Life and little problems

Life and little problems                                                          

The morning began a little later today and continued with an hour and a half of classes on You Tube. During that time we hardly speak, unless the odd glance and smile counts, as we follow the movements of the teacher. It is a peaceful passage of movement and bodily engagement that both of us find beneficial to our wellbeing. A short break comes after the ballet workout, when I go into the kitchen to get us both refreshing cup of tea, French rose with vanilla for Steve and a noir de Ceylon loose leaf for me. Neither of us like standard builders tea with milk and that is more that we have travelled enjoyably well and taken tea in some really nice café’s in our many years together, rather than being snooty posh tea folk just for the sake of it.

Next stop of the day was the turbo room upstairs and not much more than an easy hour spinning our legs to yet another episode of The West Wing on our lockdown re- run of the very long box set we bought years ago. A nice bath followed after the cycling, and then since it was Saturday, a bit of breakfast is the habit. Just a bagel each with cheese, some Port Salut or Wensleydale with cranberry today. The cheese selection was hardly complimented by the accompanying strawberry jam for Steve and Plum jam for me. That’s more down to earth isn’t it; cheese and jam. 

My default radio station has long been Classic FM. Steve is a talk radio man mainly and at the weekend it is Maajid Nawaz, who has his ear. Steve had laid the table by the time I was out of the bath, had cleaned and tidied the bathroom and floated back in. Having taken my seat at the table Steve started chattering to me and I sat and looked at his face and after a while I started smiling at him and he stopped.

“What” he said, “What is it” looking at me as if he didn’t know what it was.

I started to explain something that I know that he knows. “Classic FM is playing on the TV,” I indicated slightly across the room to my right. “Maajid is talking behind me in the hall and who is this singing, not Taylor Swift is it?

“Lady Antebellum”, He interjected still looking curious.

“You have forgotten for the moment that I am a bit deaf haven’t you”, a tick or two passed. “You know that when there is another noise that I can’t hear you talking”? Then I added, “I am the deaf old bat remember”?

I got up and turned the radio on the TV off, and he stopped Maajid mid sentence.

The hearing problem dates back quite a long time to when I bad a bad attack of Labyrinthitis. I woke up in the night and attempted to get up but fell back across the bed with a thump. The more I tried to stand the more I fell about completely devoid of any balance at all. It was a bit scary and I had no idea what was happening.

Cutting that story short; it was a severe attack and I was not able to stand up on my own for some time. Steve moved me to a lazi-boy chair downstairs for that time, since I would fall out of bed. I had to be almost carried to the toilet and the movement made me feel so nauseous. Steve called in my daughter every now and again to help when he had to go out of the house.

It was weeks until it very slowly improved after doctors and hospital visits. During the following weeks and months I could not go into supermarkets without bad spells of dizziness. The most lasting effect is still with me to a degree; when we go to the theatre or cinema and sit in the dark for a couple of hours. I have to put my hand on Steve’s shoulder as we leave. He goes in front of me and I stay behind him until I feel steady again. I have had tinnitus constantly since then.

At the swimming pool I can hardly hear at all because of the background noise and once in the pool with a swim hat on and water in my ears that’s it, it’s just a noise. My friends seem to forget this about me, even though I have told them all from time to time. They will still turn and talk to me at the end of the pool and I just smile at them, point to myself and say “Deaf old bat, remember”.

One to one, I am fine though it is no good what so ever whispering an aside to me; I don’t hear whispers, so feel free to talk about me because I won’t know. Cinema and theatre sound is fine. Restaurants with music playing loudly and I am hopeless. I have a hearing aid but it’s not really much good for me and I can’t get to grips with it. It stays in a drawer mostly. 

While I have been writing this afternoon, Steve has taken Birdy with him out into the garden wearing her harness and lead. She is quite happy having it put on now and actually starts purring because she knows that she will be taken into the garden once it is on. There is no sign of a fight now to place it on her. She can walk in it if she wants to, but mostly just sits or lays down without pulling or struggling yet seeming to be perfectly happy, both being in the garden and having attention. She gets a few treats when she comes in.

Variation on a theme: Life not as we knew it

This photo is Haugesund in Norway. Just lifted from Instagram.  We were packing our bags to travel there at this time last year. Glorious.

Variation on a theme: Life not as we knew it                      

Last night we were a little later than usual going to bed because we just had to watch the last episode of Little Fires Everywhere. It was on the whole an excellent series. It would be a difficult job to nominate the best actor in the production. It is full of new thoughts and has an amazing cast of young people, who play the children of the seemingly perfect family living in the perfect home in the perfect location of Shaker Heights, Ohio. In addition the main family group, there is the far from perfect runaway artist mother and her daughter. The cast is headed by Reese Witherspoon who is fantastic at the bitch wife/mother from hell. If push came to shove, I would say that the young Megan Stott and Izzy/Isobel the youngest of four children, we find out quickly that she was the fourth and only unplanned and resented child. The cast is the most polished group. Every one is a winner. 

The show was recommended to us by friends who are also struggling to remain sensible, calm and focused at this time, in more or less the same way as us. We all have made a point of staying over busy and using every moment of every day in a positive productive way, keeping a tight hold on the things that we feel are important in our lives. That includes being very selective about what we sit down to relax with in the evenings after dinner.

These friends are members of one of the few families that have taken the same or similar life style as a kind of Home Law, on how to get through this time. None of us are ready to mingle carelessly for a good while yet. We are not eager to start hugging all and sundry any time soon.

One of the great new stars in Little Fires Everywhere. Megan Stott is amazing in it.

So entertainment must also be arranged and must be top flight. My recommendation for tonight is The Magic Flute from the Royal Opera House. If you groaned on reading that, I will know that you are not an opera lover. Yet I would then stress that recommendation again and ask you to give it a try. The Magic Flute is one of a selection that I would say were perfect for those who have never watched of listened to a full opera before. It has lovely music great costumes and sets and; it is an out of this world pretty fantasy story. Mozart might have written some heavy duty music but he was not averse to some pretty silly story lines also. This comes on my list of first time opera level that can only be topped by Carmen that is full to bursting with lovely melodies.  Ballet for beginners productions like Nutcracker or La Fille Mal Gardée that are both perfect for children and adults. If you have never watched ballet or opera, you are sort of still in the junior school of music and I don’t mean to offend in saying that, but what I mean is that you have not completed the full musical course. I know it all sounds pompous but that is simply not the truth, if you take into consideration that I left school to go to work when I was fourteen. I didn’t leave dancing school then though. I did join Worthing Musical Comedy Society having fibbed about my age. The first show I was in was Oklahoma. Front row of the chorus, not a star, just a little dancer.

Fairy tails are great and a marvellous base for reading. Moving on to the Harry Potter books are essential reading as far as I am concerned for children and adults. Adults should always read the new popular children’s books in my opinion, know what the little darlings are enjoying. Yet we all like to move on to the great books don’t we. I remember when I was much younger and read, To Kill a Mocking Bird. I felt like I had been tipped off my planet and into the rest of the universe. Well that’s just me anyway, always wanting to find new pleasure in the world. Mad Old Bat. Good job we are all different isn’t it.

On to the new day so far. With another early start and Steve’s first words telling me that it didn’t look very nice outside. He told me that it had been raining and did not look promising for our run. Still, still we both got up and threw out running kit on, glugged down a cup of coffee and set off for the woods as usual.

Having parked Violetta; our VW Caddy van (all our vehicles, bikes included have names, our nineteen year old Golf is called Marcus), we looked at the drizzle on the windscreen and then each other for a nano second before getting out of the van anyway. We had an 8 mile run planned which Steve changed, to choice of run so that we would mainly have the cover of the trees although it would be darkish on such a mouldy day. I had brought I light weight waterproof coat and so I did not get too wet, but it was not cold, in fact it was fairly humid so I soon cast it off and tied it around my waist and only slipped it on when the on/off rain was more noticeable. The only good thing about the weather was that we didn’t see a single solitary soul for the whole run and only one little deer. That is one of the many joys of life that Steve and I share; empty woodlands are sheer heaven, full of bird song and beauty.  

Just another small difference in my behaviour over the last three months, is that I have not worn any jewellery at all and that is a little odd since I have been making an effort to keep myself dressed as nicely as possible, putting a bit of a face on and doing my hair presentably. I have enjoyed having more Steve’s company and he returns that compliment to me daily. We have both given thanks countless times that we have been stuck at home with somebody we love and reflected on how awful it must have been for other couples who not even friends.

Busy Doing Nothing

Busy Doing Nothing                                                                

It would be too boring for words if I were to write about my exploits today since from the start it was a wash out. We had planned to jump in our VW Caddy van and go for a nice bike ride somewhere, Box Hill was mentioned and that would have been a marvellous outing, lifting of the spirits and useful for the training but rain caused a rethink. So it was back to the same old same old. In fact we did do; 4 x 15 minutes Qigong and followed that with another turbo session. Both were enjoyable to do but not to read about on the grounds of repetition.

And so it has been a morning of household chores; washing, ironing, sorting, tidying and a few catch up emails with friends who I have not seen in an age.

Steve was sunk into sorting out his email, he has been having problems with it. He has also rung friends in Alabama, who like us have been staying home and out of circulation. They were well and occupied with their garden that is an art work compared to our little meager patch. They even have bee’s, heavenly.

I have never known Steve to show any interest at all in gardening but this summer since I have worked quite hard at trying produce something to eat rather than gaze at, he has started to join in and help with little jobs. He has put in string lines for the climbers to find their way up on. He has never noticed over the years when I had carefully planted bedding plants in blending colours but yesterday he came in the house smiling to tell me that the first flowers had appeared on the mange tout peas and the runner beans.

This time last year we were making final preparations for our journey to Haugesund in Norway for the Ironman 70.3 there. The race itself did not go well for me since my bike gears packed up in the early staged of the bike ride but it was a good race and Haugesund was a most interesting town. Nice friendly people. We took a few drives around while we were there, including the looking over bike course before the race. We have watched several TV series set in Norway since we went there and had such a lovely time. We would definitely like to go back sometime and see more of that fabulously scenic country.

Just to make you smile. I have a daily e-mail from a website.

Dr. Goodword. There is a word of the day of course.

So; Word. Definition and In play section.

The word today was Pleonasm. Definition: Over egging stuff.

In play: It quoted Yogi Berra, who was a catcher with the NY Yankees.

"Déjá vu all over again"!

All in the course of a days work and training

 

All in the course of a days work and training

We were lucky this morning to get our 8 mile run in before a lonely little shower drifted along. We met a lady on a chestnut horse just as we were returning to our car, who couldn’t believe her bad timing or her choice of clothes since she only had a tee shirt on and no waterproof coat. As it turned out it was only a short shower and we were in the car and off to the next part of the day before the heavier burst of rain briefly fell.

Out on our run we had seen more deer than we had for the last few weeks including a pretty doe with the sweetest little twin fawns just behind her. Then later on there were several more here and there. Just about at our four mile point, where we came out of the darkness of the woodland and into bright sunlight, behind the village church in Patching, there was the only chance we had had of catching a photograph. The little deer looked up startled as we appeared and stood looking at us long enough for me the get the camera out of Steve’s stretchy Flip belt.

We are among the most open of countryside geeks. A great view, or any animal or photographable bird, will stop us in our tracks. Our runner’s world so early in to morning, is simply marvellous and we are happy to be alive and healthy enough to spent hours running through nature. Sussex is an amazing county with beauty everywhere.

Before going home, Steve drove into Arundel for a slow lap of the centre before going to look at the sea two miles south of there. The sea looked calm and inviting and a couple of early swimmers were taking advantage of the convenient high tide. There were a couple of paddle boarders further out there too.

After turning round, Steve drove into the nearest garage to our home and bought Diesel. It was the first fill in over three months. Just before the official lockdown, he had filled both our vehicles; the VW Caddy van that we use mainly for business, but also as transport to races etc. Our other car is also a VW but it is a Golf; and a very, very old one that; it had been my daughters car before we acquired it from her. So that shows how very little we traveled during lockdown. One fill in three months, compared to the normal use, mainly for Steve’s antiques shipping work.

Once indoors it was time for another cup of coffee before starting on our second round of exercise. Today, Qigong again, that is so nice to do after a good hard run. It was a very good run, because Steve checked the Garmin Forerunner when we got in and it told us that this mornings effort was the 3^rd best out of the nine 8 milers we have done in the last two months. The device also told us that we had run 99 miles in the last four weeks. After the Qigong it was time for our ballet workout. It is as previously mentioned mainly for core strength exercises with a gentle movement based warm up and some entry level ballet, Pliés and the like for the main set.

We have both done a few jobs in the garden, which is a whole new world for Steve who has always left it all to me. He had busied himself trying to prevent the blankedy-blank seagulls from coming in our teeny weeny little garden and eating everything before the pretty little birds, that we enjoy watching, had had their feed. Steve had arranged the chairs (that belong with the table) as a shield around the bird table and hanging feeder. Before I go on I should mention that if the cat does not eat all her food when I first put it down, that I tip the rest on the table for the birds rather than attract fly’s with leftovers in the house.

I had not long done that, when a huge seagull battled its way into the garden. This is not easy for lumbersome creatures like that. It easy for tiny birds, but the big boys have to negotiate the garage wall, a wooden shed, a wall that disguises the oil tank, another decorative wall with big pots secured on top of it. There are also two washing lines, since I prefer air dried garments and hardy ever use the tumble drier.

There was a battle royal when I saw its ugly flapping, and I went straight out to shoo it away. It didn’t manage to get the height to take off and in the end I cornered it at the garage door where it was panicking. There was contact with huge flapping wings and my legs and arms but I managed to get in behind it and get it aimed at a clear route out where he could and did eventually take off. Steve watched astonished and offered congratulations at the manoeuvres.

Steve’s skills, were called to serve later on when during some needlework my sewing machine jammed and I could not manage to get it working again. I fiddled with it for a while but then called in the cavalry to step forward with small screw drivers etc. Unlike some people, my husband loves it when I ask him to do something for me that I have failed to sort out myself. He asked me to stay close, in case it needed testing because he doesn’t know how to use the machine. He took this bit of covering and that off and cleaned everywhere and each time I tried the machine again. He found the part that was jammed and soon it was cleaned and serviced and he was happy to do it.

The first thing I did when I put on my close work glasses was to lose a screw! Yes, I had a screw loose. (Always). It was gone and my glasses had only one arm. Steve saw this but I said not to worry that I would get them to the opticians to repair or easier still order another pair and have them sent. He left the room but came back in a few moment later with an old pair of glasses with which to rob Peter to pay Paul.

What would I do without my darling husband? He knew that although I have a lot of different pairs of distance glasses that I only had that one best pair of reading glasses from the optician, all the rest that are floating around are off the reading glasses stand, standard readers in shops that are OK for looking at a menu or the phone but not that I can thread a needle with. I do some form of hobby sewing everyday.

Fly Tipping and Littering Menaces

 

  

Fly Tipping and Littering Menaces

Today was a bike day. From the window we saw that the sun was shining half heartedly and trying to dodge the fluffy clouds that were scampering about. Over the morning cuppa, we sifted through our options and it didn’t take long to decide on a repeat of last Saturday’s bike hill rep set, the workout that we used as the bike leg of the home invention event; Littlehampton Lockdown Triathlon. That also settled the big decision as to what we were going to get dressed into.

Bike it was then, and that involved what to do with my electrically charged mop of hair too. Biking means ‘Bunches’, tied low just behind my ears. This is because any other form of tie back is uncomfortable under my bike helmet. For running, I have happily settled on tying my hair back with three elastic bungies. 1. At the crown of my head. 2. Taking in the flyaway sides and 3. All tied together at the bottom of the hairline.

For swimming is just a rough grab of all my hair into, what is nothing like a pony tail, apart from having only one hair tie. For Racing it has to be, the bunches, which are groomed the same way as for the bike but then pinned up tightly at the sides and stuffed under the swim hat. Then after the swim section of the event in a triathlon, I just pull the hair grips out on the way back to the transition back to let the hair fall back into bunches for comfort under the bike helmet.

So my finish photos will nearly all show me with bunches. Unless it is a very hot sunny day when I will retie my badly behaved hair so it goes under a peaked cap. What a game eh? I should cut it off short shouldn’t I.

You may laugh reading this or think it plain pathetic girl stuff. It has nothing to do with fashion or appearance it is about control. My hair has a life of its own, it is a wild animal and whatever I am trying to do with it involves a lot of ‘Tap-O-Lene’ in the first place. I may have mentioned before that my husband often calls me Brian (May) first thing in the morning. Rapunzel, Rapunzel; eat your heart out. The only sympathy I ever get is from other women with uncontrollable tight curly hair.

So we were quickly dressed today and out in our VW Caddy van that Steve has carefully fitted with brace points for our bikes. We have a stacker box ready to go with all extras in readiness for any of this kind of trip. Sets of decent bike shoes for us both, (old ones are in the turbo room and best ones in the transition bags) Helmets, gloves. Water & snacks in case of hitting the wall. Add track pump and tools.

We park the van at the highest point. It’s not a hard course and it is only short but doing it over and over it is still quite testing, there is not a flat section. Two ups and two downs turn and both ends. Reps.

It is a nice quiet route with no heavy traffic and we normally only see a few local village or farm cars. This morning after a couple of reps, there was a truck that went up our route and then quickly it came back, at first we thought he had taken a wrong turn because it is not a through road. We were disgusted when we got toward the end to discover that it had rushed up to dump a load of soil still in a plastic holder that appeared to have burst when the load was dropped. He had obviously just turned the lorry around and dropped the load ON THE ROAD, not even on the side, and then beetled off. We had no need to have taken notice of the trucks registration number at the time, but then when we came to the pile of earth clods, it was too late; the offensive fly tipping scumbag animal had gone.  

Fly tipping is just horrible don’t you think? It seems there are people who live in towns who have no concept of the beauty of the countryside or that we should all dispose of our waste responsibly. This driver and people like him, show such a complete lack of respect for our surrounds and of course the unfortunate country folk that they are so insulting with their obnoxious behaviour. We were both appalled, as were a walking group who arrived a little later, parked and waited until all the members had arrived before setting off on their hike for the day.  

We worked hard at our bike session and were satisfied with the effort we had made to remain in readiness for the day that must come sooner or later. That day is still just a spot on the horizon but I have faith that it will come. There will be another triathlon event for me to test my mettle in one day; if not soon, soon after soon.

At one end of our workout route there is a village pond, where another small group were already settled before we arrived. They were set up for a day of fishing, smoking, downing a few beers and generally hanging out with mates, quietly in an idyllic spot, gazing out at water displaying an abundance of beautiful water lilies.

It never ceases to amaze me, that groups of people, families or bands of youngsters, bother the arrange a day out, drive the countryside and then having enjoyed the fields and flowers and wood and birds, rabbits and deer then leave a disgraceful amount of litter behind them. Surely if they want to see the wonder of the countryside, they should consider leaving it how they found it. Have they no shame. Or even a brain in their heads or between them, shared actions and movements, like starlings.

The photos used today, are of a mist creeping along the course of the River Arun close to the sea, as is it were alive. This only happens from time to time and it always reminds Steve and I of wonderful holidays that we have spent in the Engadine Valley in Switzerland when the clouds known as the Maloja Snake slide through the valley there which is quite breathtaking. There was a movie that we watched once, called The Clouds of Sils Maria. Perhaps we should call our lovely pet mist here in West Sussex, The Arun Serpent. All those in favour…….

Jack Upperton and the Gibbet

Jack Upperton and the Gibbet

 

When Steve and I started out early morning run today we passed the new concrete wall that is painted green to blend in with the surroundings. The wall stands in front of equally new farm buildings on the Angmering Park Estate. I mentioned this a while back because there is an inviting amount of chalk underfoot ready for the passing Graffiti fan, I won’t say artist because there is nothing of ‘Banksie’ quality to be found here. The blessing is that all the slogans and rough images are in the local chalk so the wall can be washed or hosed down. This was good news for the local oiks because they can start all over again without having to squeeze the odd rude remark in, without having to search for a space.

Most of the remarks are unsurprising; somebody called Boris features prominently of course. The NHS are featured. Genetalia drawings are there, and a collection of names of visitors. New to the slogans were a couple that made us smile. They mentioned the legendary local history story of Jack Upperton, who because he was old and desperate and evidently not the brightest button in the box sadly chose to rob the Mail Coach on its regular route in those days. He was quickly caught, taken to East Grinstead assizes for trial and hung in Horsham in 1771 at the Carfax, where the public hangings took place. Jack was sentenced to be tarred, gibbeted and transported to the scene of his crime and the cage left hanging as a deterrent.

The gibbet part was truly horrible since the criminal had to be measured for the metal cage that they would be placed in before death. It is said that having been covered in tar after death and placed in the custom made gibbet the cage was then hung up and left, that he remained preserved in that state for two years. Who knows how true and of the various stories are.

There is a post at the place the caged body of Jack was hung and there are often a few wild flowers left attached to mark it, all the local people know the area as The Gibbet.

There were two new references to Jack Upperton chalked up on the big green wall today. One reading ‘Jacks life matters’ and another a few metres further along reads ‘Jack Upperton Hung Around Here *Gibbeted. Not hung’ which is incorrect because he was hung but in Horsham. There are songs that are sung around these parts about this sad tale.

Steve and I pass The Gibbet every other day when we do one of our regular running routes. At the point where we run past I always shout, “Morning Jack” to his ghost. I wrote this tale of woe a good few years ago.

The Gibbet by Daphne Belt

A poor man through idleness lost his work

Jack Upperton never was good for much,

then his slow efforts caused him to shirk

with light fingers, others goods he’d touch.

He knocked so loud at the work house door

looking for charity and a nights warm haven,

thrown a shabby coat, food and nothing more

filthy skin the colour of the tree top Raven.

He left ‘The Spike’ in East Preston’s village

and scrounged some dregs of ale nearby,

dull brained thoughts then turned to pillage

the unfair world would not question why.

Slow he ambled into Upper Wepham Wood

there he fed by catching rabbits in a snare.

A dream befell him by night that seemed so good

dark plans of wrong doing came in to him there.

Grand ideas seeped slowly from a simple mind

one big robbery and he’d be made for life,

a mail coach route with Monarch’s Way aligned

he’d be rich enough for to take him a wife.

A coach house was nearby where worked a barmaid,

Jack tried to woe her with his hair brained plan,

she said she’d tell of him, but he made her afraid

then he struck her head hard with an old iron pan.

Oh God, Sweet Jesus what have I done here

in panic buried her deep in that dark wood.

Sweating like a pig his heart raced with fear

had he her bright smile so misunderstood?

He saw now that his robbery must be perfected

‘twixt Steyning, Findon and Portsmouth town,

Monarchs Way through these places connected

his love lay deep in Bluebell topped ground.

A mile from Arundel Castle’s stern high wall

Jack lay in wait with his wicked young brother.

To stop a coach with the highways men’s call

tied the Post Coachman then ran off into cover.

Leaving the post man alive was a dreaded mistake

he had seen Jacks ruddy face somewhere before

and made it his business and a statement to make

hoping to send Jack to the Horsham gaol door.

Sure enough it happened and Upperton remanded,

his swift trial was held at East Grinstead assizes

Sent to Horsham to hang as the judge commanded

Gibbets made to measure in all shapes and sizes.

Hung in public to warn and most horribly entertain

after the ‘Short Drop’ to slow the hanging death

causing shock to family and the maximum pain

as the prisoner struggles to take his last breath.

Condemned men were measured before the noose

to ensure the heavy cages most perfectly fit

the dead are held stiff and upright, not loose,

lowered from the gallows after life at last quit.

The Gibbet was then hung at the place of the crime,

dipped in hot tar for the sake of lasting longer.

Flesh rots away, slowly picked by birds in time.

Agony, of loved ones, who can bear it no longer.

The Gibbet post stands still, after hundreds of years.

That was the custom; it was the thief’s fate,

no soft feeling for family or their sorrowful tears.

Descendants bring flowers but regret is too late.

John Upperton was finally buried at that place

his ghost often seen walking along with a lady

they hold hands sadly and turn to stand face to face

then slowly walk on through the woods so shady.

This was copied from the internet, it is more information about the old Gibbet method.

A gibbet /ˈdʒɪbɪt/ is any instrument of public execution (including guillotine, executioner's block, impalement stake, hanging gallows, or related scaffold), but gibbeting refers to the use of a gallows-type structure from which the dead or dying bodies of criminals were hanged on public display to deter other existing ...

Gibbeting, or being hung in either chains or irons, was a form of post-mortem punishment. The body of the executed was placed on display as a deterrent to crime, but in reality, bodies in gibbets were tourist attractions that would draw large crowds of people to view the freshly deceased.

Multi-Tasking as an Art Form

Multi-Tasking as an Art Form                                                            June14th

Our entire relationship long, Steve has slept more hours than me per night.

Mostly I have one or two hours less than him. Another difference between us is that Steve enjoys the occasional lay-in, if he has been working hard and does not have any reason to get up early, he can stay in bed and dream on, or even just lay there resting. That is not something I ever do. If I wake up; I get up.  

I have previously had long periods of spasmodic insomnia, some over quite long periods of time. My daughter bought me a series of Acupressure sessions as a birthday present about five years ago because of that. I was surprised that it helped enormously. I was treated by a practitioner whose name is Feng Wang at Harmony Acutherapy Clinic in Chichester, West Sussex, its close to the Cathedral there, about twelve miles away from our home. 

So I find it to be strange but true, that I have slept very well all through the Covid Lockdown. I seemed to simply to give myself over to the situation and accept the lock down life, trying to remain calm about it.

 

Having completed our home made Triathlon yesterday, to mark the fact that we were missing our favourite UK race this weekend we were both, as expected, tired after doing it. Steve did not set the alarm last night. I woke up at 5.30 am and tried not to disturb Steve on his catch up sleep morning, I got out of bed fifteen minutes later. I fed the cat, made a cuppa and went up to our office/sewing/ironing room upstairs.

Now, about the worse thing Steve says to me is that I am a nightmare. He is such a calm sweet and kind man and is never nasty to me. I have to agree with him on the nightmare name. I am a fidget and I always have a hundred and one things that I am doing at the same time. Sitting down quietly, gazing out of the window is not something that sits well with my ways. I even iron jeans and I mend them or patch them. I have no idea what the idea is behind deliberately wrecking a new pair of jeans to make them look worn. They don’t look worn OK. So it must be to expose the flesh then? Why would you want that? How does that work. Is it just fashion? Is that fashion? There are two sides to everything aren’t there? I will continue with the mending and ironing I think.

When Steve finally surfaced today, he stood at the door, (naked as a jaybird) and asked what I was doing. I told him that obviously I was doing the ironing and making notes for today’s blog but that I was also reading through Bright Star by John Keats repeatedly, (it lay on the settee behind the ironing board) and still trying to learn it by heart. We discussed why it was that I was finding it so hard to slide the poem into my memory banks. I have been trying to get it stuck there for months, which is totally out of character. I love the poem, but I find it most unusual, although it follows all the sonnet rules. I learnt Ozymanias by Percy Bysshe Shelley in a few weeks, which was not at all bad for an old brain like mine.

Steve offered that, maybe it was because I was putting myself under pressure by writing my blog every day instead of twice per week as in the pre-lockdown days and that possibly there was a limit to how much an eighty year old brain can handle at one time, even for somebody who was trying to turn multi-tasking into a new art form. He added that it didn’t really matter anyway. Mmmm. Well it does matter to me simply because I don’t like to let anything get the better of me and this is just another kind of challenge. 

Every now and again this morning I have cast my mind back to yesterday and the Littlehampton Lockdown triathlon. A couple of things that I was thinking about were, that it was unusual for us to have done something suddenly and without completely thinking it out. In particular we both had a bit of a problem because of yet another lockdown job Steve had set himself. He had replaced the cleats on our bike shoes and in my case he had fitted new pedals too. Steve always does all pre-training bike preparation for me. He does everything and puts it all in the van, everything normally checked. In the excitement of the plan, neither of us had tested to new equipment though.

 

The bike section of our home spun triathlon was in fact our standard hill reps course. We both had some difficulty with clicking our shoes into the new cleats. I did get to grips with mine eventually after going up the first hill without getting my left foot and pedal snapped together at all until nearly the top. I got the hang of it after that and although tight, I managed OK. Steve entered the multi tasking competition by trying to struggle with his pedals connection whilst trying not to fall off his bike as he made little videos of me cycling at the same time. We both thought our biking was greatly improved for all the hours on the turbo trainers. We were both very happy about our cycling form. 

Just as a kind of P.S. today. This is more like a confession. I have just watched a video in the Hallé Orchestra’s series: Geek of the Week No 3. It was Simon Davies showing how he makes the reeds for his Contra Bassoon out of Bamboo! I was transfixed and comforted by it.