed (also, more dance routines than in the average documentary), but we enjoyed it enough that although we both nodded off at different points, we re-ran it from the earlier of those points, rather than just letting it go. Followed by a whistle-stop tour of French chanson with Petula Clark, which I enjoyed immensely, and would have enjoyed even more if it had been a multi-part series instead of just one hour. It sent me down the rabbit hole of YouTube, chasing up some of the blink-and-you've-missed-it clips, and while I won't list them all, here's someone I'd never heard of (and I'm not convinced she meets the definition, whatever it may be; she was brought on as a talking head, and given a plug for her own album, with a very cute video):



and here's what they played over the closing credits, three greats in an unlikely constellation:



Which I suppose counts as lazy time. Today might have been time to sit on the sofa with a book, but it seems to have been time to write this instead - also good, I'm not complaining. And now it's time to change the bed and cook some dinner and see what the evening brings...

The bad new is, I have broken the stepladder.

The good news is that I was not using it at the time.

Damaged in transit, I suppose you'd say. I had reached the stage where I could not shelve any more crime fiction until I made more room on the shelves (by moving some paperbacks to the shallower top shelf). I have carried the stepladder down the stairs from the cupboard where it lives, and was about to carry it into the spare bedroom. But I misjudged the angle, and gave the top of the ladder a smart tap on the door frame. There was a musical ringing note, and a single screw fell to the floor. But clearly that single screw was all that was holding the steps together.

Which wasn't the worst way to find that out.

The previous post was written on my little notebook at the kitchen table, because in a fit of seasonally inappropriate cooking, I had a sequence of things going into / coming out of the oven, so I didn't want to be three floors away from the kitchen. I completed the post, I checked the webmail, I moved the mouse to close something down - and the screen went blank. I tried restarting it, I tried ALT-CTRL-DELETE, I tried walking away and coming back to it. Nothing.

This morning, thinking that the battery might have died (I had seen, when I turned it on, that the battery was low) although it hadn't given the usual warning of that, I plugged it in. The screen flashed up a pair of battery icons, and then went dark again.

Oh, dear. This isn't an absolute disaster: no data, no work in progress is ever stored on the notebook. I use it for DW, for webmail, and to back up and view photographs when I am away from home. And it is, as these things are reckoned, not new: it isn't all that old, either, but the life of electronic devices is as that of mayflies.

Still, I felt bereft, not least because I wil be away for a long weekend next week. It's a family event, I don't anticipate spending much of it online, but I don't wish to be entirely cut off, either.

The good news is that durham_rambler has just brought me a cup of coffee and the information that he had tried switching my notebook on in safe mode, and it had responded to the master's touch by coming on as normal (looking, no doubt, as if butter wouldn't melt in its mouth). Disaster averted - for the time being.

Exciting noises are coming up to the attic from next floor down, where two carpenters are fitting bookshelves in the spare room.

We have been waiting such a long time for this. It took us forever to find someone who was actually prepared to quote for the job: the joiner recommended by friends who visited, measured, asked supplementary questions and then vanished, the workshop who expressed willingness to call but could not do the job within the year... Then we found the Carpenters House, and they were very positive: yes, they could certainly do the job before Christmas, and indeed before the overnight guests who are scheduled to require the spare bed - well, next week, as it happens. We were in their order book, and all was well, and then time slipped, as time does, and I was on the verge of saying that maybe we'd better reschedule, what with visitors and us going to London and then Christmas...

Then they called and said they'd be here on Friday (tomorrow) and we started moving furniture and getting ready. and they called again and said, how about Thursday...

And now work is in progress. Such excitement.

• The thing - whether a good thing or a bad thing, definitely a thing - about doing a big supermarket shop on Friday and then being out for much of Saturday is that the fridge remains more full of food than you would expect. Also the vegetable rack. I have been eyeing 'best before' dates nervously, but mostly they are fine, and there is bonus foodstuffs, and all is well.



• I had meant to take my camera when we went out on Saturday to meet S. for lunch, and replace the photographs of the strange floral displays that I lost when my camera card died. But I forgot. As it happens, the bishop's mitre which had adorned the Market Place had been removed, and although we hadn't ventured up to Palace Green to check on the trio of St Cuthbert's crosses there, I'm guessing they'd gone too^{ETA:Apparently not}. Ah, well. Anyway, the point of the excursion was not photography, but lunch with S., and that was good, though I think we owe her a better meal next time: that's twice we've suggested eating somewhere that we wanted to try, but weren't, when we had tried it, very impressed.



• I got out of bed on Friday with a stiff and slightly painful arm, and assumed I had been lying awkwardly in my sleep. It didn't give me any trouble while I was swimming - apart from one twinge when I twisted my arm back - but nor did it clear up during the day. By the evening, I had to be helped on with my coat. It was the sort of pain I get when I've spent too long at the keyboard, but higher up the arm, and it seemed likely that what I was dealing with was a trapped nerve. Yesterday morning it was worse, and not just first thing in the morning, when any ailment involving stiffness is at its worst. I contemplated taking it to the doctor when they reopen for the week. But today, of course, it is very much better. So this is just for the record, to remind myself what it was, and when.



• Saturday evening was intersectional, in that F had gathered the pubquiz team together for a rerun of a session he had previously conducted with the wine club he and C belong to. Although this is the first time we have done anything purely social with this particular group of people, the quiz itself is sufficiently sociable that it didn't feel very different (and although it had been on the cards that the occasional wife, child or previous attender might turn up, this didn't happen). We did focus to quite a surprising extent on the wines, though, all of which were Austrian, all of which came from the same supplier, and none of which was less than enjoyable. And that includes three reds, though it's no surprise that the stars of the evening were white. One was the first we tasted, a Gelber Muskateller from Heidi Schröck, luscious and floral: the seller's notes say "2011 Vintage: The 2009 had that intense 'wow, what was that?' quality when you first encounter it and the 2011 is similarly fascinating. It is a medieval herb and rose garden in a glass. What sitting on a warm day in the rose garden of Castle Howard, or in Vienna, would be like if you could bottle it." I'll take their word for that. Even better was the Pinot Gris from Josef Lentsch, with the sweetness and edge of dried apricots, and a distinct smoky edge (ah, I see that although our notes didn't mention it, it is very discreetly oaked). The smoker in the party had to go out for a cigarette while drinking this.



• Last night, we watched a BBC documentary about Charles Causley: a curious mixture of clips and talking heads. I'd have liked to know more about his mother: they make a big fuss about how he lived all his life in his mother's house ("He devoted his life to teaching, poetry and his mum") but then don't mention her until her death. Likewise, although he didn't uproot himself, he certainly travelled ('to Israel, France and East Anglia', I think it was, at one point). But the talking heads were well leavened with poetry. I don't know why some of them were felt to need subtitles, and some weren't. And although Jim Causley was never actually visible, his settings were liberally provided (and he got to speak as well).

Monday morning comes down to earth with a bump, with the news that Tom Paley has died. Not a surprise: every time we saw him he was older, and frailer, and I did notice his absence from Whitby. But I'm sad that we won't see him again. It's the end of an era. Have a random Guardian article asking why he isn't a folk celebrity - oh, Guardian, this is what folk celebrity is!

durham_rambler and I have postal votes, so we have already voted - oh, weeks ago. We had a choice of seven candidates, but it wasn't a hard choice: I voted Labour, for Roberta Blackman-Woods, the retiring MP. She has done good work on behalf of the constituency , and there is much in the party manifesto that I really like. (I could wish that these two things were more connected, and hope that this vote helps to bring that about.) The Lib Dem candidate is a local councillor, but I voted Lib Dem once, and they went into coalition with the Tories, so I'm not making that mistake again; I might have been tempted to vote Green, but the local candidate - well, let's just say I'm not impressed; the Tory is a Tory, and works for the University; UKIP apparently couldn't find a local candidate (hooray!) and had to bus someone in from Hampshire. This we knew when we cast our votes. Since then we have also received leaflets from the Young People's Party candidate, who stood as an Independent last time round, but has now found a party he likes, making him one of the country's three YPP candidates: they have some interesting ideas, which his election flyer undermined with a page of pointless snark; and an Independent who appears to be saying, if I have disentangled this correctly, that all politicians break their election promises, and he will avoid this by not making any promises.

So that's that. Now we wait and see. We will sit up for as much of the result as we can bear, which will probably be more in durham_rambler's case than in mine! It's going to be a long day. I shall do my best to fill it with useful tasks, and have already started a loaf of bread, and set the fridge to defrost (long overdue). durham_rambler has unblocked the sink in the bathroom. Time to strip the bed and wash some sheets, perhaps?

But first, we have a date to take our friend F. out for a birthday lunch; and durham_rambler has just told me that we need to set off in half an hour. Time to knock back the bread and find something more festive to wear!

- or at least, I'm hoping it is. durham_rambler and I, looking at the piles of materials the builders are stacking all over the house (and I mean materials - cladding, tiles, bags of plaster - not including their collection of buckets, toolboxes and other paraphernalia) estimate that if you stacked it all in the bathroom, it would cover the entire floor to a depth of more than a metre.