It’s been a week. The weather’s been mixed, some nice sunny spells and some cold and biting wind. Indeed, a howling gale one night but thankfully, not too much rain. Penelope’s croquet lawn has had two mowings already! This is way too early to start that grinding routine. And, it goes on forever! Damn this climate change.
To be fair, we’ve not touched the orchard – it’s only Penelope’s croquet lawn that’s had its first couple of trims, just a little bit each time, gradually working our way down to the level which will achieve the immaculate billiard-table smoothness the head gardener demands. Penny did a lot of work last year to repair the damage caused by the moles and drought and the lawns are looking great.
It would be hard not to, but we’re both enjoying the progression of Spring. More and more blossom is out along the hedgerows every day and an expanding variety of flowers are making their appearance.
Our big excitement this week was a hospital appointment in Oxford. Whoo-hoo! Thankfully, it was in the middle of the day so we did manage to avoid the worst of the Oxford traffic.
When we got there, as is the norm these days, the waiting area was crammed with old people and their carers or companions – Penelope was mine, of course. Old, decrepit Baby Boomers who are now at that stage of life where medical attention becomes increasingly common. There I was thinking how all these people looked really old. Then I went to the toilet and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. OMG! I’m an old geezer too!! When did that happen?
The staff were marvellously wonderful, as it seems they always are. They are overwhelmed with demand from us old geezers and have been starved of staff and resources for years. And Brexit hasn’t helped, of course.
In a semi-related aside:
There was an “interesting” topic I read about somewhere. Why are tax-dodging Brits who immigrate to a tax haven in the Middle East referred to as “ex-pats” while immigrants to the UK, many of whom staff our NHS, are referred to as “migrants” or “immigrants”? It popped up in a discussion where “ex-pats” in Dubai were demanding to be retrieved by the RAF when Iran exploded.
These are the tax-dodging gazillionaires who have exported themselves to the area to spend more time with their money. Now, they’re “trapped” in the Middle East and “demanding” to be flown home immediately. At the taxpayer’s expense, of course. And, it gets better. It seems that many have been repatriated not to the UK but to France or Spain. The reason being that if they spend more than a certain number of days in the UK they are liable to lose their non-dom status. Stephen Collins in the Guardian:
You couldn’t make it up.
Meanwhile, the NHS couldn’t exist without the “immigrants” and “migrants” who work so tirelessly to provide kind, helpful, courteous and professional care and attention to old geezers like me.
As most of you know, I mess around from time to time with my family tree and ancestry. From time to time I stumble across interesting titbits and I stumbled this week – nothing of great significance, just a “fun” story of someone whose name I (almost) share.
One of the mysteries of my ancestry is where the Stragnell family name came from. My paternal grandfather acquired it at some point as a young adult and, as far as I know, never explained where he borrowed it from. Strugnell is a surname one runs across in the UK from time to time and I’ve often speculated that it could have been a transcription error – “u” and “a” often look very similar in handwritten scripts. Having said that, we still don’t know where he ran across the name Strugnell or Stragnell and why he decided to appropriate it.
From time to time I’ll type “Stragnell” into the ancestry data sets I have access to and it throws up some useful connections and sometimes completely erroneous ones which turn out to be fun. And so it was when I discovered that my almost namesake Charles Strugnell was in the docks for theft.
I love the image of Strugnell hiding “six kippered herrings” in his bunk – that must have made for an aromatic slumber of an evening.
I’ve just been involved (yesterday) in a very special activity – the printing and publication of Jessie’s first novel. Keep your eyes peeled for a major announcement in the days to come.
Finally, a lovely photo taken by someone in the village of a dawn over Moreton Pinkney.
And finally, finally it’s Mothering Sunday in the UK today. Wishing all you wonderful and incredible mothers out there the best of days.
Meanwhile, keep breathing, keep happy, keep smiling, keep exercising, be good, be careful, and keep safe. And, be gentle to wasps and bees – we need all the pollinators we can get. And, hold your loved ones close.
Lots of love to you all,
Greg