Dr. Doolittles of The Larches......

And with a blink it was all over for another year....... I mourn the close of the summer holidays..... Amen. Yipeeeeee!!!

No, seriously, this was the best (and yet the most frustrating) summer holiday ever. The sproglets, being almost 8 and 10, were fantastic company. We three were at various times trapped under builders, but they were very nice builders and they've pretty much fixed The Larches to its former glory with cracks and rotten woodwork mended. We three escaped to the beach or to pals only on days when the men were busy elsewhere on other jobs, but I suppose that made our escapes all the sweeter.

To amuse themselves at the house the sproglets cobbled together dangerous looking go-karts which they hurtled down the concrete drive in. On most days they took charge of their own lunches, thrilled by my insane relinquishment of the Rangemaster. They cooked boiled eggs or melted cheese onto toast. One day the 9yo heated tinned tomatoes with anchovies, the smell in the house beckoning to every feral cat in Shropshire.

The sheep have been helpful playmates too; they seem to be able to escape the confines of their paddock at least once a day before we capture them while the chooks keep trying to lay siege to the new entrance hall!

We've had a pet-a-thon this summer, petting many creatures we've not previously petted:

First there were our very own lambs now big fat sheep.

Then there were the creatures in Midland Safari Park,

 the cockroach,

The emu,

The camel

and the gorgeous giraffe.

And, probably the 9yo's favourite, the baby seagull in Swanage.

Gullible Lou

I do love our builders, really I do, and they are tireless workers, skilled and kind. If I was to be slightly picky it would be that the fact that they listen to Radio 1, loudly, is slightly challenging. It's not the music I object to, actually I'm loving the music, it's the DJs... they witter about trashy subjects. [OMG I'm old!] ... Now if they played Radio 4 on full blast I’d be happy,.... Hey ho.

They are full of fun. The plumber likes nothing better than to appear at a window suddenly, only happy when I shriek in terror. I’m going to get him back but I haven’t quite worked my master plan yet. All of them are wind-up merchants! Today the long awaited shower tray arrived. I whooped and cheered as the boss contractor and his second in command carried the large slab of stone upstairs. They called out good-naturedly to the plumber working in the tiny family bathroom,

‘No, no, don’t worry mate, we’ll carry it up for you, don’t worry about our backs, least we could do!’

The plumber was grinning, used to the abuse. As they set the tray against the wall I felt sick. The tray was a key ingredient in the bathroom and nothing could progress till this was in, with the pipes set beneath it. It was already two days late and now here it was, a massive piece of stone resin.... in aquamarine.

‘White. White. It’s supposed to be white.’ I stammered.

‘They don’t come in white,’ offered the contractor.

‘Just aquamarine,’ added the plumber.

‘Like a swimming pool,’ said the second in command.

‘But it said white on the Internet,’ I wailed.

We four stood and stared at the bonkers coloured tray.

I realised that a key decision needed to be made. Either I could send it back and hold up the project for the next two weeks or I could learn to live with a Hockney inspired shower tray. Thank God we’d opted for white wall tiles and light marble floor tiles. My husband was going to go mad.

The contractor handed me the delivery note. ‘Ah bless.’ He said. ‘Don’t worry Lou, the aquamarine protection stuff peels off. It'll be white underneath.’

‘Phaaar!' Exhaled the plumber from a crawl space. 'What you tell her so quick for? I wanted to wait till she phoned her old man!’

So that’s how it’s going to be eh? ..... Be very afraid boys, be very afraid......remember, I’m the one who makes the coffee and supplies the cake and cake can be flavoured in so many ways... Hmmmm, where's that chilli powder?

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I saw something wicked in the strawberry patch....

7yo and Snowy

It is verging on bonkers here.

Thirty months ago we four, Hubby, the two sprogs and me, arrived to The Larches, catless, sheepless, chickenless, penniless.... (oh hang on, the last one has happened since we've been here.)

Yesterday I had a few pals and their children over for coffee. The Easter holidays have commenced and the sun was belting. According to Postie, as she sat sorting my mail, (bills and junk mostly) it was registering 26° in the van, in March!

‘We’ll pay for this,’ she predicted. An ominous statement. Bearing in mind that several parts of the country are already on hose pipe ban, I think the monthly instalments have already begun....

In the walled garden the mothers’ meeting was called to order over a slice of my coffee and several hunks of home-made Madeira cake... Yes you did read that right, I never really know how much ground coffee to put in the cafetiere. Still, it keeps you on your toes.

Although there were six, variously sized children in the vicinity, they seemed to prefer the privacy of the den, (a straw filled animal shelter in the field near the stables,) rather than the designed order of my raised beds. Now and again they popped back to display a wound, pilfer a cake or down a glass of juice.  Mothers took this opportunity to apply coconut smelling sun cream, heedless of yelps. 

‘There’s a chicken in the house,’ the smallest girl child pointed out as she waited in line to be basted.

She was right. The young white bantam is fearless, determined to seek out food where she isn’t welcome. Chickens are banned from the walled garden and, of course, the house. We temporarily evicted her but out of the corner of my eye I noticed Archie Archer, a black hen with attitude, had flown up and over the wall at the far end of the garden. While we fussed over the small bantam, she was checking out all the edible bits in the delphinium and lupin nursery bed.

Archie

Meanwhile the two lambs bombed up and down the pathways between the raised beds, checking out everything with their soft nibbly mouths. I was bemused to note that the children paid little heed to them while the lambs felt sure they were included in some huge chasing game. The two cats watched the madness from the top of the Shropshire stone wall, bathing in the sun.

Naughty Nibblers

Having just finished Cold Comfort Farm by Stella Gibbons, I found it all highly amusing.

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The building work is progressing well. The old porch is being replaced by another within the same footprint, though with marginally less woodworm and damp. Finally we will have a front door and a door bell! No longer will guests wander round and round the property, unsure of how to penetrate the gothic fortress, powerless to alert us to their presence, (as most mobile phones don’t work within 2 miles of the place.)

Old Porch

New Entrance

Coat and Welly Land...Yipeee!

The mums were fairly pleased with the vista, (of the builders I fear.) The smallest girl child was less keen and came to tell tales on the three men working on the house.

‘Those builders have taken their shirts off.’ She said looking stern.

We were restrained. We didn’t rush to look.

‘Come back and tell us if they take their trousers off,’ I advised. She nodded and toddled off.