Flight

It was a cold day in London, but sunny. By lunchtime, the trees and bushes that had begun the day pretty, their branches topped with a festive layer of snow, we’re bare again and the pavements were clear. But just twenty minutes out of Liverpool Street on the Stansted Express, fields stretched whitely and the snow had a more settled look. Horses, wearing warm blankets, stood grouped together, and watched the passing train. At the edge of one field, just inside the gate, was a wicker shopping basket, empty and incongruous.
At check-in, I explained my foot troubles, and my boarding status was upgraded to priority. That didn’t speed up the passage through security. Slow minutes in a winding queue. I stood on one leg, and hoped I wouldn’t have to take my boots off.
Back in the day, air travel was considered glamorous, but a lot has changed from those select, elegant few walking across the Tarmac at Croydon airport to the hoards standing in their socks and rethreading their belts at Stansted.
Flights to Belfast are from one of the more distant gates. I made my way down there slowly. My plan was to be in the right area long before the gate was announced. It worked. Soon I was comfortably settled in a near deserted seating area. Gradually it filled up. Flights to Belfast and Glasgow were leaving at the same time. Glasgow passengers were called first. Belfast passengers remained seated. Then some silent signal spread through the passengers and they hurried to form a bunched queue. I sat on.
When the flight was called, I joined the parents with toddlers and pushchairs to board slightly ahead of the hoard.
It was a two second advantage. More able passengers raced behind us and surged passed us. Those who had been first were now in the middle.
By some miracle, I got a window seat at the front of the plane. The sun was setting as we took off, and the countryside below looked enchanting; even the snaking lines of headlights on the dark roads. The snow lay bright and undisturbed in fields outlined by black trees and hedges. I sat back and relaxed.

Packing

Just about finished my packing; long sleeved t shirts, a fleece, a cardigan. I’ll wear a jumper. The wash bag always used to be the most complicated item, but now I find it’s increasingly about electricals. So far I have mobile ‘phone, iPod, iPad, kindle, pocket Olympus, plus all their chargers and other accessories. Not sure about the hair dryer.
Not Cat is at the Cattery. He was growling when I left, so obviously not happy about the whole thing. My friend drove me in my car. The same friend who drove me with Cat’s dead body to the vet back in March.
While I tried to persuade Not Cat he was going to have a lovely time, pointing out the comfy bed, the heat lamp and the treat I was leaving him, she walked around with the Cattery owner admiring cats in residence and hearing their stories.
In the garden, the hens had gone to bed. They are ex-battery, and the last lot of such the Cattery will have now that battery hens are banned. I would like to buy their eggs at the end of a holiday, but most are already spoken for by house and choir.
Tom, the huge black cat who dominates the house, was waiting for us when we went back inside. We gave him a quick cuddle and went back to the car. The snow that had started during our drive was coming down in determined fashion.
It looks like it means to settle.
Thank goodness I am off to warmer Ireland.

Replay: Snow Afloat

This is turning into three post Sunday. Yesterday I reposted something from Janaury 2010 on my old blog. This is the post from the following day. It’s even more appropriate now as it snowed here overnight.

Boats covered in the white stuff under a clear blue sky in early morning. A Photographer’s Dream.

Snow was not forecast. Minus one centigrade does not mean snow.

I slept extremely well. Warm and cosy under my flannelette quilt cover. Until Cat woke me up because he was hungry. It was about four in the morning. I looked out of the window at next door’s boat and thought it looked a bit fuzzy. That bothered me, so I kept on looking and it gradually dawned on my sleepy brain that it was ice and snow that interrupted the outline.

I went back to bed.

Snow Today

With my dodgy foot, I am not walking as much as usual, but I took a few pix in the garden this morning. The snow may be gone by tomorrow.

No Residual Trauma

I followed the pawprints and saw Not Cat standing ankledeep in the snow. As he turned his face towards me, a movement on the wall caught my eye; the fox, now jumping away into the garden beyond.

Cat didn’t like the snow; he was spooked by how noisy his footsteps were. Last year, his hearing impaired, was the first time I’d seen him look at ease in it.

Not Cat doesn’t seem to mind having crunchy footsteps. He’s been out several times. The students, from whom I adopted him, told me how they had found him crying in the snow and taken him in. When they located his owners, they were told he was no longer wanted.

I wondered if the snow might trigger some memory of being lost and alone, but there’s been no evidence of any residual trauma. The opposite if anything. This boy grows more confident by the hour. Rather grey hours today. I associate fresh snow with blue skies and crisp air, but today the sky has stayed leaden, and even misty.

I didn’t get any photos of Not Cat in the snow, but I did snap this insouciant Blackbird that he was watching covetously.

Snowy Day Blackbird

Cat Last December

A year ago today I took this photo of Cat in the garden.
It’s a bit out of focus, but gosh, he was such a handsome boy!

Cat 17th December 2010

Cat Health Bulletin

I expect you’ve all been on tenterhooks wondering about Cat’s health.

Sorry if that took you by surprise. Just say yes, or nod enthusiastically. Well, maybe not too enthusiastically, that might seem odd. A bit like people who chase ambulances. Adopt a serious expression and nod gravely.

I woke him up from his nap on the end of the bed and took him in a cold car down to Herne Hill and the vet’s. Weirdly, although it’s a few miles further south, there was a distinct lack of palm trees and warm sunshine and they still had snow, which vanished from my neck of the woods by Saturday night. <!–more–>

It wasn’t the usual vet who loves Cat, with an indiscriminate love for all ginger cats. A love which has been notably unrequited since the first time she put a thermometer into his bottom. Alas, this vet had similar ideas, so I don’t think Cat likes her either. Certainly his language was reminiscent of Naughtie and Marr on Radio 4 this morning.

The good news is that the vet couldn’t find anything obviously amiss. His nerves all seem to be connecting and receiving; he still has a heart murmur, but the beat is strong and regular; his anal sacs (sorry) and rectum (sorry again) were fine; he didn’t growl particularly loudly, or perhaps I should say louder, when his tummy was manipulated; his eyes, which she at first thought were not focusing properly, adjusted as he got used to the lights; he was strongly resistant to having his head raised for the blood tests.

Ah yes, blood tests. The vet did her Dracula impression with the help of a beach towel and the veterinary nurse, filling two little tubes with Cat’s blood. It’s as much to rule things out as rule things in. I have instructions to monitor Cat’s poo. A stomach upset is still a candidate in the diagnosis.

So, we left the snow and ice and returned north. Each with our losses. Though that sounds a contradiction in terms.  Cat with a new bald patch on his neck and his dignity offended; me with £124 less in the bank.

The blood test results should be back tomorrow.

Fingers crossed.

The Meeting

Last weekend, Cat and I were on das Boot. I’ve already said it was cold ad dark, and how Mother enjoyed A Little, Aloud. Normally I would be home in London by the end of Sunday, but we’d arranged a meeting for Monday morning at the scheme to talk about aspects of Mother’s careplan. It was neither a good nor a bad meeting. I don’t know if it achieved much, but it’s probably a good thing it happened. Staff at the scheme had already told me while I was with Mother that they were not happy with the way it was being run, and a number of them are looking for new jobs.

Anyway. My plan had been to attend the meeting and then return to das Boot for Cat. We were really warm and cosy on Sunday night, and went to bed at the relatively late hour of ten o’clock. When I woke up, I could see the ice around the boat was thicker. Then it began to snow. I drank my coffee rather thoughtfully. The marina is four miles down a single track road which had been slippery the day before.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.