We visited a couple of gardens open under the National Gardens Scheme today. I’d thoroughly recommend it – a chance to wander around gardens that are normally not open to the public and to give a few pounds to thoroughly good causes in the process. And to drink tea and eat fine cake.

This is the fountain at Clinton Lodge, designed by William Pye. We now have serious fountain envy.

Lewes District Council is making a big fuss about street names. They want to sanitise them by using a pre-approval process for new names to rule out anything that might have a double entendre (even if unintended) or that might be "aesthetically displeasing".

What a load of nonsense. Lewes DC is LibDem controlled and this is a poor advert for them. It smacks of pettiness and small-mindedness.

There are many names which have heritage value that could certainly be considered rude now. I used to havea girlfriend who lived at Crouchers. Just down the road was a country hotel that used the name Crouchers Bottom, which had been the name of the property for hundreds of years. In Sussex, there are plenty of Bottoms (valleys and dips). There is also a Gay Street (homophobic?), Black Down (racist?), the river Uck (yes, the signs get defaced all the time – boring, kids, not funny any more). Lewes itself sits on the River Ouse – it doesn’t really ooze anything and it isn’t a particularly attractive word (it’s just an old word for river), but nobody would want to change it.

It’s a dangerous policy. There is an area of Southsea which features the unbelievably tedious names of Harold Road and Trevor Road – so called because, before it was developed, the land was owned by a family with these names. The area adjoins Fawcett Road which has a pub at one end – you guessed: The Fawcett Inn. More entendres than you could shake a stick at. But I suspect that these aesthetically displeasing names were just fine when they were new – language and attitudes change with time.

And do we really want to have a bunch of wholly anodyne names for roads? Downs View is incredibly over-used in this area. Around Chichester, anything to do with the local heritage (Roman history, the Cathedral, motor racing at Goodwood and local flying aces/aircraft of World War Two) gets used time and time again. Or you end up with a situation like that at Kings Hill (what used to be West Malling airfield) where all the roads are named for varieties of apples - braeburn, russet, worcester and bramley – or old aircraft – typhoon, tempest, anson and stirling. They soon merge one into the next in the warren of identikit houses.

Perhaps there should be pressure on developers to be original. Maybe they should be made not to repeat a road name that has already been used in the same district. That would certainly get rid of the Downs View/Street/Road/Close problem. But it might lead to things like the road near my parents’ house called Syke Cluan Close (apparently, it is named for a place in Scotland, although Google draws a blank) – not relevant to the local area, hard to spell for the locals, but certainly original.

Any funny names up your way?

It only took until around 7.15pm today, 2nd January, for me to say to Hels: "bloody hell, the year is flying past already!"

2009 is certainly going to be interesting, potentially dramatic and quite possibly bloody terrifying. As Gordon put it, we will all get there by the end of 2009, but it might be useful to know where "there" is.

Meanwhile, we have "reduced lighting" in our conservatory as the electricians have been (i.e. my father and brother) in preparation for the replacement of our conservatory this week. You’d think that replacing a conservatory would not be something to tackle in times of financial uncertainty, but this qualifies as a distress purchase due to the fact that water has been pouring in and it is about to collapse. It’s only costing us <cough> thousand pounds, but it does mean that we are the conservatory company’s new best friends. It will, at least, let in more light and reduce drafts – so we should be more energy efficient, at least by a small bit.

Other thrift measures in place include:

• taking a permit to saw down trees in a well-known National Forest and Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty in order to get cheap fuel for our home (and to wind up passing dog-walkers/conservationists);
• thinking about laying more insulation in the loft;
• starting work on the allotment – potatoes are currently chitting on my office floor and a big box of seeds lies ready. But we need to do more digging yet and also source some poo;
• encouraging Tom to use the loo instead of nappies – he is late at making this transition, but shows no enthusiasm for it;
• installing a new, energy-efficient washing machine (another distress purchase – water flooded across the floor and the engineer scratched his chin and sucked on his teeth, just as the warranty had expired);
• enjoying days out that consist of walking with occasional added pint/coffee, or heavy use of the National Trust card;
• DartTag – £1 instead of £1.50. It’s the way ahead, and it makes a groovy BEEEEEP noise and makes the barrier go up all by itself.

Are you saving cash?

Stainless Steel bowel 10 inch Dia would do for a mixing bowel or any thing else.

 If you let me know quickly, I’ll see if I can get it for you.

Miffy has a quiet moment on the shingle at Bexhill.

As you look out over the English Channel from the De La Warr Pavilion, you’ll probably see some ships, yachts, dinghies, windsurfers and the odd fishing craft making their way up and down and across the water.

Then, on the horizon, you might spot something that looks a little odd.

Watch it for a while and you’ll notice that, unlike the other craft that you can see, it isn’t moving. Take a closer look.

What the heck is that?

Well, the clue is just to your right at the Sovereign Light Café. You’re looking at the Royal Sovereign Lighthouse, which, remarkably, guides ships around some particularly unpleasant shoals with nothing more than a 35 watt halogen lamp, presumably not much different from those security lamps that you can get from B&Q. So, if you’re planning to build your own lighthouse at home, all you need is a suitable concave mirror to focus the beam and a security lamp, and Robert is your Mum’s brother.

As for the lighthouse, it’s been rented out (click for nice piccies). Apparently, Trinity House considered switching it off as modern craft have satnav and GPS or whatever and don’t really need the lighthouse to find their way around the shoals. Except that they realised that, if they switched it off, there would be this huge concrete thing in the middle of the Channel that might be a bit of a hazard to shipping. So, there it stays, flashing away every 20 seconds, night and day, 365 days a year.

Yesterday, expecting a not particularly warm or sunny day, we headed down to the De La Warr Pavilion in Bexhill, partly because we walked past it when it was still under restoration and vowed to come back, partly because we were headed that direction anyway, partly because we wanted to catch the Grayson Perry exhibition before it closed (it’s on its way to the Harris Museum in that there oop-north and we highly recommend it – as you might expect, it does feature both ceramics and cross-dressing, but only incidentally to the main focus of the event, which is art from the 50s, 60s and 70s, including some excellent social history) and partly because DG said we should go.

What we got was a warm and sunny day, a fabulous building, an excellent exhibition and a really good slice of flourless chocolate and hazlenut cake.

One thing that strikes you as you wander around the De La Warr Pavilion is just how, well, joined-up (for want of a far better phrase) the whole thing is. It strikes you that someone has thought about the whole thing, right from conception to restoration and on to the day-to-day running of the place. The building itself is stunning:

As you walk further around it, you immediately become sucked in by the fact that the whole thing sits perfectly in the landscape and is so damned photogenic.

Of course, it is art deco grandeur on an impressive scale. Anyone familiar with buildings along the coast of Sussex will recognise the art deco trademark curves, flat roof and clean white (or, in this case, cream) exterior. This has to be the best-preserved art deco building I’ve seen. It reminded me of a few that are now lost (Bognor bus station, anyone?).

But the overwhelming impression is that everything is just right. The red flag with newly-painted white ballustrade and royal blue lamp post…

…the specially-commissioned red chairs in the café…

… and even the wonderfully aligned deckchairs with their matching royal blue canvases.

A visit to the café reaffirms the impression of perfection. The staff are perfectionists when it comes to serving coffee, even to the extent that they took one man’s coffee back and replaced it because the chocolate powder on top was not arranged just-so. And the cakes. Mmmm.

And then there is the roof deck.

The roof terrace is just perfect. A broad expanse that, mercifully, has been kept clear of tables, chairs, ice creams and other clutter. There’s nothing to do up here except drink it all in, particularly if you’re lucky enough to get a bit of sun for some artful shadows…

… and a few clouds to give the sky towards Eastbourne some dramatic texture.

And, as you descend, there is that famous stairwell – which I think will become the most photographed stairwell in Sussex.

The other thing that struck us was the variety of people using the Pavilion. There was a good number of arty-farty types visiting the exhibition, but they were matched in number by locals (particularly of the elderly variety using the café) and a good smattering of families joining a tour of the Pavilion on to a trip to the beach. The fact that entrance to the building and the exhibition space is all free has to be a factor in this.

The Pavilion itself is, no doubt, going to attract a good art-following crowd to the town. This has to be a good thing – Bexhill has been teetering on moving from being a rather genteel seaside town towards becoming more than a little bit shabby. It still has its less-salubrious areas (Sidley has to be in danger of falling into this category), but we got the distinct impression that the town is on its way up. And, in combination with the wonderfully-revived Pallant House in Chichester and all the usual wonderful things in Brighton and Hove, the Sussex coast is becoming more of an arts destination by the day.

Today is Sussex Day. Hurrah! I expect you all to be singing.

Last night saw a high powered meeting of the village elders here in Ruralville. The Ruralville village hall was converted at short notice and with remarkable speed into a centre for politicking and debate to rival anything that goes on in that other village, Westminster. Speakers passionately debated the matters of the day with argument meeting counter argument on the contentious issue of parking and yellow lines. Amusingly, there were attempts to press-gang attendees into becoming parish councillors, a dangerous path if ever I saw one. Thankfully, I seemed to escape by promising only to give the matter some consideration (a fine cop out, if ever I saw one).

Thereafter, everyone retired to the pub, where we were joined by Monty and our near-neighbour’s cat, Oscar. Oscar is only six months old and is similarly coloured to Monty. Monty seems to regard him as a mini-me. I suspect that he might receive some training and end up as Monty’s henchcat, sent out to deal with the marauding, food-stealing tabby and white that thinks he rules the neighbourhood. In any case, both seemed happy to wander into the pub to see where the hands that feed them had gone, but thought better of it once confronted with two dozing dogs under the table.

Ok, so actually this is Anthony Bourdain‘s moules marinières with a dollop of cream and some garlic added – but since I modified the recipe successfully, I claim it as my own and you can all send your money now.

Serves 2 as a main course, just. Would probably be enough for three as a starter.

• 1 kilogram lovely fresh mussels. We got ours from here. A bargain at three quid a kilo. For those that worry about this sort of thing, 1 kilo gave us 58 mussels. In hindsight, we could have used a little more, but that depends on what you serve it with. If you made some home-made frîtes, then this would be plenty. With just bread, then perhaps 1.2kg would be better.
• 300 ml dry white wine. We had a cheeky Sicilian in the fridge, so I used that. Incidentally, how can wines be cheeky? This is more wine than Bourdain suggests and I think is justified when adding cream.
• 2 shallots, finely sliced.
• 25g butter.
• 1 tbsp cream. I used extra thick single because we happened to have some, but normal single would do just as well.
• 3 small cloves of garlic, finely chopped.
• some parsley, finely chopped.
• salt and pepper.

This doesn’t take long. The time-consuming bit is the cleaning of the mussels – say 20 minutes. The cooking takes just 15 minutes.

• Firstly, clean those mussels. Bourdain gives a long examination of this subject in his Les Halles Cookbook (one of my bibles), but you can boil it down to this:

• buy fresh. Don’t buy pre-frozen or rubbish.
• use quickly and prepare just before you use them. Don’t store them if you can help it.
• wash them in a colander.
• pull the beards off – that fluffy bit that sticks out.
• as you go, check to see if any are open. If they are, tap them and see if they close. This is fun! They actually do close quite quickly if they are open. Unless they’re dead, in which case they don’t shut and you can bung them in the bin. Out of our 58, we chucked one.
• wash them again. And again. You can’t wash them too much, really. Leave them in the colander for the water to drain off.

Ok? Good. Have a glass of wine.

• Next, in a big pan with a good lid (not a loose one – we used an Ikea casserole which was perfect for bringing to the table and eating straight from), melt the butter.
• Add the shallots and scoot them around for a minute or two until soft and just beginning to brown.
• Add the wine, garlic and cream. Bring to the boil (turn your heat up all the way) and season.
• Throw in the mussels and put on the lid. Sit down and have another glass of wine for ten minutes (what did you think you do with the rest of the bottle?).
• Check in the pan. The mussels should now be nicely open. Take the pan off the heat and, holding the lid on, give it a bit of a shake. Then add the parsley and shake it again.
• Bring it to the table and serve with some good chunky bread to mop up the juices. Or frîtes.

When we moved into our home, we noticed a small ditch at the end of the garden (which is actually above the level of our house). Our neighbours have partly infilled it to extend their garden, putting in a good-sized culvert as they did so.

A couple of weeks ago, for the first time since we have lived here, I noticed a trickle of water running through it. Even in mid-winter, I hadn’t seen water in it before.

Last night and this morning we had continuous and very heavy rain. We don’t have a gauge, so I’ve no idea how much has fallen, but I’d guess an inch-and-a-half at least, maybe two inches. In a lull in the rain, I went outside to assess the damage (smashed plants, mud down the drive) and could plainly hear rushing water. A glimpse into the hedge revealed a raging torrent (albeit on a small scale) rushing down the ditch, enough to draw our neighbours out to investigate. In true BBC-stylee “here’s-a-picture-of-my-dog’s-bottom-in-a-puddle-to-illustrate-the-dramatic-weather” citizen journalism, here is a dramatic grainy cameraphone photo of said torrent:

Impressed? Today, Ruralville and grayblog, tomorrow fame and fortune and a photo on the Beeb.

I’ve just been for a short stroll across the Ruralville village green to the Village Hall. There, I placed two Xs on a ballot paper (I always find multiple choice questions to be much easier), reflecting my views on local issues and not on national ones.

Ruralville is a small ward, with around 250 voters. Voting here is never a chore, as there is never a queue and the short stroll is a chance to enjoy the view down the valley, admire the spring colours of the trees and listen to the cuckoos (birds, not politicians). The two ladies looking after polling today were not anticipating a high turnout (“we spotted you coming across the green, so we had a moment to hide our teas and paperbacks!”), although I did find another voter entering as I left the polling station, doubling the turnout.

The question is, in a district where the council has been held by one party for 37 years, is it important to vote? Well, clearly the answer must be “yes”. If you are a supporter of the incumbents, then it is important that they have a clear mandate from the electorate to carry out their policies. If you do not support them, then clearly the only way to force change (excluding the possibility of riots on the streets or showering the local council offices with manure) is to use your vote and support an opposing candidate. And, since this is about local politicians applying policies at a local level, issues such as war, income tax and the NHS shouldn’t really come into it.

So, no matter what your politics are, if there is voting to be done in your ward today, go and use your vote. If you don’t and I then catch you moaning about some aspect of local services, don’t be surprised if I come round and give you a stern talking to.

One in the eye for Lewes DC.

I understand that following some of the links that I’ve posted recently on this site, people are wondering what is going on in our lives. So I’d like to clear up a few things.

• yes, we’re thinking about moving.
• no, we will not be moving for some time, at least two years.
• yes, we are looking at the Netherlands. Why? Because houses are considerably cheaper there and we want to reduce the amount of our income that we spend on our mortgage each month. In addition, a lot of my work is in the Netherlands (at least as much as is in the UK), we like it there and it was recently ranked the best industrialized nation in which to bring up a child by the UN (compared to the UK which was ranked the worst nation).
• BUT, it is not a certainty that we will move there. At the moment, we are deeply involved in research which includes:

1. working out where to live
2. deciding what we can afford
3. looking at what mortgage we could get
4. investigating employment options for Hels
5. sussing out education and childcare facilities
6. language, running a business, mortgage system, property law, tax system – everything! There are lots of hidden factors to consider.

• IF we go there, then we would rent for at least one year to test the water – and if it didn’t work out, we could move back to England or to another place.
• we are also investigating other alternatives – in every town we visit, in the UK and abroad, we always look through estate agent windows, partly out of unbridled noseyness and curiosity and partly out of serious research to see what property we could afford if we moved to that area. So far our research has shown that moving within the south east of England would not improve our lot – either we’d still have a vast mortgage or we’d be in Ramsgate.
• in any case, whatever we decide, we have a whole bunch of factors to consider. These include but are not limited to (and in no particular order):

1. Tom – particularly the environment and education/childcare
2. us – we want a nice house in a relatively green neighbourhood (i.e. not a concrete neighbourhood) with a little garden and enough room for us to not be under each other’s feet
3. work – both for me and for Hels as, without work that we enjoy and which pays reasonably, our life would be poorer in terms of quality or money or both
4. family – we are close to both sides of the family and we want to be somewhere that is relatively easy for them to access, including by public transport
5. cats – they’re important too! So no main road homes for us and always at least a little garden, even if/when we rent.

So you see that nothing is certain. Well, almost nothing. The only thing that is certain is that the current fixed rate period on our mortgage expires on 31 December 2008, which is why there is a window of opportunity for moving around that time and into early 2009 (if we move before then, we have to pay a heavy penalty to our lender when we redeem the mortgage) – and we don’t want to leave it much later than that as we want to get Tom settled in a new home before he starts school. The reason for moving is also fairly certain - we want to move in order to achieve either a reduction in our mortgage liability and/or an increase in our living space.

Even the “when” is not guaranteed. As we all know, events have a habit of overtaking one’s plans, so we have no idea what might happen over the next two years. I think the only thing that is likely to remain constant is the “why”. The “what”, “where” and even the “how” are all still to be decided.

At the moment, the mission is research. And with a life-change of this magnitude, I think anyone would agree that we need to be thorough and use all the time available to our advantage.

You may have seen today’s news about a large fire at a fireworks warehouse in East Sussex, with its sad outcome.

Our home is approximately 10 kilometres from the site of the fire. We had already heard distant sirens as fire crews and ambulances headed for the scene (although at that time we had no idea what the cause was). Then the house was rocked by a massive blast – big enough to shake the whole building, scaring up the cats and local birds and causing at least one other of my neighbours to come out to see what had happened. Goodness knows what it must have been like to be closer to the explosion.

This story sounds awfully familiar. Our home is heated with bottled gas which is even more expensive than either bulk-delivered LPG or oil, the options described in the article. Each bottle costs us nearly £40 and, in deep mid-winter when there is nightly frost, we can get through a bottle in six days. Do the maths. We can’t upgrade to either of the bulk options without investing in a (costly) tank plus associated plumbing. You find that, after the first bill arrives, you quickly learn to put on a thicker sweater insted of turning up the thermostat. Our wood-fuelled stove is also a great friend.

In addition, as the article hints, those of us living in rural areas, even though we are only a short distance from two small towns, have to use cars every day as there is no realistic public transport alternative. There is a weekday bus, but it runs only once per hour, goes only to one of the neighbouring towns and starts too late and finishes too early to be of any value to commuters. Bizarrely, it calls at the nearby railway station before coming to our village, so you can’t use it to hook up with the rail service. I’ve never actually counted them all, but our road consists of 31 properties but yet must be home to at least sixty cars. Parking is a nightmare.

Now, I’m not expecting government handouts to help us out (although there could be more help to encourage people to insulate their homes and make them more fuel-efficient – this would both help them financially and reduce emissions). But a realisation of the problem in government and elsewhere would be a good thing. As suggested in the article, villages like ours are often home to those on very low wages (farm workers, for example) and how they manage, I really don’t know (actually, I do – they have wood-fuelled stoves and take wood home from the farm as a "perk". But that doesn’t heat your water or cook your dinner).

I always find this sort of news story interesting:

With the information released and the tone of the reporting, we are led to believe, as readers, that the wife has bumped off her husband in an African country. Our imagination takes us on to the notion that she might have done it for the insurance money or to escape an unhappy marriage of convenience. Perhaps she chose an African country in the belief that the criminal investigation system there might not reach her. Already, we’ve bounded to the conclusion that she is guilty – we have been conditioned to do so by years of this sort of reporting and our own prejudices.

The truth, of course, could be vastly different. He may well have been the victim of a random attack. He could have died from some entirely non-violent cause. She may be as innocent as a newborn lamb, truly distraught at the loss of her husband. In fairness, we can not say because we are not party to all of the facts and won’t be until the trial (if there is one) is reported in due course.

Tabloid journalism has a lot to answer for. We assume guilt too often.

Quick post:

• thanks to Charlie and The Peet for my excellent Neotropic CD.
• thanks also to the Uborka Two for Winter Chill 2.
• thanks to family for gifts of cash, clothing and olive oil – all appreciated.
• thanks to Hels for Gnarls Barkley, clothing and cake.
• spent Friday at Wakehurst Place – thoroughly enjoyable another opportunity to put the buggy through its paces (it passed with flying colours).
• Friday evening involved a fantastic meal out – if anyone needs a recommendation for a fabulous meal in East Sussex, drop me a line.
• Saturday was spent gardening, painting and erecting trellis for the most part.
• Sunday was spent at Pashley Manor Gardens for the Plant Fair – not one of the best that I’ve had there, but I think some lessons were learned that will lead to changes before August.

• get up early
• study BBC online weather forecast – observe white fluffy cloud symbol and yellow sun symbol and assume the day is set fair
• saw logs so as to make them more woodpile-friendly
• create new border in the garden
• go to nearby farm to purchase a sack of well rotted cow poo for said border for one of your fine English pounds
• apply poo to new border
• get changed from poo-ey clothes
• welcome brother-in-law to house
• drive to extremely nice nearby public house
• park car
• strap small child to chest in slightly bizarre harness device
• walk in opposite direction to public house wiuth a view to making a large circuit, returning to said public house with hearty appetite for fine ales
• observe rapidly deteriorating weather conditions
• wade through mud, fight brambles, attempt to pacify child – all in steady rain and a cool breeze – whilst cheerfully reassuring one another that the weather "will blow over in a minute and surely improve"
• reach a farm with a large barn
• take shelter in said barn
• change child’s nappy and then eat sandwiches whilst heavy rain continues, whilst regretting not bringing any sort of waterproof clothing for anyone other than small child – the same small child who, whilst being only 12 weeks old, has already developed the ability to laugh and point at his soaking wet father from within the warmth and dryness of his red waterproof
• decide that the rain is not going to stop
• run back through the mud and rain to the car, leaving brother-in-law, wife and child in barn
• drive back to collect rest of party and then home, to glorious sunshine
• head to the pub next door for a pint or two
• return home, eat pie
• search for hotel for stay in Budapest – realise that no hotel there has been renovated since 1967. Decide to seek advice from the only person I know with much experience of the Hungarian capital.
• read the best post in ages on Parallax View – end the day contented

Sunrise. 
Originally uploaded by graybo.

…with mist in the trees. We wake up to this view every morning – envy us!

After literally months of waiting, I’m now using a 1mbps broadband connection after BT finally completed the upgrade last night. Ruralville has been lagging behind a bit compared to other communities in the area, mainly due to our remoteness from the exchange. But BT have recently upgraded the cables to the village in order to get our tiny school connected.
Of course, 1mbps will seem very slow to those people who live in major city centres and are getting speeds that are five or twenty times faster thanks to cable networks. The truth is that many rural areas barely have broadband at all and we are usually a long way down the queue for technical upgrades. Perhaps we will see faster radio-based broadband systems introduced in the near future – they’d certainly be useful around here and probably an awful lot cheaper to install.

The first weekend of October and we’ve had our first and second frosts of the season. This morning, H had to find the deicer to clear the windscreen of her car before setting off to work. Meanwhile, I get to stay in the warm with a nice cup of coffee. Not that I’m rubbing it in or anything.

I’m never going to listen to my wife again when she says "don’t bother bringing the camera – it’s not a nice day and the photos won’t turn out well". I was quietly cursing the fact that I didn’t have the camera with me yesterday as we admired glorious and huge fields full of poppies near East Dean (the East Sussex one, not any of the the other East Deans) and then stood at the foot of the majestic cliffs at Birling Gap as the waves crashed in – all bathed in splendid sunshine. Bah!
Incidentally, I’m sure that there is a joke in a place name like Birling Gap. Much like there must be a joke in Tarring Neville.

Our challenge this morning has been trying to decide how to vote in the county council election. Labour aren’t really an option, as the council has only ever been either LibDem or Tory. The Tories are the current incumbents.
Having studied the literature, I can find hardly any differences in policy at a local level. The main one I have found is that the LibDems oppose the introduction of charges for local car parks, whereas the Tories would rather introduce them and reduce the Council Tax – either way, you end up paying for the car park somewhere. Also, there is a rather complicated argument about the local planning process which essentially boils down to the LibDems wanting to keep the existing cumbersome and expensive process or the Tories wanting to spend a lot of money to change it – either way, it ends up costing us somewhere.
On balance, we feel that it comes down to track record and, put crudely, the Tories have increased the Council Tax more slowly during their period in charge than the LibDems did when they were in charge. Services have also improved and a few niggling local issues seem to have been sorted out.
So, it looks like a split ballot for me – different Xs on each of the two papers. But at least I can feel safe in the knowledge that I’ve voted locally in the local election and nationally in the national election. I encourage you to do the same.
Oh, and another factor – only the Tory county council candidate bothered to visit Ruralville (or our home at least) – so we can be sure that he knows we exist out here.
UPDATE – H has been to the polling station already and caused quite a stir, being the only voter there and causing palpitations for the rather elderly polling station officers who clearly are not used to such glamour so early in the day! I’m on my way there now.

Nipped round to the pub this evening to watch some big grown men dancing and hitting big sticks, with bells tied around their ankles and wrists. Apparently, good luck and fertility shall favour those that watch Morris dancing. Not sure about the fertility bit, but I had the misfortune of having to stand the drinks. Bah.
Ruralville must be one of the few places in the south east of England where Morris dancers can perform their rituals in the middle of the main road at 8.30 on a Wednesday evening with no fear of being run over.

Unscientific BBC survey suggests that fewer people are putting up party posters in the run up to this election than in previous years. There certainly seem to be plenty around here, although red seems a rare colour.
Interestingly, party political posters are exempt from the Town and Country Planning (Control of Advertisements) Regulations 1992 (my favourite piece of legislation to flout, as regular readers will know) provided they are removed not more than 14 days after the election.

Finally managed to find time on our own today to take some exercise – a 8.5km circular walk from Ruralville passing through two nearby hamlets and, needless to say, a pub. The cloud and haze rather spoilt the views, but it was excellent nonetheless, particularly to see the spring flowers starting to bloom. We passed through open fields, narrow lanes, coppice, woodland, heath and golf course – certainly varied. We also discovered an absolutely fantastic spot in the woods, with moss-carpeted floors, towering beech trees and the babbling of the confluence of two small streams – definitely a future picnicking spot, we reckon.

To the bright spark that drove into Hels’s car in one of the lanes in Ruralville, smashing off the wing mirror, and didn’t stop – thanks. That’ll cost us quite a bit to have fixed.
To whichever of our cats it was that knocked over the full vase on the dining table overnight, spilling water all over my brand new Wallpaper* magazine and leaving a huge water stain in the table and an even bigger puddle on the floor – thanks. Next time, I’ll use the pair of you to mop it up.

A power cut hit Ruralville in the small hours and power has yet to be restored. Our heating, though gas, requires an electricity supply to function. Thankfully, our log burning stove doesn’t require electricity, so there is a little heat in the house as snow falls steadily outside. Thank goodness for laptop batteries (mmmm, warm knees) and redundant dialup accounts.

Update on the neighbour situation from the other day. It seems that everyone is now in agreement on the way forward, so we hope that a quick trip to the pub for beer and curry tonight will patch up any slightly damaged bridges. Which is a good thing.
As for the Dutch guy problem (or Dutch problem guy), he seems to have gone very quiet indeed. And I’m not too worried by that. I think that problem will go away. In fact, in many ways, his ejection of playthings from his perambulator has left me free to make vastly superior new arrangements concerning a couple of products, much to my satisfaction.

What is it with people at the moment? Our neighbours aren’t speaking to us, or so it seems, because we have done something (about which I can not speak here) with the best intentions, and it seems that only the local outcast agrees with us. At this rate, we’ll be outcasts too. Meanwhile, one of my clients called me up this afternoon and we had an absolutely extraordinary half-hour telephone conversation in which we seemed to spend a lot of time going nowhere. He seems incapable of realising that I might be a little annoyed that he has not returned some paperwork for seven months in spite of several reminders and seems to try to put the blame on me. This in spite of the fact that the paperwork is sitting on his desk! And when I pointed out that I would be easily satisfied by means of him putting his signature to the papers and sending them back to me, he proceeded to throw all of his toys out of the pram and have a little tantrum. Most revealing was the point when I said that we appeared to be going around in circles with our conversation and he said "yes, but I am going around them the other way". I think that spoke volumes. But then he is Dutch, so I suppose we should forgive him something (not sure what, and no offence to any of our Dutch reader).

With the snow melting rapidly yesterday and more heavy snow forecast for this morning, I decided to wait until today to nip out and take pretty snow-in-Ruralville pictures. And what happens? Rain. Pah.

Hels has to go on a course in London today, so I took her up to the railway station in Nearbyton to get the once-per-hour service to the Big City. As usual, we were a bit tardy in getting going this morning, so I decided not to drive the long way round on the gritted roads, but instead to take the direct route and pick my way along the back lanes of Ruralville. With some snow overnight and heavy snow falling, the steep hills were best described as "interesting", particularly when we got to the bottom of one hill and found a couple of sheep and a goat in the road. In spite of that, I was able to deliver Hels to the station with a few minutes to spare.
The kittens are fascinated by the snow, although Treacle prefers to look at it rather than go out in it. If they stand still long enough, I’ll try and get a picture. I may also take a picture or two of the local woods when I go out later.

We’re back after a day in Angers and two days in Honfleur, a change being as good as a rest.
When we got home in the small hours of the morning, I picked my way up the lanes of Ruralville with around two inches of snow on the ground, heavy snow falling, my wife asleep in the passenger seat and two kittens in the carrier in the back – a combination of things that tends to make you drive with care.
This morning, I had to travel up to Nearbyton in order to visit the local council. The snow was hanging on the trees and looked absolutely stunning. Unfortunately, I didn’t have my camera with me and now a combination of warmer temperatures and strong wind has rather spoiled the effect – but it was good whilst it lasted.
Busy busy this week, so expect quiet.

Spotted in a field near home the other day:

It is shown on the OS map as a "beacon" but what sort of beacon exactly? Is it a landing marker for UFOs? Is it, in fact, a crashed UFO? Will my brain be fried if I walk near it again?
Answers to the usual address.

We prepared for the New Year by taking the waters at the pub next door last night, before retiring to our sofa with the kittens. Today, we walked off the excess with a long walk through the fields and woods around the next village, in the company of a whole bunch of the locals, plus H’s parents, sister and brother-in-law.
And we’re still eating chocolate.

I’m sure that this story was first reported about a week ago on local television. Either way, you have to admire the determination of someone to hide from the law inside a sofa. (Eastbourne Today posted the story on December 23rd – come on BBC, that’s rubbish!).

Today, we had a power failure that lasted seven hours. Thankfully, the alarm didn’t go off and the food in the freezer seems to have stayed frozen. I guess that’s the price one pays for living in the middle of nowhere, with power supplied via overhead cables and one of those farm transformers on a pole.
It also means that having surge protection is pretty much essential. I suspect that if this becomes a regular problem, PFE may procure a small generator.

Today I went to our local post office. I can’t say too much about it, as I’m still trying to live up to Hels’s ambition of keeping the location of the New House™ from being revealed on this site. But I can say that our local post office, a mere hundred yards from here, is open only two afternoons a week and has just one counter.
I asked what services were available here – "Well, anything that involves posting letters really." What about parcels? "Oh yeh, I do parcels. But not special delivery ones. Just ordinary parcels." Tax discs? Passport forms? "Nope. Just letters. You’ll need to drive to the next village for that. And you need to get your post here an hour and a half before I shut, else it won’t go until the next time I’m open."
I went on to say that I was concerned that such a local amenity might close from under-use, and that I’d try to use it for my business as much as I could. "Oh no, this won’t close. All the while I’m still alive and prepared to come here and do it, it’ll be here. That won’t be for a few years yet. What happens after that, well, that’s anyone’s guess."
I like this place.