My flight was delayed by longer than I care to think about, ironic as I was in a panic at the railway station when I learned the train I planned to catch had been cancelled. A quick reroute, and I arrived at the airport more or less on time. And then had to kill it in a series of crowded areas amid families heading off for their summer hols. When I booked my flight I hadn't considered that this was the weekend after many schools in England would have broken up for the summer and hence one of the busiest times for travel all year.
We left Luton as the sun was setting. The sun is still setting. The sky looks much as it did thirty minutes ago, but we are flying north where the days are significantly longer at this time of year than in London and the Home Counties.
From which you have worked out that I am off to Cousin's again and flying to Belfast. I have no plans, or rather I had no plans, but in the moments before take off a swift exchange of texts and now I am seeing a friend tomorrow. Earlier texts at the airport with Speccy means that Tuesday afternoon is also pencilled in the diary as a possible time to meet up.
I was, it seems almost to go without saying, back at the allotment this evening. I had been working all day, but had agreed with Octavia that I would take supper round to her house which we could eat in her small walled garden.
I felt impossibly werary when I got home but the GN wanted, and got, attention and play. Before you start swooning at the nobility of my spirit, this is a £10 meal deal weekend at M&S, and the main course came courtesy of their kitchens. As indeed did the hummus for our pre-supper nibbles. And the baby spinach which made up the substantial part of the accompanying salad. The rhubarb cake for pudding was made by my own hand, but so far as know, Octavia did not tread the grapes for the Rioja which we quaffed as we ate.
I am off to NI as soon as I am home from work and have grabbed my bags tomorrow. A whole week at Cousin’s lies before me. My sandwiches are made; I bought my train ticket to Gatwick this evening. My bag is almost packed.
Most of the photos from the allotment and elsewhere from the past few days will have to wait. Maybe one day they will appear on this page.
Kirsty, who has the plot with god offerings, pointed out she has more bits and pieces at the back end of her plot. I went to investigate. She didn’t warn me she had installed mantraps. I evaded them. She has a peach tree. Peaches from this part of London used to be an anticipated delicacy at the tables of the nobility and well off middle classes. If Kirsty could master time travel, she might have a business opportunity.
Remember Ginger-Odysseus-Now-George? MasterB’s bookend who was rehomed by <a href=”http://hamiltonscatfund.co.uk/”>Hamilton’s Cat Fund</a> and went to live in Sevenoaks?Here he is in our garden in the days when he was living rough, playing with the catnip sock. <a href=”https://isobelandcat.wordpress.com/2012/10/01/working-out-their-relationship/ginger-loves-catnip/#main” rel=”attachment wp-att-6349″><img src=”https://isobelandcat.files.wordpress.com/2012/10/ginger-loves-catnip.jpg?w=652″ alt=”Ginger Likes Catnip” width=”652″ height=”489″ class=”size-large wp-image-6349″ /></a> Ginger Likes Catnip I asked after him this morning when I left a protesting MasterB at the cattery. I was fearful that it hadn’t worked out, that he had been returned as unsatisfactory and unsuitable. It seemed such a leap for him in such a short space of time, and I wondered if he’d cope. Well he has. Hamilton’s Cat Fund get regular and glowing reports of him. He is as indulged as any cat could possibly be. His owners are adoring and delighted. They want the world to know what a splendid cat he is and he even has his own Facebook page. It’s better than Cinderella.<!–more–> Next I asked about this little soul, Izzy. <a href=”https://isobelandcat.wordpress.com/2012/12/29/kitten-nativity/kitten/#main” rel=”attachment wp-att-6986″><img src=”https://isobelandcat.files.wordpress.com/2012/12/kitten.jpg?w=652″ alt=”Little Kitten” width=”652″ height=”488″ class=”size-large wp-image-6986″ /></a> Little Kitten If ever there was a cat who was destined for stage and screen this was the one. She virtually had the tutu and tap dancing shoes on to welcome visitors to the cattery before she was homed a few doors away. Again, her owners adored her. They were besotted in days. And now they are heartbroken. She got out to the front of the house aboiut four weeks ago. It’s a busy road. You can guess the rest. At least she had several months being happy and loved. It’s more than some cats have in a lifespan of years. Now it’s time for me to close the windows, pick up my bags and head for the station. I expect I’ll have updates to share on Westie Boy, the Big Cat, and other animals known on this page.
It thundered while I was having my breakfast and I took my umbrella with me. No need, though I could have used it as a parasol. Another hot day in London with temperatures nudging 33ºC, and humid too, so energy sapping. I have been watching the forecast carefully, not for London but for Northern Ireland. I go to Cousin’s on Thursday, and normally I’d be gleeful about hot dry weather for my stay. But I am booked on a hillwalking week from Saturday, and the prospect of toiling up hills under blazing sun, no trees for shelter and having to carry enough water so as not to dehydrate, has made me wonder how much of the walking I’ll be doing.
Maybe I wished too hard for it too cool down. When I looked at the forecast today it showed rain. Not just one or two days rain, but a whole ten days of it. Continue reading
I’ve just spoken to the hospital. One of those frustrating calls as I ‘could be anyone’ so they don’t want to disclose too much. I’ve obviously missed Mother’s numerous appearances in Heat and Hallo!
Sorry. That was probably unnecessary, but it must be ghastly for relatives in other continents trying to work out whether they should be booking flights or not. I pointed out that all my details are on her file, so they could just ring me back. That met with a dull silence. Continue reading