Autumnwatch Update

We seem to have much better sunsets in the Autumn - these pictures were all taken on the evening of 9 September and are totally without any kind of enhancement at all - what you see is what it looked like. Just gorgeous.

The autumn spiders are also coming out to play.


The Mountain Ash/Rowan trees are covered in red berries


And fungi are appearing underfoot


This year I was given a Cynara (Artichoke) plant by the lovely Grace who lives at the end of my close. It has the most beautiful thistle-like flower (picture taken on 16 August this year):

But these have all sadly died now. However I thought the dead dry flower heads might make an interesting picture so I was taking some:

But then something bright, shiny and impossibly colourful nestling in the dead leaves caught my eye, turned out to be this absolutely gorgeous jewel of a little beetle. If anyone can tell me what it is I'd be truly grateful 'cos it's just exquisite. I got as close as I could to take a picture but I recommend that you click on the picture to make it bigger still.


As far as my two Japanese Maples are concerned, the red one is beginning to show the very first signs of changing colour, mostly in the central stem bit of the leaves:


But the yellow one is as yet unchanged:



How's the autumn shaping up where you are?

...

Science flies you to the Moon;

Religion flies you into buildings.

The Beginning of Autumnwatch, or, I finally get a living room I can invite visitors to!

So, the main living areas in our house are now, more or less, finished! I am vacillating wildly about the curtains (as oppposed to oscillating wildly which is a completely different thing). The old ones kinda go but I think it would be nice to have some new ones.

I spent two hours yesterday tramping the streets of Guildford (and there were plenty of young women there that would SO suit that soubriquet - I mean, don't they look in the mirror before going out first?) looking for curtains. And, despite Dusted Damson being such a weird colour, I actually managed to find some that matched, see:

Trouble is I now don't know whether I want purpley curtains or neutral beigey-cream ones - I suppose what I'm saying is which walls do I want them to match? I dunno. Plus it's quite a pricey thing as the ones in the above colour would have to be made up and I suspect it'll be the best part of 500 quid, which is a lot of money.

So, in the meantime, the old ones have gone back up just so we can at least have something to shut the dark out with. (ooh, bad sentence, but you know what I mean...)

I apologise in advance for being competely incapable of tidying up before taking the photos but, hey, if I spent all my time tidying my house, I would end up with nothing at the end of my life but a tidy house, so just suck it up, people...

We're also going to replace the side tables as well (The Husband's is an ancient narrow thing from Ikea donated to us by his sister and mine is huge, heavy, round and marble topped but it used to belong to my late father and as I have so few things that were his, we're not getting rid of it - it'll just have a different use somewhere). We'll also get a pair of new table lamps as well - currently The Husband has an ancient standard lamp from Ikea donated to us by his sister (can you detect a pattern here?) and mine is a mother-and-daughter uplighter and reading light, also from Ikea, that The Husband hates.

The gorgeous red rug is a genuine Persian one and was given to us by The Husband's parents, and the large palm plant in the corner I have had since about 1987.



I put up my prized Norman Ackroyd etching 'From Malin Head - Tory Island' that I got from this year's Royal Academy Summer Exhibition a couple of days ago on the wall that faces me when I sit watching the telly. Here's a close up of it - apologies for the funny angle but it was necessary in order to avoid reflections:



Looking the other way, down to the back door, the bridge and the garden beyond:


The wall lights are pretty groovy - a cross between 1930s cinema lights and props from David Lynch's version of 'Dune'. We've decided to not hang any curtains here because they interfere with the view (not that the view is all that, but I like to see what's going on out there). The small white metal bucket by the door is what the cats drink their water from - don't ask, it's a long story....

All the floor laying paraphernalia is still there against the wall on the right because we've decided to replace the floor outside the kitchen, which is next door to here (you can see the 1960s-style serving hatch above the square table - an ancient table from Ikea that was donated to us etc., etc., you know, the table that's next to our drinks cabinet which is ancient, from Ikea and donated ...... ) but there wasn't time before The Husband had to shoot off to slum it drinking wine and ogling beautiful women in Rome. And, yes, you really can see The Cat [that] Sat On The Mat. I'm nothing if not a cliche.

So that's that. I actually really love it - you can't imagine what a massive improvement it is to the hideous student-like pit we were living in before - now I actually feel I can invite people in and not feel embarrassed about the state of the place. Oh, we also did the upstairs landing too in the same colours but we need new carpet up there so you'll have to wait for pix.

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It's 3 September 2009 and Autumn is definitely on its way. The temperatures have plummeted, the winds have picked up and we had stormy weather including thunder, lightning and 3 separate power outages last night while I was trying to watch 'The Reader' (remarkable film, by the way, watch it if you haven't already).

So this morning I've decided to instigate an Autumnwatch, tracking the progress of the inevitable death of the garden. I find Autumn very bittersweet. It saddens me almost more than I can say that everything starts to die off, the weather gets colder, the nights get longer, as we slide inexorably into the freezing heart of winter but, on the other hand, there's apples, conkers, kicking red and yellow leaves about, mists, the smell of bonfires, the gift of a single unexpectedly hot day in the middle of October. Pain and pleasure.

Callicarpus is grown for its profusion of grape-like berries that change from green to purple with the onset of Autumn. Today my plants look like this, they're definitely on the turn:


Next to the Callicarpus I have a Sedum called 'Autumn Joy' which flowers pink in the autumn (the name's a bit of a giveaway really) but the bees absolutely adore it:



And finally I have two small Japanese Maple trees, one that goes flaming red, and the other that goes through every shade of yellow until it hits orange. Neither of them have started to change colour yet, but I'll post pictures of their progress because they're usually spectacular. This is the red one that lives at the end of the garden - as you can see, nothing much happening yet:


And this is the yellow one, which is right at the end of the bridge:



Again, not much happening, but it's good to have a base from which to delineate colour change. Now I've bigged them up, they'd better do a good job this autumn or I'm going to look really stupid.

Talking of which, I need to go and put pink highlights in my hair before The Husband gets back.

Ciao, bambini....

Half a week of indulgence ahoy

Dinner tonight was a frankfurter sausage sandwich, complete with onions, French's American Mustard and tomato ketchup, followed by chocolate mousse. I've changed the bedclothes and put my pillows in the middle rather than on the left hand side. I can play my music as loud as I like and I can watch whatever I want on the telly without feeling guilty.

Why? Because The Husband is away on business. We had to get up at the godawful hour of 3.30 this morning to get to Gatwick airport but now my time is my own until probably Friday.

I'm typing this at the same time as watching 'Twilight' and thinking how annoying the Kristen Stewart ('Bella') character is but how groovy the Washington State landscape looks - very Twin Peaks. It is very much a teen movie and pretty formulaic, but I can see its appeal. This is not the sort of film The Husband would be much interested in (admittedly, I don't do 'chick flicks' either - but this has vampires!) BUT HE'S NOT HERE!!!

Don't feel too sorry for him, though, he may be on a business trip but it's in central Rome (his hotel is right behind the Pantheon) and the temperature out there is currently a sunny 31 degrees centigrade/88 degrees Fahrenheit while here, in England, in summer, it's currently raining and 67 degrees C/19 degrees F.

The redecorating is very nearly complete - the floor is down, the old curtains have been put back up until I can find some new ones, pictures are starting to be put back up, and it's looking bloody fab. I'll post some photos tomorrow, especially for Ms Shoes. But that's after I've lain in bed for several hours reading first....

PS. WTF? Since when did vampires play baseball?

Who needs a crystal ball?

I have seen my future and it looks like this:

Tradesmen make me want to leave home...

Why is it that tradesmen have to live up to their poor reputations? Why do they find it SO impossible to actually do what they say they're going to do?

Two years ago, at the time of the removal of the woodchip wallpaper, we also had a hideous (and redundant) gas wall fire removed from the living room by the chappie who comes to service our boiler. The gas pipe feeding the fire came up from the garage below our living room and my chappie tapped the pipe off about two inches above the floor.

We now want to lay the new floor so this will entail having the gas pipe re-tapped off below floor level, preferably in the garage. I tried ringing my usual chappie only to find he's away on holiday until 1 September. The Husband has work in September, probably for most of it, so we don't actually want to wait that long because if we do, then the floor won't get put down until, probably, October, and we want it down NOW (or even sooner).

So, on Wednesday this week, the ringing around to try and find a local plumber or gas central heating engineer who can nip over to do a 10 minute job began. I hate doing this sort of thing, but so does The Husband, so, quite often, I end up having to do it anyway. And then The Husband listens to my side of the conversation and I can tell by the angry/confused/sad/frustrated face he pulls that I've said something wrong, which always leaves me shouting in my head 'Well, why didn't you make the call in the first place? You know more about what you want than I do, you know the technical terms, I don't.....!' and feeling inadequate and stupid [Sorry, Husband, I know you read this blog but this is just the way it is, 'mmmkay?]

So the whole think is fecking stressful even from the start. Then, if you're lucky, you might get one to answer the phone. I explain, in my cumbersome way, what is required. "Okay", he replies "We'll give you a ring when we're in your area, it'll be either tomorrow or Friday", "Lovely," says I "we'll be in all week so I'll wait to hear from you". 'Brilliant', I think, 'Job sorted'. And smugly put the phone down.

Thursday came and went. I had to visit my mum briefly but The Husband was in. No phone call.

Friday (yesterday) - got to about 4pm when The Husband suggested that I ring the plumber again to find out exactly when they'll be calling round. I rang the same number, eventually got an ansaphone, left a message. The Husband asks if I rang the plumber's mobile, I said I hadn't got that number so I'd rung the only one I had. The Husband declares the mobile number can be found on the plumber's website (which is not the website I'd gone to) and points at it. So I ring the mobile. It rings....and rings....and rings....and is eventually cut off. Didn't even get to voice mail. I think that's as clear a 'Fuck Off' message as I'm likely to get.

All this now causes The Husband to curse and rant, which makes me stressed as well because (as always) the way my psyche works means that whatever causes him to be angry and upset is invariably my fault in some way (I know, I know - it isn't, but it's hard to retrain yourself when you've always been like this). So now, of course, we have to try and find another one. And probably go through the whole bleeding rigmarole all over again because the job's such a small one that they can't be arsed to come and do it, even though it's massively important to us and holding the whole redecorating malarkey up.



[/rant]


On the upside, this week I ate this:


It's a plate of ribs. I'll remind you I'm in England and you don't normally get something that looks like half a dinosaur when you order ribs! The Husband had a 10oz steak which you can see on his plate, for size comparison. Actually, looking at the picture, it looks like his actual plate is much smaller but they were both the same size - the angle of the picture has made it deceptive. Needless to say I didn't manage all of it!

Also, we put up the Indian textile wallhanging:



And the ceiling light:


So despite the best efforts of Britain's tradesmen, things are coming together.

The Saga of the Decorating

Let me tell you the Saga of the Decorating - all gather round now and find a comfortable seat.

Many years ago, from a land far to the West, where they speak a musical language and particularly enjoy a game played by men with oddly shaped balls, there came a tall young man. We shall call him Simon Desmondson. He came to a town in a valley in the south east to become a scholar. The place of learning was beside a large cathedral (the sight of which caused the devil child Damian to have a fit in the 1976 original version of 'The Omen' - it'll do that).

In this place, Simon Desmondson was given a room in which to learn how to speak more effectively to the bright stars that travel swiftly across the night sky and which bring us communication from across the planet. Near to this room was another room, and in that room was to be found a lady we shall call Caroline Michaelsdottir. Caroline Michaelsdottir aided a cabal of young intellectual explorers led by a wise, but fiery, elder who hailed from a distant and mysterious land across the seas to the east. She would scribe their words and figures, and organise the hostelries and mechanical horses that would transport the group and their elder to other places.

One day, Simon Desmondson and Caroline Michaelsdottir met and fell in love. "Let us get married", they said, "And live together in one place instead of two as we currently do".

And so it came to pass that 156 moons ago, Simon Desmondson and Caroline Michaelsdottir travelled by metal bird to the western edge of the world, to a dry and dusty (but very spangly) place called Las Vegas and there they were joined together.

Simon Desmondson and Caroline Michaelsdottir returned to their homeland after seeing many wondrous places including the largest, reddest ditch in the world and a prison on an island in the middle of a bay crossed over by a vast bridge that was Golden. They returned to a dwelling built on land that once belonged to the tribe of Godhelm.

Here they lived very happily for many years until one day, they woke up and said "Good grief, I can't live with this peach-coloured woodchip wallpaper any more - it's all got to come off!" And so the decorating finally began.

We're really not that far off finishing now, although the floor still has to go down which is a properly major job but, as I type, I can hear Simon Desmondson painting the walls which, possibly, might be done by the end of today. He'll then put up the new light fittings, change the lightswitches and start thinking about the flooring. We still need to get new curtain tracking and I need to sort out having the curtains cleaned. We're also contemplating getting a pair of new lamp tables so we can finally have matching ones.

I'm most properly proud of the incredibly hard work that Simon Desmondson has put into all this - we really weren't looking forward to hanging the wallpaper but we tried not to panic, and keep calm, and just take it slowly and - following a few hissy fits along the way - it all worked out extremely well. We didn't rush so it took 2 weeks to do the whole lot but that's fine - it's taken us 13 years to get round to this so what's an extra few weeks! So here's a picture montage of progress since 31 July:

31 July 2009 - the very first bit of lining paper going up.

Later that day.

Pasting around the corner. The outside light was going so we had to use a halogen inspection lamp while paper was pasted around the light switches.

It was decided that as soon as this part of the room had been papered, it would be painted and finished off so that the TV and associated paraphernalia (including a new thermostat and sockets) could be reinstalled.

The colour is Dulux 'Dusted Damson' which is fabulous as it changes colour with the light during the day.

Everything back in its place

Putting up the lining paper down the long wall. Supervised, as always, by one of the cats.

View from the other end of the room.

Papering up the stairs.

14 August 2009 - the pasting of the last piece of lining paper

The ceremonial sticking up of the final piece - yay!

So now came the torture of deciding what colour to paint it. We decided on a neutral shade in the pale beige/coffee/stone range. I understand the need for this as you really don't want your main living room to be too overpowering colour-wise, but I love colour and am not afraid of it, I mean, see these pictures below - this is our bedroom. Ignore the untidyness (guilty as charged - I'm not the world's tidiest person...) and just concentrate on the colours:

(The laundry basket doesn't normally live in the middle of the bedroom but it had to be moved from the landing for the painting - I realise this is an excuse. Okay, I admit it, I am that slatternly).

("Oh, Good GRIEF, couldn't you even have managed to straighten the duvet before taking a picture and showing it to the world?" - I'm channelling my own mother now.... sorry, mum, dunno what happened to your housework genes - I think I must have dropped them somewhere along with the Taking Exercise and Eating Sensibly genes).

So an unexciting colour it's going to be then. This will be fine because we have lots of lovely colourful pictures and I've an Indian tapestry wallhanging to put up, plus there's cushions and rugs to be considered.

But just how many shades of Boring are there in the world? Far more than an average person can cope with, it would seem. We ended up getting at least half a dozen tester pots of beige-ish before finding one that wasn't too yellow or too purple or too pink.

A selection of the samples. The candelabra is from Ikea, if anyone cares.

In the end we decided on a colour called 'Natural Hessian' which is at the very pale end of creme brulee/cafe latte/mushroom (smells a bit mushroomy too, which is weird) and is extremely pale brown - and occasionally browny-pink depending on the light. Hard to describe, but look, here's where just the edges have been done upstairs and you can clearly see the difference next to the lining paper (if you concentrate and squint a bit):


We've also decided, however, that we're going to do some of the walls upstairs with the dusted damson, just to alleviate the unrelenting beigeness of it all really, but that's not been done yet.

Will update with pictures again when all finally done and dusted.