where art collides

The log on the fire crackles occasionally. It is relaxing to watch the flames dance around the edge. There is quite a deep glow in the fire and the warmth is perfect for the size of room.

It’s not very nice out. Sitting in front of the fire is the only place to be. John is fast asleep on the sofa, wrapped up in the throw. He only managed half a game of football this morning and now it is clear that he has gone down with something. Likely be off school tomorrow.

I think I can hear the owl again in the trees above the back garden, though what it is doing out on a night like this only it knows. I suppose we all have to eat. There are plenty of mice out in the allotment. I like having the owl out there. We have also occasionally seen bats fly around in the garden at twilight time. Only in the summer though.

Tom is out at youth club. Hannah is I think in bed. She has had a hard day doing retail therapy at Meadowhall. Nightmare. Joe I can hear whistling somewhere in the house. That’s a result! He is being relatively quiet. And finally Anne is ironing in the kitchen without the radio on.

All in all, we are at peace. Must be getting closer to Christmas. I can almost hear the angels starting to line up, practising.  Getting their harps in tune. Loosening up with a couple of Bing Crosby numbers.

This morning I cut some holly and ivy for the Westgate School Christmas Market Cafe. This afternoon I finished raking the leaves from the back garden. At least it’s as finished as it’s ever going to be. There are still lots of leaves on the ground but you can see a fair bit of grass.

The front lawn hasn’t been done yet. I’m not actually particularly bothered about the front. I think I only cut the front lawn about three times this year. It has a lot of moss in it. The more the merrier as far as I am concerned. It looks like grass from a distance and doesn’t need cutting. 

As I write Tom has just come back. Time to batten down the hatches and carry John up to bed. I am happy that I have a nice warm house. It isn’t a good time to be homeless.

In our house the drums aren’t distant. They are in the living room. They appeared there one Friday night when I came home from work, along with the trumpet. The guitar was already there. A very loud combination.

In our house the study has the TV in it. I put it there so that I could control the kids’ watching habits. My desk is no longer in the study. It’s in Tom’s room. His need was greater than mine. In its place is the piano, next to the TV which I can no longer control without causing an uprising.

In our house the sewing machine is on the table in the conservatory. I am allowed to use the table though not at the same time as Hannah when she is on the machine.

In our house Tom’s room is out of bounds. It isn’t somewhere you would want to dwell anyway. Joe’s room requires some negotiation to get to the bed, what with game controllers scattered on the floor. The PCs seem to be permanently on in 3 kids bedrooms.

In our house we have a revamped shower room. It used to be my domain but since being done up everyone prefers it to the bathroom. I now have to avoid about 8 different bottles of shampoo and shower gel, not to mention the toothbrushes and disposable razors.

In our house the Archers is on in the kitchen every night making it a no go area. I am allowed in as long as I don’t talk but the mental anguish caused by having to listen to the soap precludes me from doing so. The radio is also on every Saturday and Sunday morning when we listen to Tom on Siren FM. We wouldn’t ordinarily listen to the music but we have to to hear Tom.

In our house when I go upstairs to bed and turn the radio on it sometimes blasts my ears out. It only needs to be on quietly but sometimes it gets turned up during the day so that it can be heard in other rooms or whilst the hairdryer is on.

You would think that when everyone is out and the house is quiet and I am alone it would be blissful. It isn’t. The silence is too much of a contrast with the normal state of affairs. I do like a quiet pint though in the Morning Star. The “quiet” and the “pint” are perfect combinations. In fact, as I think of it, the house has grown silent…

It was a cold Sunday morning with snow on the ground. Not icy though so there was no problem with the game going ahead. The journey to Caythorpe took longer than I had expected. This was partly because of the treacherous driving conditions but also partly because I had forgotten how far it was.

On the way we passed a white van in a ditch with an AA van in attendance. Also a short distance further on a grey people carrier on its side on the verge. On Tom’s radio programme he announced that Lincolnshire Constabulary had reported 12 weather related crashes. We drove everywhere at a top speed of 40 miles an hour.

We made it in plenty of time and John, who normally starts on the bench, went on after a couple of minutes and got pretty much a full game. Running around on the pitch was the best place to be that day. It’s great to watch him in action. He is a fine strong lad. I have to make a conscious effort to not comment from the touchline, other than the occasional encouragement.

We won eleven one.

The cheeks certainly had a glow to them as we strode round the golf course. At 2 or 3 degrees it wasn’t frozen and you were ok if the sun was out or you had your back to the wind.

Spotting the ball was a somewhat hit and miss affair when playing into the low winter sun (pun intended).

There was a certain urgency about the round which was played as a fourball-betterball. Mick and Gary versus me and Danny. There was a competition on so the tee was closed at ten am. Also because of the nights closing in everyone who normally plays in the afternoon turned up to play at nine in the morning. This of course meant that there was a huge queue on the tee with the prospect of us not getting away before the ten o’clock deadline.

We nipped over to the seventh and cut in ahead of a three ball which is why we rushed round – to keep ahead of them so as not to get in their way. It’s a good discipline actually. There’s no point in taking too long over a game of golf in the winter.

As it turned out the weather was glorious, even though there was snow forecast. The conversation was convivial and the game close. Danny and I went one up with one to play and we managed to scramble a half on the eighteenth which gave us the match. 

Golf is often described as a long walk spoiled. Well let me tell you people don’t go out on long walks these days and a walk round the pleasant surroundings of Lincoln Golf Club is a delight.

These leaves are not alone

They are dangerous to leave,

The grass will die

And we’ll all know why,

Because I left it till later.

Too late? Err…

Rakers of the world unite

We need your help, before tonight:-)

Turn over that old leaf

Blow wind blow

Get them out of my gutters and off the grass

Later…they are mostly gone now, though there are still a few heaps to shift. No room left on the compost heap though.