On The Toilet
The downstairs toilet is still leaking despite Roly’s ministrations with the sticky-tape. Geoff is home from Dusseldorf so he yanked the toilet up and had a poke around while I yelled from the kitchen that he should call a plumber. My husband is not known for his DIY prowess and the last time he attempted anything around the house we ended-up replacing the entire fuse-box! Anyway, rather like clueless people who open the bonnet of the car to peer inside when something goes wrong, Geoff merely replaced the toilet without doing anything. A small puddle of water reappeared on the bathroom floor so I have called a plumber who will come in on Monday. Meanwhile I will have to leave some old towels on the floor to soak up the water. I have never used that bathroom since we knocked the two cottages together and it is mainly used as a place to store all my gardening stuff.
Welsh Rarebit for lunch today; I used up the last of the splendid cheddar from the farm shop and we topped it off with last year’s tomato chutney. Geoff reckons that German food is shockingly bad and welcomed the simplicity of my rarebit after all those dumplings and sauerbraten. The Germans seem to have taken over where the British left-off as far as culinary reputation is concerned! At least here in the UK we can boast an enormous improvement in our cuisine during the past twenty years. There was a time, not so many moons ago, when a quiche was considered suspiciously ‘foreign’!
Martin called from the shop. Apparently a small gaggle of BBC employees were in there this afternoon buying all manner of things; candles, jewellery and CD’s. There has been a lot of local opposition to these ‘London-types’ infiltrating the area and buying up all the weaver’s cottages to turn in to weekend homes but I have to say that business has improved immeasurably since all that London money started trickling in to our cash register! Sadly, most of those houses are worth less now than they were this time last year and it looks like we’ll be waiting a long time before anybody is going to make ‘mad money’ again on property round here.
There was an ambulance outside Mrs. Willoughby’s house this afternoon. She’s in hospital with some kind of blockage in her waterworks. Hopefully it isn’t anything too serious. It would seem that we are all suffering from plumbing problems today! I’ve never liked the woman since she accused me of being a ‘Devil Worshipper’ in the middle of Boots but I wish her no ill. Apparently she hasn’t washed her nets since 1975 and, round here, there’s no worse offense than that!
This evening I started reading Oliver’s 1977 diary. They are short entries written in a surprisingly juvenile fashion. It wasn’t unusual back then for kids to leave school at sixteen and start work, especially for working class kids. At the beginning of 1977 Oliver was still at school but working as a waiter in a local restaurant at weekends. I was born and raised in Surrey where most of my friends went on to university but in the midlands in 1977 it was still very much a ‘mining mentality’. Here is his first entry on January 1st;
Got up at 10.00 am and Dad took me to work. It snowed heavily and we had about four inches of it on the ground. Mr. D brought me, Caroline and David home. Auntie Grace and Uncle Frank came for tea and stayed for the night. We played Scrabble and I was the first one to bed.
Fortunately Oliver wrote a summary of 1976 at the front of his diary so I’ll post that tomorrow as it gives a bit of an insight into his life at that point. Now I’m going to open the bottle of wine Geoff brought back and watch a documentary about Lily Allen and the vintage dress shop she’s opened with her sister.