ganching

Up On The Downs

e
  The Downs 
  Originally uploaded by ganching1

I went walking this weekend and this time I had the good sense to leave Traybake and Soda Farl at home.  Instead I went with my friend F. who is quite sensible and is very down to earth.  Rather than endless discussions about The Enlightenment and constant references to filth, we just chatted about normal things like work and divorces and the price of fish.

We drove down on Friday night and stayed in a chocolate box village near Wantage with F.'s rather eccentric aunt and uncle.

On Saturday morning they fed us bacon and eggs and then the uncle, who drove like a man 50 years younger than himself, took us to Sparsholts Firs and deposited us on the side of the road next to the Ridgeway.

Ahead of us was a 17 mile walk to Streatley.  It was very lovely, particularly the first part of the day.  It was  dry and quite sunny and everything looked really fresh.  The skylarks were singing like, umm, like larks and we saw lots of buzzards. For most of the day we had lovely views of Didcot power station.  On the way we passed close to East Isley where a close friend used to live and I remembered having walked a little section of the Ridgeway before on a very cold winter's day.

In Streatley we stayed in a B & B run by a woman who was at least 80.  She was rather grand and very charming and I forgave her for reading the Daily Telegraph because people of that age and class don't know any better.  She was also a crossword addict.

The following morning she made us sandwiches with Carrigbyrne cheese and sent us off into the rain.

F. and I tried to tell each other that it would soon stop.  It certainly looked a bit bright in the distance.  We were completely wrong.  As we crossed the Thames into Goring the skiff of rain turned into a deluge.  Water dripped down my neck. Within 15 minutes one of my boots was letting in water. In half an hour both socks were soaked and my feet were squelching in my supposedly waterproof boots.

We kept walking along the Thames and then through some beautiful villages and up into the  woods but unfortunately I could see nothing through my water smeared glasses.  For a couple of minutes it did ease off a bit and we saw a pair of red kites but soon it was lashing again.  Before we got to Nuffield we decided to give in and F. called her uncle to come and rescue us.

By this time I was a little short tempered and very cold and we spent a good few minutes splashing round Nuffield looking for a pub in a kind of cross, unfocused way.  Eventually after a few heated words we did find the pub which turned out to be really lovely and the staff were exceptionally unbothered by dripping, sodden people lurching in out of the rain and using their facilities to dry themselves off and then only buying lime and sodas to drink.  The food looked really good too.

Eventually the eccentric uncle turned up and drove us back to the house.  By this stage the roads were either covered in sheets of water or actually  flooded.  I sat in the back seat saying the Rosary inside myself while the uncle veered from the curb to the middle of the road with his eyes firmly fixed on his sat nav situated on the passenger side of the dashboard. He kept re-adjusting the controls.  I don't know why he bothered because he paid no attention to its instructions which were mostly of the At the first available opportunity make a u turn variety.

When we got back to the house I had a bath followed by a roast chicken dinner and then we got into the car and drove back to London.

Traybake spent the weekend at the Hay on Wye festival.  According to him it should be re-named the Haystack on Wye as most of the people there had hair like whin bushes.  This was good news for Traybake as he fitted right in.  He'd tried to have his hair cut on Friday but they couldn't give him an appointment.  Apparently the combine harvester was out on hire that day.  He was very disappointed to miss a lively debate entitled The Enlightenment or Big Brother - You Choose but he did get to stand next to Leslie Phillips. Ding dong.

London Skyline

This is a photograph for Rhys who likes this kind of thing and these are some of the things that I will be selling in my shop.

A Change Of Career

  Poole Coffee Pot 
  Originally uploaded by ganching1.

I want a new job. 

Last week I went to see a recruitment consultant and she told me that not only am I  woefully underpaid, but with my excellent experience and superb cv, I should be able to get another job, easey-peasey.

Firstly I don't believe her, and secondly I don't want the kind of jobs she's talking about. 

I want to have a shop and sell coffee pots and hankies and balls of string and penny chews.

I want to write nonsense every day and get paid for it.

I want to review cake shops for a living.

I want to be a private detective.

I want to travel round,  testing out hotel rooms, in all the cathedral cities in the country.

I want to give talks to people on 1950s architecture and design.

I want to become a dialect expert , so I do.

I do not want to be an assistant deputy strategic communities, inclusivity and sustainability director (acting).

What am I going to do with myself?

What do you want to do?

Performance Management

 

Someone I know has just been offered a job, at an organisation responsible for something rather important that is happening in London in 2012.

I'd like to work there too, although I think the performance management might be a bit stressful.  I was talking to Traybake about it today and he suggested they might have to reintroduce hanging just to deal with staff who fail to meet their targets.  You can imagine how hysterical people will get during their annual appraisals as each year passes and deadlines get more and more significant.

TB gave me a mock interview just in case any opportunities come up there.

"The trains hardly ever work now so how are people going to get to the events?"

"We'll introduce special priority for event ticket holders who'll be allowed on trains first!"

"Yes, but what about people like us, who need to get to work?"

"I suggest we make it compulsory for everyone to take their annual leave during that fortnight. Everyone to stay indoors at all times, watching television and those not doing so arrested for unpatriotic behaviour!"

"And paying for it?  How's that going to work?"

"That's easy - just raise taxes."

(TB claims he heard on the radio that the cost will be the equivalent of one Mars bar for every man, woman and child in the country.  Not much eh? Although he wasn't sure he heard it right and they might have said one Mars bar every 5 seconds throughout the course of the fortnight or something like that.)

I'm sure if a job comes up I'll walk it (or run it or sprint it or jump it or............).

In Which I Make An Eegit Of Myself

I met a friend in Covent Garden this evening.  She was slightly late so I filled in the time waiting for her by calling the Gap Year Student.

We chatted a bit and then I told her how much I missed her.

- God, it's desprit hard getting used to watching what I like on tv and being able to sit on the sofa and not having anybody to tell about the famous people I've seen.

- So who have you seen then?

(I decide that I will earn no celebrity-spotting points by mentioning that I sat next to Simon Sebag-Montefiore in a cafe in Notting Hill on Saturday.  I didn't know who he was but I knew he was somebody I should recognise. He has one of those voices that is so posh he makes Harry and Wills sound quite common and he was talking about Stalin with the kind of easy familarity that is usually reserved for family members. I only worked out who he was the next day when I was reading The Observer and I saw a review of this.)

- Oh you know all kinds of people.  I'm in Covent Garden right now.

- Yeah, but like who have you recognis.......

 - Lily! Lovely to see you again...and Amy! So glad you two have made it up!  Sorry GYS were you saying something?

- Haha, yeah, but really who have you s.......

-  PEACHES! It's been like ages..........

I am so amused by this that I am cackling uncontrollably outside Muji and the GYS, who also has an excellent sense of humour, is laughing away in Brighton. I suddenly realise that I am a woman of a certain age, having imaginary conversations in a loud voice in Covent Garden and standing behind me, not laughing, is my rather serious and intellectual friend.

It was only later while on the tube coming home that I remembered something that could have earned me some points from the GYS re Simon Sebag Montefiore. He's Tara Palmer-Tompkinson's brother-in-law.

The Interview

  Coco de Mer 
  Originally uploaded by ganching1.

Dear ganching

I  do my work but there is a big problem.  I have not done ironing because I cannot find ironing board!  Sorry.

Thank you for asking about my interview at lovely lingering shop Coco de Mer.  It went quite well.

Before interview I have done a lot of reseach on the internet in my landlady's house when she is out  so i find out all I can about shop but somewhere there are some wires tangled because landlady is always coming back and shouting so I have no chance to look at everything I need to.

First things go very well as lady who interview me can tell at once that I am size 8 on the bottom and size 12 on top which is good.  (Lucky you did not go for interview - haha).   

She tell me her name but I do not hear properly so to be polite I say how is your mother-in-law Vivienne Westwood and your father-in-law Malcolm McClaren?  The woman look at me strangely and start speaking French.  Agent Provacateur!  Agent Provacature is a differnt establishment from this one.  My mother, Anita Roddick, is fine thank you, and is currently living in Borneo singlehanded re-planting the rain forest and learning ancient secrets at the feet of the indignant people there.

Next she ask me about qualification and mention most girls in shops  are oxbridge educated.  I think things are improving as I go to top Enlish Language college situated at back of shopping mall in Edmonton which is a lot better than going to school on a bridge!

Then things begin to go right.  She asked me question about  do I know how to use rabbit and I know for sure it is a trick question!!!  English people love pets more than people so I know immediately not to say use them for making lovely fur coat like my grandmother wear or putting in a lovely stew like my mother make - no, I have no idea what to say so I guess and say use rabbit to bring pleasure to yourself.  When you come home from hard day at work there is nothing nicer than to play with rabbit and soon you feel relaxed and ready for anything. The woman smiled and I know I have said right thing so just to finish of I say and then you could give rabbit nice lettuce to nibble on and put it in it's hutch for a nice snooze.  And then the interview was over.

I expect to hear very soon.  I give spare room extra good clean today.

Have a good weekend.

Magda

PS please buy bleach and new ironing board if you cannot find old one.

Traybake Goes On A Date?

My mobile phone beeps to alert me that I have recieved a message.  It is from Traybake and this is what it says:

It is never a good idea to take an ironing board on the tube during rush hour!

I know What You Did Last Bank Holiday Monday or Wendover Circular Version Two

Traybake, Soda Farl and I went for a walk on the bank holiday Monday.

I chose the walk from the Time Out Volume 2 book, checked the train times to and from the station and made arrangements where to meet. Following the unfortunate Wadhurst Circular incident I was careful to pick a walk that was easy to follow and not too long.

I got to our meeting place at Marylebone station early and was pleased to see that TB and SF were already there enjoying coffee and croissants.  I volunteered to get the tickets and SF volunteered to get me a coffee but I said I was happy to get my own.

At the ticket office I became incandescent with rage when told that there were no trains stopping at the station we wanted to go to, due to signal failures.

"That stupid, ridiculous, incompetent shower!" I thought, "Couldn't run a bath, never mind a railway company. We might as well all go home now."

I began shouting at TB and SF but, after they threatened to use restraints, I calmed down a bit and we found another walk. It was three miles longer than the one I'd originally chosen and much, much hillier. Seconds later we had to go galumphing down the platform to try and catch a train that was due to leave within the next minute.

"That was lucky!" I panted as we took our seats on the train close to where a surly teenager was sitting with his feet up on the seat opposite.

"What do you call a fella like that one over there, wearing a suit?"  whispered TB in a loud voice.

" I dunno."

"The defendant!"

The teenager gave us all a filthy look and turned up his MP3 player.

"God, I hate having to change my plans, and you might have got me a coffee.  I'll be like a bear all day now, so I will!".

We passed the journey reading the Guardian and a copy of Prospect magazine which SF had brought along.

"What's that magazine there?"

"Uhh, it's just something the girlfriend recommended."

I rolled my eyes at TB behind SF's back.

I picked up the magazine and read a short article about the Mayor's spatial plan for London (something which I am very interested in as any normal person would be).

"God, what a load of simplistic crap!  Why are people paid money for writing shite like this?"  I declared.

When we arrived at Wendover Station it was lashing with rain. TB immediately applied some Factor 500 to his face.   "Oh great" I thought, "Now we're all going to get soaked!".

TB and I were really glad that we were wearing our waterproof jackets.  SF, not having the wit he was born with, had brought an umbrella.

"God, he's like, so embarrassing! You walk next to him in case anyone thinks he's with me." I hissed at TB.  SF didn't hear as he was sending a text to the girlfriend.

Within half an hour the rain had stopped and it turned into a blustery, blowy, sunny day.

The walk was all right but way more hilly than we expected.

"I think I'm going to have a stroke!" gasped TB as we panted our way up the side of a cliff.

There were a lot of flowers growing everywhere which didn't do my hay fever much good.

"What's that white stuff growing on that thing over there?" asked SF as we walked past yet another hedge covered in hawthorn blossoms.

"God, SF, do ye not know the name of anything?  I hope that novel you're writing doesn't have any descriptions in it or people or events or anything like that!"

TB took me to one side and whispered,

"Ach, sure, don't be so hard on him. The big gype can hardly tell the difference between a tree and a house. They're like that the Derry people!"

SF didn't notice as he was sending a text to the girlfriend.  TB applied some more Factor 500.

At noon TB said he was hungry.  I think he must have worms.

We had a bit of a squabble about where to stop.  Eventually TB and SF picked on a rotting tree trunk underneath some beech trees.  The trunk was home to a thriving colony of beetles and earwigs and it had spikes all the way along it. Water dripped from the trees above".

"This is great!" said TB.  "We can pretend we're at Lough Derg!"

"You're so pernickety!"

"I hope you didn't use that smooth mustard?  I hate that!"

"God, one wee, tiny slice of cake each!  I suppose you kept all the rest at home to scoff later on by yourself!"

"I'm allergic to strawberries."

"Did nobody bring any drink?"

After lunch we walked up to the Chiltern escarpment.  Apparently there was quite a view from there but all I could see were the black spots that were floating in front of my eyes.  I could hear nothing that TB and SF were saying due to the roar of blood in my ears.  Both signs, apparently, that a heart attack is about to take place.

We started walking through some woods.  TB spotted a woodpecker.

"C'mere 'til ye see this!" he shouted.  The woodpecker, startled, took flight.

"God, ye big eegit!  It's always been a dream of mine to see a woodpecker and then you go and scare it off!"

Moments later SF shouts "Get your camera out - quick!"  pointing towards an empty glade. 

"Honestly, I'm just after seeing a baby deer there a minute ago!"

Knowing SF it was just as likely that what he'd seen was a sparrow or a clump of nettles.

There were lots of little snails everywhere so I decided to take a photograph of one of them.  I was hunkered down trying to get a good shot when I felt something crunch and, simultaneously squelch under my boot. I reconsidered the photograph.

Our conversation ranged as widely as our walk; from the puerile to the disgusting.

"Just give it a good tug. You must be used to tugging things!"

"God, look at the thatch on that!"

All of this accompanied by sniggers and snorts as both TB and SF tried to outsmart each other.

Late in the afternoon we crossed the driveway which leads to Chequers, the country residence of our Prime Minister.

"This place is probably thick with security" I said.

"Do you think so?"

Traybake began to shake his fists at some nearby oak trees.

"You warmongering bastard, you! Come out and fight if you're big enough!"

SF and I started pulling TB away from the driveway before any MI6 or armed police officers arrived.

Our walk took us past a  church with a sign outside it saying "Open for teas". SF refused to come in!

"I don't do churches."

TB and I do do churches.  We each had a cup of tea and a slice of homemade coffee and walnut cake.

"You know, I think whoever made this cake used margarine.  They're so backward in the country they probably haven't even heard of Nigella!  And what's Gypus Maximus playing at not even coming in?  He's as thran as a pig that one. You know what he's doing out there?  Texting the girlfriend!  Like, he's some kind of teenager! God, he's like, so immature!"

TB applied some more Factor 500.

We wended our way across the fields for the last couple of miles of the walk.  The talk turned to who'd gone to the best school.  I don't know why.  SF always wins this one because of the two Nobel Prize winners.

"Of course Heaney didn't deserve that prize." said SF

"What do you mean?" said TB

"Well there's nothing innovative about him!"

"What about his use of the vernacular?"

"I never liked thon bird" I said.

"It's yon.  I never liked yon bird."

"It's not, it's thon."

"It's yon."

"Thon."

"Yon!"

"THON!!"

"Shut up the pair of you.  The thing is, Heaney's too much of the venerable  poet for my liking".

"Are you dissing my relative?"

"You? Related to Heaney?  I suppose that connection would be on the Walter Mitty side of the family?"

"What?  Oh, ha-bloody-ha!"

We were all really fed up by the time we got to the station.  As we were crossing the bridge to our platform we realised the London train was in and, just as we came down the steps, it pulled out.

"Feck, feck and double feck!"

We waited half an hour for the next train.

When we were sitting on the train I noticed that we were all a little pink and not just from our exertions - we had all caught the sun.

" Oh great - I'll have a big beetroot face at work tomorrow and skin cancer.  I wonder if they make Factor 1000?"

Neither SF nor I answered.  SF was sending a text to the girlfriend and I was too busy trying not to cry.

Accidents Will Happen

A Very Grumpy Girl
Originally uploaded by ganching1.

Earlier this week the Surly Niece was crossing the street in Limerick on her way to college when a car turned into the road. The driver, instead of slowing down, drove straight into her and knocked her flying.

Two women came on the scene and immediately called the Gards and an ambulance. The driver sat in her car for a while and then got out and said something like:

"God, I didn't see you there. I was on the phone."

My mother was the one who told me about it.

"Luckily there's no bones broken. They took her up to the hospital and give her a right good through-putting."

Apart from bruising and grazes she's fine unlike the driver who will be facing a fine and/or losing her licence. Ah well at least she got to finish her chat on the mobile.

Wendover Circular Version One

Traybake, Soda Farl and I went for a walk on the bank holiday on Monday.

I chose the walk from the Time Out Volume 2 book, checked the train times to and from the station and made arrangements where to meet.  Following the unfortunate Wadhurst Circular incident I was careful to pick a walk that was easy to follow and not too long.

I got to our meeting place at Marylebone station early and was pleased to see that TB and SF were already there enjoying coffee and croissants.  I volunteered to get the tickets and SF volunteered to get me a coffee but I said I was happy to get my own.

At the ticket office I was a little perturbed to be told that there were no trains stopping at the station we wanted to go to due to signal failures.

"Oh well, these things can't be helped" I thought, "Better find another walk."

Within moments we had chosen a different walk and seconds later found ourselves running down the platform to catch a train that left in one minute's time.

"That was lucky!" I panted as we took our seats on the train close to where a pleasant, well-behaved teenager was sitting.  We all agreed that sometimes it's really good for you to change your plans and do something unexpected.  I missed getting a coffee but I was thinking of cutting down anyway.

We passed the journey reading the Guardian and a copy of Prospect magazine.  The latter contained a very interesting article by Mr Mick Fealty.  "This is such an interesting magazine!" I declared.

When we arrived at Wendover Station it was lashing with rain.  It has been dry and sunny for so long that it was really refreshing to be in the rain and I couldn't help thinking how pleased all the gardeners would be.  TB and I were really glad that we were wearing our waterproof jackets and SF was glad he had brought an umbrella even though TB and I ribbed him gently about bringing one on a country walk.

Within half an hour the rain had stopped and it turned in a blustery, blowy, sunny day.

The walk was glorious.  A little hillier than we expected but as TB remarked:

"Sure it's as good as a workout at the gym and there are much prettier things to look at!"

He was just right about that.  The countryside was bursting with wild flowers; cowslips, celandines, wild garlic and a veritable sea of bluebells.  The meadows were dotted with buttercups and daisies and the trees leaves had only recently unfurled into all of their lettuce green loveliness.

"Cast not a clout 'til May is out!" said SF as we walked past yet another hedge full of hawthorn clotted with creamy blossoms.

At noon TB said he was hungry and within moments we'd found a delightful picnic spot underneath the beech trees.  We ate ham and cheese ciabbatta sandwiches contributed by TB.  I'd made a lemon syrup cake and the men pronounced it one of the best they'd ever tasted.  SF brought fruit; juicy, ripe pears and sweet, sweet strawberries.  We washed it all down with lashings of cold, spring water.

After lunch we walked up to the Chiltern escarpment rich in historical and sacred sites.  The English countryside lay spread out before us and the wind lifted our hair.  It felt almost as if we were at sea in a sailing ship with the wind catching the sails.  We all agreed that the sound of wind in the trees is one of our favourite sounds.

There really was an abundance of nature to be seen.  We spotted a woodpecker busily pecking at a tree trunk and a baby fawn flitting through a glade.  There were little snails everywhere going about their snail-business carrying their delicate, whorl-like homes on their backs.  I took lots of photographs.

Our conversation ranged as widely as our walk.  TB told an amusing story about how some students mistook a photograph of Noam Chomsky for Woody Allen. How we laughed.  We all agreed that maybe it wasn't such a bad thing that Sarkozy had won the French election.

"Really we should give him a chance" said SF "Those neoliberals have some good ideas!"

Late in the afternoon we crossed the driveway which leads to Chequers, the country residence of our Prime Minister. 

"I hope T. Blair is having a well-deserved and relaxing day off" said TB, "He works so hard on our behalf and he has quite a week ahead of him!".

SF and I could only agree with him.  We all hoped that there was good security close to the right of way path.

Our walk took us past a delightful church.  TB and I went in to have a look round while SF remained in the graveyard contemplating mortality.

We wended our way across the fields for the last couple of miles of the walk amusing ourselves by reciting poetry.  We are all great fans of Tennyson and the venerable Seamus Heaney.

We were all a little weary by the time we reached the station so were glad of a sit-down and the chance to catch our breaths.  Soon we were on the train chugging back towards London.  We were all a little pink and not just from our exertions - we had all caught the sun.

All in all a delightful day out and we didn't get lost once!