Country House

Posted on 10 March 2024 by rpg

It’s March, and that means there’s far too much stuff to do in the garden.

Beans bursting out

Bean love

A few years ago we went to a PYO and got a pumpkin (or 12, whatever). It was a Blue Hubbard, and we saved the seeds and sowed them the next year.

We got a bit of a sport from that that mother, cute in a blue-ish, wonky sort of way, and my daughters for whatever reason named it ‘Ken’. The family chat group, somewhat inevitably, was renamed ‘The Ken Fan Club’. Over the years the chat has been renamed ‘Son of Ken fan club’, and of course ‘Ken III fan club” as we (mostly Jenny, to be honest) have saved and vernalized seeds from each subsequent generation.

Today I sowed some Ken III seeds and we hope that this season we will welcome Ken IV (and turn him and his siblings into pumpkin pie, but let’s not talk about that yet).

Ken and friends

They look small now…

I also sowed sweetcorn and mange tout and peas and while that doesn’t take up much space at the moment, we’re going to have to pot them on at some point.

But as Jenny said of the 34 sweetcorn pots, “We’ll worry about where to put them later”.

Sweet. Corn.

I remember when this was all fields.

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Take Five

Posted on 3 March 2024 by rpg

It‘s a crazy mixed up world, and the snowdrops were early and then the daffs were late but now there‘s tulips, tulips I tell you, showing their red little faces among the hyacinths and the daffs at the Gillingham roundabout.

It‘s probably something to do with climate change and technically being in an ice age but who knows? Life still, fortunately, goes on, and our hens have woken up to the fact it‘s 2024. First Iris (a while ago, now) and then Arty and Athena, and finally, today, Rhea lays a misshapen but ever-so-welcome little blue-green egg and suddenly I‘m going to have to start selling eggs to the neighbours again.

Eggs

Eggsellent work, ladies.

Nike, of course, is wondering what all the fuss is about.

 

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Opportunities

Posted on 29 February 2024 by rpg

It’s a horrible word, redundant. ‘No longer needed or useful; superfluous’.

I don’t feel superfluous, but have to admit to feeling a little less than useful.

Some people have been very kind, noting my efforts to continue to support my little team and make sure they’ve got what they need to navigate these tricky waters, while others sail on, seemingly oblivious.

Can’t really blame them—those of us who are being shepherded out probably feel like an embarrassment; best not to say anything, or even look in our direction.

Titanic in color

It’s all a bit shit, really.

On the other hand, I’ve had an outpouring of support and interest on LinkedIn. Nothing firmed up yet, but despite the industry being in a bit of a patch at the moment, especially for people at my level, it’s not looking so bad.

I’m trying to see this as an opportunity to refocus, and think about things, and do some gardening and reading and shooting and I really really really hope to do a substantial amount of writing. It’s my last day tomorrow, and I can’t wait.

I do need to find a new job at some point, but one step at a time.

I’ve got the brains…

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Games Without Frontiers

Posted on 25 February 2024 by rpg

My enthusiasm for sport has always surpassed my ability. Except for soccer. At school, me and John Grant would always play in defence and hope the ball never came our way. I still don’t see the point of that one.

But I enjoyed cricket and tug-of-war (I wasn’t very heavy but I had brains and understood the importance of rhythm), and hockey and swimming, and above all, rugby.

We’re fortunate now to live right next door to not one but two rugby grounds, and a year and a half ago I got around to signing away our Sunday mornings to take Joshua to rugby training.

It’s been a ‘journey’, but the squad is finally coming together, and in their little matches Joshua is showing flashes of genius, not to mention grit and determination—and kittens for his mother.

He had 2 days with Saracens coaches at half term, along with four of his squad-mates, and it might have made a difference.

He’ll also happily sit and watch the 6 Nations, cheering along whoever is playing (let’s not mention the Calcutta Cup though), and even though he was cheering for France at the outset was quite devastated when Paolo Garbisi’s rushed penalty bounced off the posts.

He’s also discovered that he can swim. He’s been having lessons since he was 5 or 6, but something has suddenly clicked, to the extent that when his primary school trust organized (I use the term loosely) a gala at the Olympic Park in Stratford, and his school only had four swimmers for a 5-lap relay, he was chosen to swim twice and helped the team to a silver medal—the only podium slot his school managed that day.

So he’s not just smart and handsome, but athletic too. Probably all due to his mum, again.

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Family Tree

Posted on 18 February 2024 by rpg

We’re blessed to have a larger-than-usual garden (for these parts). Legend has it that when they built this development at the arse-end of the 1980s, what-was-to-become our plot was down for 2 (or even 3) houses, but they didn’t get planning permission for that, so we ended up with double the regulation size garden.

It’s not some manicured mansionly acre, but a rising jumble of joyousness and birdsong and weeds and flowers and  trees. Definitely trees. You can’t have too many trees, we say to ourselves, more frequently than is perhaps healthy.

And we can always find space for one more, although I’ve been saying “But we don’t have room” for at least the past 6 saplings we’ve put in.

We planted a walnut tree about five years ago, and we’ve had one nut off it (and the squirrels [fuckersfluffy-tailed tree rats] have had two). It’s somewhat shaded by the vast and mighty laurel out the front of the property, which we don’t want to do anything with because the robins and sparrows and blackbirds live there. But that’s not conducive to walnuts growing quickly.

Jenny says “Maybe we should have another one, in the back garden where it’s sunny.” So she bought me one for Valentine’s day, and now we have another tree.

Squeezed between the less-good cherry, one of the magnolias, and the path.

I’m sure it’ll like it here.

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Heart of Glass

Posted on 11 February 2024 by rpg

Had I not been out the front of the house, watching Joshua earning some pocket money by washing the car,  I’d probably have sent the milk round sales droid on his way. But I was, and we talked, and seduced by the idea of reducing plastic use and a faint tang of nostalgia I signed us up to the thrice-weekly delivery schedule.

We talked about cars—the droid was thinking about learning to drive and we covered insurance and no-claims bonuses. He said that driving on the left wasn’t a problem because they drive on the left ‘back home’. “Oh,” I said, having already established that he lives the other side of the M25 and he didn’t know our area, “Where’s home?”.

“Mozambique”—which surprised me. I’d expected him to have been from Manchester or somewhere equally exotic.

But here we are, and I’ve been teaching Joshua the ways of the foil top, about how you have to hold the sides and not the milky surface, and indeed how to open the bottle. He is discovering the joys of either gently inverting the bottle with your thumb protecting the lid, or else having creamy milk on his Weetabix.

Got a lotta bottle

Do you want it pasteurized cos pasteurized is best?

The milk is delivered into an enclosed porch, so it’s unlikely he’ll see what happens when the local blue tits get thirsty, or even how the foil lid can be pushed up when it gets really cold. But soon he’ll get used to the new normal and maybe in time forget what plastic milk bottles look like.

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A Place Called England

Posted on 4 February 2024 by rpg

I planted snowdrops in the green in the woods last Sunday morning, and this Saturday when we visited they were already demurely in bloom.

Snowdrops

The first fruits of them that sleep

We usually get one crazy forerunner between Christmas and New Year in our garden, but it’s not until the massed banks of praying white heads start to appear that we allow ourselves to believe that Spring is merely a Solstice away. There will be a hard frost, perhaps even snow, towards the end of the month, but you can’t stop it now.

We dropped into a new (to us) garden centre on the way home and I picked up a couple more asparagus roots. I’ve been trying for a few years to get a patch going, but after one very successful year it’s been a bit of a struggle. So I dug over the entire bed today, gently rescuing the alien-looking plants and sprinkling in blood and bone. I carefully replaced them, from large to small so I could keep track of which I expect to crop this year and which need nurturing carefully—adding the new ones on the end and telling them they’re going to like it here.

Asparagus bed

No slacking now, fellas.

Fingers crossed.

PS. If you’re wondering about the post title, check out Maggie Holland’s version. Perfection.

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Distant Sun

Posted on 28 January 2024 by rpg

Solar is never going to meet all our energy needs, especially not at these latitudes. But even though the one aspect of our roof that is completely covered in solar panels faces west, we still generate significant amounts of electricity. In summer that’s more than we can use, and we sell it back to the grid. In winter, well that’s a different story.

Our generation has been creeping up since the solstice, breaking the 7 kWh barrier yesterday and pushing 8 kWh today. That gets you about 30 miles in an electric Mini Cooper, or one sauna session. Not a great deal, but better than nothing.

In the 488 days we’ve had the panels, we’ve generated 6.76 MWh of electricity, and sold a quarter of it back into the grid. Nearly 14 kWh per diem on average, so we still have a way to go to reach that—unfortunately the crappy Chinese website that handles all the data seems to be having a meltdown so I can’t accurately predict when we’ll be producing more than we eat, but it’s probably going to be around the end of April.

Yes, with the data at our finger tips (CCW malfunctions notwithstanding) it’s endlessly geeky and great fun. Combined with a smart reader thing that tells us what we’re using in the instant does mean I run round the house turning lights off, but I guess that’s no bad thing.

I am currently considering setting up a series of mirrors to reflect sunlight onto the west-facing roof in the morning, but maybe that’s taking it too far.

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Shelter from the storm

Posted on 21 January 2024 by rpg

There’s another storm blowing in, the milder weather pushed before it melting the ice that has gripped Gravesend for the last 4 or 5 days. Rhea has joined the new girls inside the coop for the night, but Arty and Iris are braving the high perch in the wider enclosure.

There was an inordinate amount of bokking this morning, and when I checked, Iris had laid a massive, pure white egg.

Eggs

That had to hurt

This is her first egg since the middle of November. Nike has been keeping the show on the road pretty much by herself this winter, her brown offerings a constant through the shortest days.

Iris

Who’s a clever girl?

We’ll batten down the hatches tonight and wait out the storm. Sleep tight, ladies.

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Don’t let me be misunderstood

Posted on 14 January 2024 by rpg

Watling Street services, just off the A2, is my local petrol station. You might stop there as you head east from the M25 towards the North Kent coast. It’s cheaper than any of the places further out, and has a reasonable Spar attached. Strange to think of such a local facility being a place of succour for visitors from further afield, just passing through.

We have several bird feeders in the garden. It’s Joshua’s job to keep them filled up, and we have a lot of locals who frequent what we whimsically call Gravesend services. There’s a variety of fuel, or food, on offer, plus fresh water and a friendly welcome. The occasional cat or fox is scared off by the proprietors.

It was a bit quieter than normal today, as we had a visitor. I’m sure he just wanted to chat, but the locals were having none of it. Our hens wanted to tell me all about it.

Shite hawk

Um, can I get a falafel burger and some fruit juice, please?

 

They all came back when he’d gone, though.

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