Going North

A motorway journey around here is seldom dull. 

We set out in glorious sunshine and with what seemed like most of the county’s population, we headed north on the M5.  With two of us in the car and a couple of interesting programmes on the radio, a slight jam wasn’t too difficult to bear.

But further north, on the M6 now, the clouds had come in (as forecast) and the traffic had slowed to a stop-start creep.  We resorted to an old favourite – the Flight Radar 24 app – having spotted that white plane high above us.

Clicking on the plane icon there to our right, we found it was an Emirates flight heading for Dubai; an Airbus 380 no less.  Sure enough, peering up there, we could see that really clearly now. 

A little further north, the sun was breaking through the clouds in some places and the sight of a rainbow delighted us for a few minutes around the Manchester ship canal bridge.  Time to get the “real” camera out.

Creeping forwards a few feet at a time, there was plenty of opportunity to have a good look over there at the Autumn colours and to appreciate the show Mother Nature was putting on for us.

Because whilst we were looking over there at the rainbow, she was having a little joke with us over here.  We’d managed to avoid the hailstorm ourselves, so were completely surprised to suddenly find the road ahead white over.

Well, I assume my hero and chauffeur had probably been noticing all of this all along, driving the car.  But for me, the distracted passenger, it came as a surprise!

It seemed as good a time as ever to fiddle with my phone and to try the quiz that a few of my friends had done.  Who’d have thought that accepting the offer of a side order of chips with the pie in the pub last Tuesday lunchtime would have been so influential in determining the outcome?!

Quiet

When I’m home alone, it’s pretty quiet around here.  If I don’t put on the radio, it could well be described as silent.  Even though I’ve been waiting for some entertainment from the new fridge, it’s staying pretty quiet and refusing to tap dance.  (Perhaps that’s a good thing?)

But when a few hundred people stand quietly in a park to remember, the silence is even quieter, if that is possible.

We joined our friends and the people of St Annes for the Commemoration ceremony yesterday, Remembrance Sunday, just as we did last year.  As we stood watching the wreath laying in the sunshine, a man sat alone, on a nearby park bench with his head in his hands. 

I couldn’t help but think that, were I a novelist, it could be the start of quite a story.

Operating noises explained

We have the instruction manual for the new fridge to add to the collection.  It has the same title as this blog post and has been created for a worldwide market.

We now know that if our new fridge purrs – sorry, brrrrrrrs like a cat, zisches or blubbs as if blowing bubbles, then all is O.K.  It’s even ok  (sorry, O.K.) if we think that we heard someone take a photograph in there, it seems, though I think that’s cause for concern.  I’m not sure I want people taking pictures in my fridge.

If we hear a fly ssssrrrring around, that’s also O.K.  It appears that it will probably be the fan.

If it starts to do a tap dance, clacking its clogs on the floor, then we won’t worry because it could be the ice inside it.  But I hope it doesn’t do its clog dance in the middle of the night or else it will be us who gggrrrr.   And I know that it says it’s O.K. if a train comes out of the door with a zsch but you know, I’d be pretty worried.  We’d better keep that fridge door firmly shut, because even though we are used to strange things in fridges I’m not sure about keeping trains in there.

Just when I was beginning to think that all noises were O.K. and I needn’t worry about anything, I came to the last two pictures. 

Now I’m anxious about what klirr sounds like.  After all, I need to know immediately that the bottles we’ve stored in there are unhappy so that I can let them out.  As for the last one – well, in a leaflet explaining operating noises, how strange to end in silence.

The things we do

when we can’t get into the kitchen, that is.

I do realise that when she sees this picture, Jordi might never speak to me again, so I’ll simply have to beg her forgiveness for posting it just for my own reference.  I know that next year, I won’t quite believe that I did it, but for now, I’ll simply say no more.

Just for the record

This year’s sloe gin* is gently steeping in the kitchen, slightly overshadowed by the chaos that surrounds it as our fridge and oven are replaced.  No more a simple old one out-new one in process, but a major operation involving at least two days work, the adjustment of three adjacent floor to ceiling cupboards and a modicum of plumbing work.  All of this is taking place amidst the contents of the aforementioned cupboards, hastily removed by Matt and Chris, the two delightful young men who didn’t trouble us when immediate action was needed but who simply moved every glass, mug, vase and dish we own onto the last remaining space on the worksurface.  They had already filled most of it with the contents of the pantry cupboard they’d emptied earlier.

We went to the pub for lunch and kept out of their way!  The kitchen’s going to be out of action overnight and I’m hoping they’ll manage to finish tomorrow, but it will take as long as they need and we won’t rush them.  Better to have it done well than quickly, I think.

So it’s a slight comfort to know that, thanks to the sloe-collecting efforts of my sweet friends Marjorie and Connie, we can close the door on the kitchen tonight and settle down to a glass of the newly bottled 2011 vintage sloe gin. 

It will warm the cockles, for sure.

* I used 2kg of frozen sloes, 1kg of sugar and 2.5 litres of gin which nicely filled a demijohn.  Freezing the sloes causes the skins to split, which means I don’t have to do that horrible pricking business, thank goodness.  We’ll give the demijohn a shake each day until all the sugar has dissolved, after which it will go down into the storeroom and quietly steep away for a couple of years, until I’m ready to bottle it.  Delicious!