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Another day in Argentina : Letter to a Sister

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Went to La Recoleta. This is mainly a large cemetery, which is not a place I would usually visit but it featured in all the guide books and was recommended by our taxi driver. We walked there from the hotel. Passed a few people sleeping in the street, whole families in some cases, which is never a comfortable experience. The only other place that I have passed homeless children is Mumbai.

Found La Recoleta, in the middle of a park with market stalls. Was glad the family weren’t with me to complain about me liking spooky places and not being ‘normal’. I thought of you – you would’ve have spent hours taking photographs at strange angles with clever close-ups. I just snapped a few pictures, none of which really captured the atmosphere.

The cemetery is huge, like a small village of monuments and booths. Some had steps leading down, littered with soiled bags, empty bottles, coated in dust and cobwebs. Some had coffins stacked in view of the doorway covered in white lace cloths. Some coffins were crumbling, threatening to spill their contents, others were pristine, polished oak with shiny fixtures. The booths were white marble, grey granite, weathered stone and black steel gates. There were lots of statues and angels and domes. A little like miniature cathedrals, with the dead being worshipped rather than God.

It was a little incongruous, after passing families of homeless people. I am a tourist here, I don’t know what help is available, but at a glance it looked as if the dead have better shelter than the poor.

We saw the tomb where Evita is buried, and several other dignitaries, then we left.

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Went to La Biela, a traditional coffee house just outside the cemetery, opposite a giant ancient gum tree. It had a motor racing theme due to being a favourite spot in the 1950’s for drivers and fans. There was memorabilia on the walls and spanners carved into the chair backs. It had a lovely traditional Argentinian feel, we could’ve stayed there for hours.

We drank coffee sprinkled with cinnamon, which tasted almost of oregano and ate ‘alfajores’, which were shortbread biscuits filled with dolce leche. The cafe was empty when we arrived at 9:30 and was full by 10am – lots of well maintained elderly Argentinians and young tourists. You would have liked it there.

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Ate a very late lunch in a parilla (name for a steak restaurant.) Walked from hotel heading south, along narrow streets littered with blankets reserving sites for the homeless, dog mess and broken pavements. The houses on either side were a muddle of faded villas with gargoyles and balconies and modern apartment blocks. We passed a burnt out theatre, a derelict mansion and tiny newsagents. It felt real, interesting and full of life. Buenos Aires is growing on me – perhaps you need more than a day here before you notice it properly.

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Arrived at Chiquilin in Calle Sarmento. Peered in window and it looked clean, so went in and sat in a corner table, under oil paintings and bottles of wine on shelves below the low ceiling. Ate more steak than the whole family would normally eat at home. All the restaurants here have an abundance of waiters dressed in black and white, most of whom seem to either speak English or understand my very bad Spanish.

Walked back to hotel. Exhausted but pleased with the day. Tomorrow we might go to Uruguay – I’ll let you know what it’s like.

Take care,
Love, Anne x

IMG_4227The Opera House

 

 

 

 

 

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Probably not the best place to post letters.

The city seemed full of derelict post boxes!

 

 

 

 

 

P1090523 Tango dancing in the street.

 

 

 

 

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Letter to a Sister : Buenos Aires

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As we flew into Buenos Aires, the horizon was red with dawn. A beautiful end to a 14 hour flight.

I was slightly worried going through immigration as I had been given a form to complete on the plane (at 2am). I managed the name and address bits but when it started asking about the make and series of my mobile, I gave up – ‘iPhone, very old’, was the best I could manage. Husband assured me that we only needed one per household and he had done one. No one ever asked for it anyway, so was an unnecessary worry.

On the way to the hotel, we passed a demonstration. They had blocked two lanes of the road (the roads here are really wide) and they had banners (which were in Spanish, so I couldn’t read them.) People had just abandoned their cars in the road and gone to join them. Our driver said this happens a lot.

The hotel, Park Tower, is right next to The English Tower. Our taxi driver said this was because it was a gift from the English. The guidebook said it was because it looks like Big Ben. It doesn’t.

Opposite is the war memorial for the Falklands War (interesting choice of position.) The politics are complicated, the fact that so many young men died is heartbreaking, whatever your nationality.

We looked around Galerias Pacifico, which used to be an art gallery but is now a shopping mall. The walls were beautifully decorated. The shops were just shops, so didn’t spend long in there.

We ate empanachas for supper. They are like mini fried pasties. Go well with beer.

IMG_4113 IMG_4112 English Clock and war memorial.

 

 

 

 

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The night wasn’t terrible and I want to keep to UK time as it’s such a short trip. We ordered room service coffee at 4am. The coffee here is very dark, the milk tastes like evaporated milk, so you don’t want much. The room service menu has a separate price list. I’m guessing this is because inflation is currently 25%, so it saves them reprinting the whole menu every time prices go up. It was quite a challenge to get Argentinian currency before we came, and no one will buy it back from us when we go home. Most places accept credit cards or US dollars.

We walked to Casa Rosada, where Evita made her impassioned speeches from the balcony. I can’t tell you how much it was enhanced by Husband singing all the Lloyd Webber songs in my ear, very loudly and slightly off-key. The palace is pink – according to the guide book this is because it’s painted in cow’s blood. I wish I hadn’t known that, think I will stop reading guide book and make up my own reasons for things.

Crossed several major roads (multi-lane roads are a feature of Argentina. They do have lights to help you cross though.) Saw a bridge which is meant to resemble Tango dancers. Husband suggested we could strike a Tango pose and take selfies. We didn’t.

Walked along a river. Even in quite expensive areas, there are people sleeping rough under blankets. They didn’t ask for money, they were just bundled up under shop awnings. Sad.

We got a taxi to La Boca region. We were told in the hotel that it wasn’t safe for us to wander around, but there was one street, Caminito, which was full of tourists. We saw lots of painted houses, cafes with Tango dancers and singers, lots of street art. It was nice and interesting, though not very ‘real’.

I bought a cushion cover for my collection and a fridge magnet for Mum (I’m sure she’ll be delighted, you can never have too many fridge magnets and this one has a bottle opener attached.)

We got a taxi back to the hotel. We were told to only take taxis that had writing on the doors. If they had writing on both front and back doors, it means they’re owned by a company, so they are the best ones. They have a light at the front which tells you when they’re free. There are loads of taxis, so it was easy.

Went back and showered. The hotel’s bathroom products are called ‘Wine and Beauty’. They smell of wine. It’s not unpleasant, but I do feel a bit like I’ve washed my hair in a bottle of Chardonnay. It reminds me of when, as a teenager, I used to rinse my hair in vinegar because someone told me it would give me ginger highlights, and when it rained I smelt like a chip shop.

Went to bed at 6:30 (10:30 UK time.) Husband has muttered about my time plan very little. I will write again tomorrow and let you know what else we see.

Take care,
Love, Anne x

IMG_4134 IMG_4139 Casa Rosada

 

 

 

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IMG_4175 IMG_4170 La Boca

IMG_4205 A ‘good’ taxi, with writing on both doors.

 

 

 

 

 

You can read my sister’s letter at :

http://ruthdalyauthor.blogspot.co.uk/2016/04/reasons-for-having-messy-house-letters.html

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Letters to a Sister : 51 – London Zoo

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Hello, thanks for your letter. You must be looking forward to ‘At University Always broke’ coming home, even with dirty socks. I am missing my boys now they’re back at uni for the last term. I even miss the mess. Did I ever tell you about our trip to London Zoo? We went during the Easter break. (But my photos are not as good as yours. I do not avoid housework by taking photos, I just point the camera and snap and then try to work out afterwards what I was trying to photograph! I avoid housework by having lots of animals – but that’s another story.)

I was a bit nervous about going up to London – the News seemed to be constantly full of the latest terrorist action. Son 2 tried to reassure me. “Mum,” he said, “What is the most likely – you being blown up by a terrorist or you winning the lottery?” Then he added, “Actually, you never buy lottery tickets do you….” Super.

Made it to the zoo unscathed. It was beautiful weather and all the animals were out, so it was a good trip. We wandered round, staring at bored animals, while the boys mainly discussed their own strategies when playing ‘Zoo Tycoon’ and how they had once made a cage of humans. Hopefully none of them will ever own a zoo in real life.

They were quite taken with the South American anteater, and the fact that there was a rat in the monkey cage. They spent a long time trying to take selfies of themselves and various animals. The animals always moved out of shot, so they had lots of selfies in front of various cages. We looked at the Llamas and spotted that some of them were donkeys – perhaps there was a new employee at the zoo who had ordered the wrong animal by mistake – easily done.

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We spent longer than you might expect in a queue for coffee. The boys then talked for longer than you might expect about the extreme incompetence of the coffee shop workers. Apparently, the best coffee shop in the world is the ‘Pret’ in Canary Wharf. There they have a regular influx of 50 customers all at once from the surrounding offices and they serve everyone in a matter of minutes. The boys tell me that this is because none of the staff are English and they probably all have doctorates in their home country.

We sat and watched the penguins being fed. There did seem to be a strong resemblance between the keeper’s appearance and the animals being cared for. But perhaps this was a coincidence (like dog owners who look like their dogs.) The best part of the penguin feeding was watching all the wild birds appear. There were probably as many herons and sea gulls that appeared at feeding time as there were penguins.

IMG_4029The penguin keeper

 

 

 

 

 

There was a short talk, which began with the keeper asking the audience what food they thought penguins like to eat. I am sure the extremely loudly shouted answer of “children” had nothing to do with my boys. The keeper in charge also told us that they throw the fish into the water to simulate the penguin’s natural environment. One keeper was clearly not listening. IMG_4032

We saw a hippo, that was renamed to various friends’ names by my family (I won’t list them, just in case) and hyenas pulling apart a dead rabbit. My personal favourite was the giraffes who were trotting round their cage and then stopping to touch noses. Very sweet.

Walking round zoos is very tiring. We walked back towards Camden Tube station and ate burgers in Hache (camden@hacheburgers.com 020 7485 9100) Nice food, brilliant banoffee pie.

A fun day.

Take care,
Love, Anne x

You can read my sister’s letter at :

 http://ruthdalyauthor.blogspot.co.uk/2016/04/reasons-for-having-messy-house-letters.html

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Letter to a Sister : 50 -Will Todd

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Thanks for your letter, I was so glad to hear that my nephew is like me (and I expect that he is delighted too.) I was a bit surprised to hear that you were eating sandwiches at the airport though. When I got home I checked how many scones were left in my freezer…….hmmm, hope you enjoyed them.

Have you had any good laughs lately? The funniest thing I saw recently was a friend’s post on Facebook. A lot of churches at Easter like to do feet washing (reminds them that Jesus taught us to be humble, serve others, etc. Has never appealed to me.) Anyway, one church decided to change it slightly, so decided to wash wellington boots instead. Unfortunately they got the sign wrong and advertised to do “Willie Washing”! Made me laugh for ages. There are a number of jokes that could be added to this, but Mum reads these letters, so I’ll hold back.

Do you remember listening to Dad play the piano at night while we were trying to go to sleep? – I could always tell what kind of day he’d had by what he chose to play! I love it now when I hear the kids playing the piano, it takes me right back.

Last week we went to cousin Will Todd’s music performance. He is quite well known now amongst people who like classical music (he composed the music for the Queen’s Jubilee, stuff like that.) Our children seem to have inherited something of the music gene, though it bypassed husband and me.

I have evidence of this in husband’s case, because we own a cassette recording from his childhood, when his talented cousins came to visit. They are all playing various instruments. Husband is playing the drum/biscuit tin. You hear the adults dutifully applause and say how good it was, then one tactfully wonders if “we could hear it again without the drums….?” Will is now an (almost famous) composer, husband is an accountant. Figures.

I didn’t really know Will until we were living in the US and he came to visit. We had just bought a clunky old piano for Daughter to have lessons on. Will arrived and started to play and the three children all crowded round him. They asked him to “play something happy/sad/princess music/tree music,” and Will dutifully modified his tune to whatever they called out, composing as he played. It was brilliant!

The recital in London was lovely. We started with champagne, so I was slightly worried that Husband might become talkative or (worse) fall asleep during the performance. But he behaved very well. Actually, falling asleep was unlikely because the seats were very hard. Uncomfortable seating is a feature of music concerts I feel. They tend to be held in over-crowded school halls or stuffy concert halls. Perhaps it’s done on purpose to stop reluctant fathers from having a sneaky snooze.

I do think that singing at that level must be the MOST scary job ever. They stand there, watched intently, and they have to just open their mouths and blast forth the correct note. Sometimes two of them started at once, no accompanying music, nowhere to hide if one of them was slightly off key. They weren’t, it was perfect, but I cannot imagine the pressure that they must be under. Such potential for big time embarrassment.

It must also be difficult to know what facial expression to adopt. The men tended to go for serious expressions, only their eye-brows really changing. The women tended to more ‘act’ the music, their whole posture reflecting what they were singing. Difficult to not over-do it I would imagine.

Being a conductor must also be a bit weird. Everyone watches your back. I must mention this to Will next time I see him – checking your face in the mirror is fairly unnecessary, much more important to ask someone to check that your collar is straight at the back. And that you have combed the back of your hair.

Not that I am ever likely to be asked to do either. I well remember that sad day when my daughter grew old enough to appreciate music and whispered, “Please don’t sing mummy.”

Take care,
Love, Anne x

PS. Some eggs hatched. The ‘early cracker’ actually took two days to hatch. The duckling then helped the next one out of the egg, lots of cheeping and pecking. So cute. They look much bigger than the eggs when they dry off and fluff up a bit.

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They are folded up so tightly inside the egg, it takes them a while to straighten up.

IMG_4083They look a bit dead when they first emerge.

IMG_4089Two ducklings fluffed up after an hour and started running around.

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I think the other eggs had died, so I waited a day and then threw them away.

You can read my sister’s letter at :

 http://ruthdalyauthor.blogspot.co.uk/2016/04/airports-delays-and-flying-letters-to.html

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Letters to a Sister : 49

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Hello, how was your week? Mine was incredibly busy, so there wasn’t much time to recover from our dinner dance from last week. I know that you know some of it, but I will tell you anyway because it will make me feel better.

Monday we decided to try out the new restaurant at Knights Garden Centre. I then came home and wrote a review of it for my blog. I didn’t ‘post’ it because I worry that if I do too many posts in a week, my followers, who receive them by email, will get fed up with me and ‘unfollow’. However, if you want to read it, the link is:

The Potting Shed Coffee Shop and The Walled Garden Restaurant (Knights Garden Centre.)

Tuesday was a preparing day. I was cooking at Lunch Club and usually I shop on Wednesday, but this week I had to go to London, so shopping was pushed to Tuesday. I decided to cook the same gammon, cauliflower cheese, roast spuds and carrots followed by ginger syrup sponge that I cooked last time. It’s easy and I had the quantities already sorted out. Assumed there would be forty people and hoped I bought enough.

In the afternoon I took you to the airport. The taking bit was fine, the finding the car afterwards bit is always something of a challenge. Especially as I had left my glasses in the car (I am still in denial about needing to wear them all the time.) Found car eventually, though I know the boys would have been good about a phone call asking them to drive to the airport to help me find my car. Drove home missing you – you need to seriously review the whole living two days away thing.

Wednesday was London. Husband has some work in Argentina in the summer, so I thought I would join him. He told me I would need a yellow fever vaccination. My local surgery were unable to do it until after I was home again (so much I could write here) so I had to book one at the clinic in London. The train times didn’t work very well, so I drove to the station early, caught a train to London Bridge and then loitered around Elephant and Castle for about an hour. This is not a great place to loiter, unless you want a tattoo or a kebab or a conversation with a drunk man. I settled for the conversation.

Arrived at the clinic on time. Was then informed that actually, you only need the yellow fever jab if you are going up to the waterfalls in the North, which we weren’t. All my other vaccines are up to date, so I came home. I have barely mentioned the wasted time to Husband since, (though actually, it does come quite naturally into the conversation surprisingly often.)

Thursday was baking puddings for Friday. Friday was cooking lunch for forty people, serving, washing up, going home to recover, then meeting friends for dinner. I missed you helping at Lunch Club, it’s such hard work, though I love doing it. The oldies all came back pleased to see each other, it was very noisy. Some of them know that I find the cooking a struggle, so they come to check up on me – one of the men told me they had put me on “Suicide Watch” just in case! Forty three people came, but there was enough – sort of – some had to have sausages.

Saturday was preparing Sunday School, trying to clean up the messy house a bit, buying food for a big breakfast for all the students at the church, stuff like that.

All this was ‘extra’ stuff. You have to remember that I had all the usual ‘jobs’ of caring for the animals, cooking vast amounts of food for the boys to eat, trying to keep the house relatively hygienic.

The eggs in the incubator should hatch next week. I am trying to get a hen to go broody, then when they hatch I’ll put them under her. It’s not working very well so far. There are lots of eggs in the nest (which usually is enough to turn a hen broody) but they don’t like the weather. They sit for a couple of hours, then get bored and go for a wander around the garden. This won’t work when they have new hatchlings – they’ll die of cold unless she sits all the time. Annoying. Perhaps you could pop back to poultry-sit?

Take care,
Love, Anne x

PS. I had just finished writing this when I went to check the incubator and one of the eggs is shaking and cracked. It’s EARLY! Rushed around in a panic, filling a plastic crate with hay, trying to find where I put the water and food pots a year ago, fixing a heat lamp at the right height above the crate. All ready now. Sometimes they take a couple of days to actually hatch, but occasionally it’s just a few hours, so I need to be ready.

Now I keep going back to check. I still find watching ducklings hatch incredibly exciting. The egg just has a tiny crack at the moment. When I shine a torch on it, it shakes from side to side while the duckling inside tries to unfold. A little miracle. I’m sure the family will understand why we have no food in the cupboards…….

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You can read my sister’s letters at : http://ruthdalyauthor.blogspot.co.uk

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Letters to a Sister : 48 – Dinner Dance Disaster….

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We were invited to a dinner dance. I used to love that sort of thing, probably when I changed shape less regularly and could depend on my dress fitting in all the right places. I also find wearing heels a real struggle now, my feet are used to wearing wellies and I have a tendency to totter in anything else. Hard to stride in heels.

The invitation said ‘Black Tie’. Easy for the men then, just a bow tie and dinner jacket. But does that mean a long dress or a cocktail dress? Decided to take both just in case (we were staying over.) Both were tighter than I remember.

So, off we went to the dinner dance. We checked into a nearby hotel, looked at the room, which seemed small but nice, had a quick look at the 92 channels on the tele which all showed the same thing, played a bit of Candy Crush (as you do), then I casually asked Husband what the time was. It was fifteen minutes before the bus left that took us to the venue.

Went in to bit of a panic. Brushed hair, found tights, squeezed into dress, etc. Now, when I said that ‘Black Tie’ was easier for men, that was bit of an assumption. It is possible for men to mess up here. Husband then announced that he had forgotten cuff links.

We both paused. His shirt is one of those posh fiddly ones which has no buttons, you wear fancy studs at the front and the double cuffs are fastened with cuff links – which he had forgotten. Luckily he was a Boy Scout, always prepared, and he had string in his pocket. Yes, string. So I tied the cuffs together with string, tied a tight knot, cut the string close and hoped no one would notice. Husband assured me that a) this was not as funny as I was finding it and b)this was clearly the precursor to all the very expensive knotted cuff-links that you can now buy in shops. I wasn’t convinced.

The next disaster was when Husband realised that he had also forgotten the studs that fasten the front of his shirt. This was more of a problem. A shirt held together by bits of string would be obvious (and it was so not that kind of event.) We considered abandoning the dinner (a bit rude to the hosts) or trying to find a shop (unlikely.)

Then Husband – ex Boy Scout – realised he had a sewing kit in his bag. This included buttons, a needle and a tiny length of white cotton. I was grateful that Mum forced us to learn to sew when children, and I sat on the bed and sewed on four buttons where they would show. There was enough cotton for three loops per button, so if they were put under any strain at all, they would fall off.

We rushed to Reception, caught the shuttle bus to the venue and had a wonderful evening. There were lots of important, running major organisations, semi celebrity people present – and us, with a shirt tied up with string and precarious buttons. Found myself giggling at odd times. But the dinner was fabulous, the people were interesting, the buttons survived the dancing; and I think that no one noticed…..

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Thanks for your letter, hope you enjoyed Easter. I certainly will NOT be hitting you over the head if you agree to help with something else. You are a brilliant help! I think we work very well together actually – as long as I am in charge. I like that I can just ask you to do something and you can read instructions and do it – surprisingly few people in the world can do that. It is a shame you are going back to Canada, sisters should definitely live on the same continent……

Take care,
Love, Anne x

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You can read my sister’s letters at : http://ruthdalyauthor.blogspot.co.uk

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Letters to a Sister : 47

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The boys are back for the Easter break. Always full of helpful advice, especially about the internet. Today they told me, “If you didn’t pay for the service, you know that YOU are the product.” Hmm, this explains how Facebook pops up with all those adverts about things I have been researching online. Predatory.

They also continue to be rough on Husband. One requested that Husband should raise his hand when telling a joke so that everyone was aware.

It was a shame you missed their birthday. They are getting old – I don’t have teenagers anymore. This is good – I can now turn into a grumpy old woman (my boys assure me that people might not notice. I may have to start spitting or smoking cigars or something.) I have enjoyed parenting teenagers, mainly because they tell funny jokes. Also, as I have said in a previous letter, they are completely selfish, and they don’t try to hide it (everyone else is completely selfish but they try to hide it, and that makes it much harder to deal with!)

If I find that I miss the whole teenage world, I can probably borrow some. I do occasionally borrow other people’s children. I just have to keep them safe and feed them regularly. It is so much easier than parenting your own children, when you have things to worry about, like hopes and fears and their long term development.

Today is busy. Easter Monday we always have a cream tea at our house. People arrive for a walk across the fields, then eat scones while the children have an egg hunt in the garden. This morning I have to make scones for ninety people. Niece always comes in the morning to help make the dough and chat, so it’s a nice time. I do find the quantities difficult though. How much jam and cream should I buy? How many scones will most people eat? Every year I keep a note of who came and how much was eaten. This year Son One helped me sort out my shopping list : If last year, 66 people ate 9lb worth of scones, how many would 99 people eat? He gives me lots of abuse for still cooking in pounds and ounces ( much muttering about working in base sixteen when the modern world works in base ten.)

All this is NOT helped by every minister we have ever had at the church. They always think it would be great to invite that visiting family of twenty seven who arrive at the church on Easter morning. “The more the merrier”. Unless you are the host of course, fully aware that all shops are firmly shut. Perhaps they get muddled up with the parable where Jesus feeds five thousand people with two fish and five loaves – I would’ve thought it was fairly obvious that I am NOT Jesus.

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I love the event actually. It is busy and I do worry about not having enough scones, but it always goes well. People arrive ready to have a nice time, which makes for a lovely atmosphere – I like when my house is full of happy people. Afterwards I sit down to look at the photos, to see who was there that I missed, who hunted for the eggs, who was chatting to who. It’s a whole big muddle of age groups and smiling faces. Wonderful. I’d better go and start weighing flour.

Take care,
Love, Anne x

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You can read my sister’s letters at : http://ruthdalyauthor.blogspot.co.uk

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A Trip to London with Aunty Ruth

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Letter to a son….

I hope you’ve had a nice week. I went to London with Aunty Ruth. She wanted to see Lincoln’s Inn and Grey’s Inn (because I sent her the books by C J Sansom, which are murder/mystery books set in the 16th century. The main character, Shardlake, is a lawyer who works at the Inns.)

We got the train to London Bridge and then walked up, past the Bank of England and Guildhall. We got a bit distracted at Guildhall. I told her about going to a function there and we decided to see if we could break in, so I could show her the really cool hall. We went into the art gallery bit first, because I thought we might find a route through into the hall. This was free and had some fantastic paintings. I was a bit surprised to see a miniature version of one of my favourite paintings – The Execution of Lady Jane Grey by Delaroche – do you remember me taking you to see the big version in the National Gallery? (We went when you were small enough to be persuaded to do things that I considered ‘good for you’.) Anyway, apparently Delaroche did this tiny painting first, as a sort of practice attempt.

IMG_3907There wasn’t a route into the hall but a nice security man told us that actually, we were allowed into the hall, we just had to use a different entrance. We found the right door, had our bags checked, and went into the hall. There’s a plaque on the wall that tells you about some of the famous people who had their trials there – people like Anne Askew (a heretic), Lady Jane Grey, and Henry Garnet (part of the Gunpowder Plot.) A lot of history, makes you think, to realise that it was real.

 

 

 

IMG_3903Something which I assume isn’t based on reality are two statues of Gog and Magog, who were two giants who fought Brutus on the site of Guildhall.

 

 

 

 

After Anne Askew’s trial, she was carried on a chair to Smithfield Market to be burnt. (She was carried because she couldn’t walk due to being stretched on a rack when tortured.) She was only 25.

We walked up to Smithfield Market to see if there was anything marking the spot where people were executed. (It’s very lucky that Aunty Ruth shares my interest in this stuff. Perhaps we had a weird childhood.)

IMG_3911Smithfield Market is a meat market, it has been one for centuries. There was nothing to show where they actually killed people, though there was another plaque giving information. It’s where William Wallace was hung drawn and quartered (you have seen the film, Braveheart, with Mel Gibson.)

It is also where people could sell their wives. Apparently, a few centuries ago, getting a divorce was very difficult, so men would take their wives to Smithfield Market and sell them! I assume that’s where the term ‘a meat market’ comes from (when talking about nightclubs or places with lots of available women.)

 

We then had a very nice lunch in Carluccios (email, in case you want to go there, is: smithfield@carluccios.com ) It was very relaxed and the food was good and we spent a very long time just chatting about when we were little. Aunty Ruth started with a coffee, but then she has been living in Canada for a long time now, so I guess some oddities are bound to appear.

IMG_3738We did finally make it to the Inns. Aunty Ruth was slightly nervous about just walking into places that had ‘Private’ and ‘Do Not Enter’ signs but I assured her that it would be fine, we could just apologise and leave, they don’t execute people anymore in the UK. I told her to try and look like either a lawyer or a criminal, so people would think we had business there. She took lots of photos, which rather spoilt the image. (Actually, according to the website, it is open to the public at certain times. But it was more fun when she thought we were trespassing.) It really is an amazing place, brilliant buildings and peaceful gardens right in the middle of London.

Walked back to London Bridge and got the train home.

Saw some lambs when I drove her back from the station – first ones I’ve seen this year. The sheep from the field next to the house have been moved, so Kia is a bit more relaxed this week.

The rats have destroyed FOUR duck eggs. Am very annoyed, I really want some more ducklings this year. I don’t know what to do now, whether to collect them (eggs, not rats) and hatch them in the incubator. But that is a month of incubating plus about a month of keeping them warm at night and I’m not sure if I am definitely here for a two month stretch. I might ask the boys in Sunday School if any of them would like to ‘baby-sit’ some ducklings in their garage for a week if I go away.

Take care,

Love, Mum xxx

PS. When you wash your duvet cover, remember to do up the poppers first, then it won’t fill up with all your other washing. I do realise that there is a bit of an assumption there. If washing your duvet cover is not a regular event, I don’t need to know…

PPS. Please try to eat some fruit/vegetables.

 

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Thank you for reading.

My sister’s letters can be found at:http://ruthdalyauthor.blogspot.co.uk

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Letters to a Sister : 44 – Tantrums and Animals

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Wednesday evening, about six o’clock, I went to Waitrose. There was a mother there with a little boy, he was having an absolute loop-out. It brought back lots of memories. The little boy was about five or six and at some point had managed to become detached from his coat. He was now refusing, absolutely, to have anything to do with it. Mum was tired, busy and embarrassed that everyone could hear him scream and shout. It was cold outside, she needed him to put on the coat, he was refusing. It was loud and emotional. I felt so sorry for her, I have been in her place too many times.

You could see she was tired, at that, “I’m going to cry myself in a minute, I don’t know what to do” stage. The threats were escalating (no ice-cream ever again) and you could see she was itching to smack his legs but too worried to do it in public in case everyone disapproved. I wanted to say something to her. I wanted to tell her that she wasn’t the world’s worst mother, that all mothers have been there, that eventually he won’t have tantrums anymore and she will actually wish he was small again. But I didn’t. Partly because there was no pause in the boy’s screaming and her telling him to put on his coat, partly because she looked so emotionally fragile, so completely worn down, that I thought she might misunderstand or burst into tears.

The thing is, if I am honest, I still don’t know what you are meant to do in those situations. Children are completely unreasonable and if they refuse, absolutely, to do something, there is not much a mother can do. My children did eventually stop having those very public screaming rows, but I think I just got better at avoiding them, seeing what was likely to happen before we got to that stage, not getting into situations that would explode. I don’t think I ever learnt what to do when they did happen.

I do remember a particularly bad session with one child where I believe I asked husband to stop the car so I could leave him by the side of the road. I think he was refusing to wear a seatbelt or something. We were in California, on holiday. Son was screaming, daughter started to cry because I was going to abandon her brother, other son burst into tears because daughter was crying, our friends (who did not have children at the time) were terribly worried and wondered if they should intervene. It was not a wonderful time. But it passed. No one was abandoned by the road. Son now always wears seatbelt. (Friends now have children of their own and understand completely.) I don’t miss everything about those days.

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This Tuesday was a very productive day for me. I finished the first draft of Joanna. I am now, according to Stephen King in his book ‘On Writing’, supposed to forget about it for three months, then re-read it and make any changes and additions that seem appropriate after reading it with ‘fresh eyes’. I, of course, am not sure that I am patient enough for that and am just dying to send it out to agents.

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I also did some awful animal jobs. Regular stuff, like feeding them and cleaning them out and collecting the eggs, just sort of happens every day without me really thinking about it. The other stuff, like worming them all and using the flea stuff, is a pain and I tend to put it off. But not Tuesday, Tuesday I got it all done.

IMG_3869I took old grouchy Louise to the vet for her vaccinations.

I weighed the outside cats (SO much fun on my kitchen scales, you can imagine) and bought them all worm tablets and flea stuff. Then I forced the pills into their mouths (which they hate.) Five cats were successfully wormed, Mandy refused to swallow and after an absolute age, when I was sure it would have dissolved, she spat it out. Annoying.

I then squirted them with the flea/worm combo stuff. They hate that too. It has to go on their skin, so it probably feels cold. After they were done they ran away and refused to come near me for the rest of the day.

The ducks are thinking about laying. They have started making round dips in the hay in the aviary.

The chickens are horrible. They all pick on one chicken and peck at it. It tends to change, they take turns on who is picked on, so they do get some respite but there is always one poor scraggy looking bird who lays smaller eggs because she’s unhappy.

IMG_3868Mostly, all the animals get on together well. Mungo (inside cat) seems to have taken over Kia’s (GSD) bed, though they do sometimes share.

 

 

The cockerels have had a few stand-offs this week – perhaps because it’s Spring. Kia manages to sort it out (she bounces on them!)  I’m hoping it doesn’t escalate or one will have to go.

IMG_3871The outside cats have allocated themselves beds. There is a heated igloo, which the two mothers have squashed flat and now sleep on together. There is another heated bed, big enough for three, where Mandy sleeps. Midge sleeps on top, where he can see everyone.

 

 

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When everything is calm, I like my life. Hope your week has been good.

Take care,
Anne x

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Letters to a Sister : 41

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Thanks for your letter. You are very lucky that one of your boys cooks. I wish someone in my family did. I hate cooking dinners, really hate it. It is a pressure every day, trying to decide what to eat in the evening. Part of the problem is that although I hate cooking, I do like eating decent food. So ready-meals just don’t do it for me. None of family really cooks though, unless it’s Mother’s Day or something.

Actually, that’s not quite true. When I was in labour with Son 1, Husband did cook pizza for two year old daughter. I told him he just had to take it out the freezer and put it in the oven. Which he did. Literally. It wasn’t until daughter complained there was “white stuff stuck to it” that we discovered the polystyrene base had also gone straight from oven to freezer. I think that’s the last ‘dinner’ he has ever cooked. I blame his mother.

My sons also aren’t great communicators when they’re at uni. I send them emails and texts, letting them know what’s happening, but they rarely reply. Every so often I send an, “Are you dead?” text. To which they usually reply, “Yes, murdered horribly while in pub.” So I know they’re basically alright.

You can then, imagine my concern a few weeks ago when I arrived home to find a message on the answer phone saying, “please call me,” and a text saying the same and three missed calls on my mobile. Heart in mouth I dialed his mobile, hoping that he would pick up, wondering who I should call if he didn’t. He did.

“Oh, Mum, where have you been?” he said, “I need to know how you make soup.”

We discussed the whole idea of beginning messages with “it’s not an emergency.” Then I told him how to make soup.

You have to read my book when it’s published. It is not optional for sisters. It won’t scare you, you’ll be fine. Actually, I have nearly finished the main part, the bit about the psychopath. Which I’m quite relieved about because she’s not very nice.

I did lots of reading, read some papers by neuro scientists and got some of their books. I also watched some clips on YouTube, so I could try and imitate the speech patterns of how known psychopaths talk. It was all very interesting actually. The thing I found most disturbing was how likeable the psychopaths were. I think of myself as a good judge of character, but these people, who had sometimes murdered dozens of people, came over as very nice people. They were the sort of person you enjoy being with, the people who you invite round for dinner.

They were also very believable. Even though I knew, from my background reading, what the true situation was, when you heard someone telling you that they came from a “loving Christian family” you tended to believe them. It was all very interesting. Husband did get a bit fed up with it though. He would come home from work and I would begin a sentence, “Did you know….” and he would instantly say, “Is this about psychopaths?”

Your writers’ group sounds fun. I would love to be able to talk lots about my book. I wouldn’t want feedback though, that would be way too scary. You can be my writer’s group when you come over. I can talk for many weeks about psychopaths – how long are you staying for?

I might even bake you a cake. I like making cakes, it’s only dinners I find emotionally difficult. I will make it during Lent, then it will count towards one of those ‘random acts of kindness’ that we’re all supposed to be doing every day. I have a feeling that might turn out to be even more stressful than having to cook a dinner every day.

Take care,
Love, Anne xx

PS. Bring your wellies. It hasn’t stopped raining since you were here last time.

PPS. Happy Chinese New Year. It’s the year of the Monkey!

This letter is a reply.
You can read my sister’s letter at:
http://ruthdalyauthor.blogspot.co.uk/2016/02/cakes-migraines-and-cooking-letters-to.html

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