24th September 2009

It’s been a while since my last blog, and so much has happened that I’m sure half of it has already vanished into that shadowy corner of my brain labelled Recycle Bin. But Charlotte requested I put finger to keyboard, so here I am, taking a break from the relentless glamour of housework to record a few highlights (and lowlights) before they drift into oblivion.

At last, Sue is showing signs of recovery, sensibly taking things easy and channelling her inner Little Weed from The Flowerpot Men. She doesn’t move much, but smiles a lot, keeps an eye on the garden, and knows more about what’s going on than she lets on. I caught her the other day dozing off mid-article on the patio, head slowly lowering onto the newspaper before peacefully falling asleep. A first!

The Curious Case of the Disappearing Wife
One afternoon, after a heroic trip for bread and milk (the magic self-refilling fridge having let me down again), I arrived home in time to take Sarah to work in Kibworth. But there was no Sue. Not in the house. Not in the garden. Not with the neighbours in the bungalow. Sarah, torch in hand, checked the riverbank. Still no Sue. Panic mounting, Sarah ran to our other neighbour… and there she was, chatting happily, unaware of the manhunt. Crisis over.

Last Saturday, Charlotte and Lucas came for the day. We had lunch at Welland Lodge, and by tea time, she cooked us all a lovely curry. I was so grateful, it was the first time in ages I hadn’t had to cook. Utter bliss. Food always tastes better when someone else makes it, and there are no pots at the end to face. I’ve secured enough firewood to see us through the winter and perhaps the next Ice Age. A friend with a new build offered me the trees felled on his property. Already chopped into 2-metre lengths and stacked. Four car trips, many shirt changes, and a small hernia later, I’m the proud owner of half a forest. The Newark Palmers are green with envy.

After a string of promising interviews followed by ghostings, Jamie has landed a job, not in carpentry, but using his new Forklift Operator’s licence at Magna Park. It’s temporary until Christmas, but may become permanent. Sensibly, he’s still hunting for carpentry roles.

Charlotte, Suraj and Lucas have returned from the Dominican Republic after a colourful holiday (more on that below).

Sarah has begun her A-Levels, Biology, Geography, Psychology and Sociology, and is working hard. Two hours a night spent writing up notes! A+ for effort. She even finds time to stress me out, so clearly all is as it should be.

Suraj has a new BMW 3 Series. I haven’t seen it yet, but I’ve heard it. Quiet envy from this end.

I’ve made 32 paper bricks using my brick maker. Not quite Sudoku-level brainwork, but oddly satisfying. Certainly more rewarding than scrubbing floors, and less backache.

No explanation required. Sarah briefly took a job at the Kibworth chip shop. Two shifts later, she tearfully resigned. The Turkish owners were, shall we say, less than welcoming. The husband was apparently always ‘watching her’. I’m proud she had the confidence to speak up and walk away. Brave girl.

Ten days before flying to the Dominican Republic, Charlotte caught the Swine Flu. She just recovered in time to board the plane… only to spend the first 48 hours in the hospital over there with a nasty stomach bug and dehydration. Thankfully, as luck would have it, she made a full recovery, just in time to come home!

We were due to take Nan to Bulgaria in October to visit David and Genya. But no. David returned to the UK last week to deal with some business admin in Rotherham and discovered upon returning to Ritya that the builders had botched the central heating install. When fired up, the house filled with smoke and only a third of the radiators worked. Also, the pump was too small and needed to be replaced. With the house cold and chaotic, Nan’s trip is postponed until spring.

My old tennis knee has returned and is giving me trouble again. Must be all the kneeling and scrubbing I have been doing while Sue is laid up.

I suspected that there was a hole in Jamie’s car exhaust, but I couldn’t be sure, as he had a huge back box to accentuate the noise. It growled menacingly every time he drove off down the driveway.

🚗 Jamie vs. The Exhaust Pipe:

• Jamie says: “There’s a hole in my exhaust.”

• I say: “Let’s put it over the pit and take a look.”

• Jamie: “The pipe’s nearly cracked through.”

• I say: “I’ll get a mate to weld it, don’t drive it in the meantime.”

• Thirty minutes later… Jamie drives off.

• Returns shortly after.

• Jamie: “The pipe fell off.”

• I say: “What a shame” (and a few other unprintables).

• Welder: “Which way did it fit?”

• Jamie: “This way, definitely.”

• Welder: “All done—perfect job.”

• Back at the pit…

• Jamie: “The bolts won’t fit now.”

• I say: “Ah, it’s been welded at the wrong angle.” (Followed by more unprintables).

• Jamie goes to the scrapyard, buys a pipe for £15.

• Jamie: “It doesn’t fit.”

• I say: “What a shame.”

• Jamie drives around Harborough for two weeks sounding like a Sherman tank on steroids. Thankfully, our double glazing meant we barely noticed.

• Jamie buys another pipe, this time new: £30.

• Jamie: “It needs a bracket welded on.”

• I say: “No problem.”

• Welder returns: “All done, £5.”

• Jamie fits it.

• Drives off into the sunset.

• I close the pit. Again.

So, Sue has started smiling in the sunshine, Charlotte survived multiple illnesses and a foreign hospital, Sarah is working hard and sensibly walking away from creeps, Jamie’s finding his way through noisy mechanics, and I’m now a man with paper bricks, a woodpile, and an exhaust pipe saga to tell.

Life goes on, slightly quieter than before.