A bright day in prospect. Not looked at the weather forecast but I can tell you that at the crack of sparrowfart there is nary a cloud in the sky. That is not entirely true as from my perspective in the conservatory I did spot a solitary wisp but glancing back up to double check even that has now moved on.
I was going to say that wisp of cloud ‘evaporated’ but that didn’t feel right. Clouds are surely the result of evaporation in the first place. Or are they condensed. I dunno. It matters little. Only perhaps to Michael Fish and his pals at the meteorological office. Where is he now? Michael Fish.
It is still out there. Nary a breath of wind. A magpie just flew by carrying some nest building material. You would have thought any construction would be finished by now. Perhaps a bit of maintenance. It flew to the top of next door’s pine tree the other side of the fence to the greenhouse. Will keep an eye on that treetop. Magpies are pretty vicious birds. I saw one attacking a blackbird in our garden earlier this year. The magpies are also relative newcomers. I don’t mind a bit of avian variety although small birds would be preferable. I need to sort out the feeders.
A variety of packing to do today. I have, as you know, a shindig in London tomorrow. On thursday morning I hot foot (by train) it to Liverpool for a family funeral. Then Friday it’s back home across the pennines with THG in her car. So that’s three different clothing requirements.
The dress code for the funeral is ‘funeral’. Fair enough. When I go I want the dress code to be ‘hawaiian shirt’ 🙂We were all particularly fond of this uncle who did live to a ripe old age so Thursday will very much be a celebration of his life.
When mam passed away we had a packed church followed by a very good reception at Peel Golf Club where she had been Lady Captain. Then there was a hiatus where some of the family wandered down to the beach and the breakwater. I strolled to the Whitehouse pub and had a couple of quiet pints before meeting the core team for dinner at the Creek Inn whereupon we had a great singsong.
Dad died at a time when lockdown restrictions were still being eased so numbers were constrained. Actually the constraints included the age and infirmity of his friendship group as well as the fact that the funeral was in Cardiff rather than the Isle of Man. We did have a great wake afterwards. They were both celebrated appropriately.
Dad once told me he had been to a funeral of a teacher in the Isle of Man where only a handful of people were present, including the widow and small family. He recalls contrasting this with his own father’s funeral. My grandfather was a miner in South Wales. Miners never lived to retirement age and when they died, prematurely, the whole community would turn out to pay their respects. There were hundreds of people at his funeral.
Enough of this funeral speak. My grandmother, Eluned Davies (nee Lewis) was born in 1907. A hugely different era. It is hard to get your brain around the difference in complexity of the world then and now. No TV, no telephone. A coal fired range instead of gas or electric cooker. Very little English spoken, at least in Cefneithin.
I remember visiting one of dad’s cousins with him a few years back. We spoke in Welsh but I had to seriously concentrate to understand the local dialect. As pure as it came. Rooted in the countryside. Our house was a miner’s cottage in a row opposite the Blaenhirwaun pit.
The evidence of the pit has long since been obliterated, the slag heaps, or tips, reburied underground and the area restored to the parkland it once was. Nothing lasts forever.
When I was a kid we used to spend our summer holidays visiting nana. Highlights of the week would include visits from the Coop van and from John The Baker’s van. We would go on the bus to the market in Llanelli. Mam and dad would head up to the Farmers Arms for a few. There was also a now defunct pub across the fields at the back of the house whose name, disappointingly, escapes me but where at 1am of an evening the local bobby would pop in for a pint and mingle with the farmer who had recently won the Welsh sheep dog trials. Different times…
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Our Andy is on Centre Court shortly. At one time it was our Tim and I daresay it was someone else before him. I can’t remember that far back. Our Sue? Wimbledon mania comes to the UK for two weeks every July where people who have never picked up a racket let alone played a game become instant armchair experts.
If I watch any tennis during the rest of the year it is probably because I’ve accidentally clicked on a TV channel. I have played the game and do possess a racquet, somewhere. Whenever I played tennis I would basically always lose my service game as I’m totes crap at serving.
Our son John, on the other hand, has played since he was a little lad. He can play tennis. No point in me playing our John 🙂
I would consider joining the Local Eastgate Tennis Club as a social member. They serve Beavertown Neck Oil, which I like, and membership there gives you the chance of getting Wimbledon tickets in the draw out of their allocation. Wimbledon is a good day out.
Not this year though. I’m probably going to join Notts CCC for next season. The West Indies are coming next July and I being a member would not only give me early access to tix but also good tix.
I used to be a Country Member of Glamorgan CCC but they stopped that membership category and wanted two hundred and fifty quid for the privilege. Considering that in three or four years of being a member I went once, that does not represent good value for money. I didn’t mind shelling out sixty quid. Notts membership is cheaper and they get test matches. And it is only thirty miles or so away.