Travelling hopefully

I like maps.  My first Girl Guide badge was map reading and, even though I say it myself, I'm good at it.  However, Belgium has defeated me.  Part of the problem has been that it's impossible to find a decent map of Belgium in the first place.
 

Belgium

Our holiday rental is, literally, on the border; go out of the back door and you're in Belgium...

France

...go out of the front door and you're in France.







The closest town to where we're staying is actually in France, so I suppose I should have realized that the local bookshop would only sell French maps.  {"Ha, you want to go to Belgium?  You don't want to stay in la belle France, then it's your problem."}

However, we did find what looked like a very good map, at a scale of 1cm to 1km - ideal for exploring obscure places down country lanes.

 Except it didn't work.  I've spent the last 3 days insisting that the map had roads missing, junctions in the wrong place and was not using any consistent kind of scale, while my Beloved was equally insistent that this could not be.  He holds a touching faith in all things vaguely official.    Finally, I did what I should have done in the first place, and looked on the internet.  {How anyone managed to plan military campaigns round here without Google Maps is a mystery.}
And I was right!  I must confess that we'd found it a little odd right from the start that our map had shown Belgium to be much emptier than France, with far fewer roads; on closer inspection we discovered that several roads starting in France just stopped abruptly at the border.

What we have is not a map, it's an artist's impression!  They might as well have coloured it all grey and written, "Here Be Belgians".
It doesn't help that most of the minor rural roads don't have numbers, they have names.  Which is all very quaint, but doesn't help at all, since the names are obviously too many letters to print on a map, always assuming that the road itself is on there in the first place. What's worse, most of the junctions don't have road signs and, if they do, you don't see it unless you're travelling in the opposite direction.
"Satnav", I hear you say.  Well, yes, we have borrowed one, but it's Homer Simpson, and I don't altogether trust him.  Also, it needs recharging, and the plug is bent and won't stay in.  But so long as we can stay on the motorway, we should get home alright!

Moral Dilemma

A couple of blackbirds have started eyeing up my plum tree for a potential nest site.  This fact alone should give you a clue that they're not the brightest pair - I know the blossoms look lovely, but it's February, for pity's sake, there are no leaves and there was a frost yesterday morning!

 I suppose they have some excuse though, as it has been quite a mild winter so far - even the geraniums are still hanging in there. Maybe the mirror you can see behind them has been reflecting the light onto them, or something like that.

However, I don't think Mrs Blackbird is too keen to set up home just yet; she doesn't seem convinced about Mr B's fidelity.  You see, she caught sight of a rival the other day - yep, that's right, just behind the aforesaid geraniums.  She's been sitting in the flowerpot, pecking angrily away at her reflection for the best part of two days now, while Mr B stands a few feet away on the path looking rather embarrassed.  Whether that's because he really has got a girlfriend in the background, or because he knows that it's only a mirror and is having second thoughts about Mrs B's intellectual capacity, I can't be sure.  Or perhaps he's had a look himself, obviously seen another male, and is ashamed that he's too much of a coward to do anything about it.

Anyway, my dilemma is this: given that I thoroughly dislike birds and the last think I want is a nest just above where I walk through my gate every day, {particularly if the birds in it are not very intelligent} should I turn the mirror round and end their anguish?  But then they'll build a nest.  Or should I leave it, hoping their relationship will flounder and they'll both go away?  If I leave it, could she actually break the mirror?  I'd be really annoyed about that!

She was at it again when I came home this morning and, as I wasn't brave enough to walk past her to get to my back door, I had to walk round the block in the freezing wind to get to my front door.  I do feel sorry for her, but this is my territory, and this is war now!

{This last photo is not very good, as I took it through the window -  no way was I going outside with her there!}

Chop chop!

The problem with not cooking is that when, very occasionally, I get the urge to bake something, I have nothing to do it with.  So I have to be inventive... and me being inventive with cookery can get a bit messy.
I rather resent paying well over £1 for a piece of flapjack, so when I came across a tasty-sounding recipe for snacks I could {probably} make myself, I thought I'd give it a go.  It looked simple enough....
"Blitz 35g pistachios in a processor..." The only processor I own is the one in my computer, and even I know that foodstuffs shouldn't go anywhere near it.  However, I do possess an evil soup blender, maybe I could put the pistachios in a saucepan and use that?  Not without a lid, apparently.  Fortunately, I also possess a rather serious chopping knife. 

It was in a box of assorted kitchen equipment given to me by a friend when I moved north.  Goodness knows what she thought I was going to do with it, I was only going to Yorkshire, not Yosemite!  Ok, so my garden is a bit of a wilderness, but I've been here nearly ten years, and I've yet to meet any bears.  Although perhaps it's been put about in the ursine community that I have cutlery and I'm not afraid to use it.

After successfully chopping pistachios and cranberries, I was suddenly thwarted by, "Blitz 150g rolled oats...."  I was rather doubtful about the efficiency of the chopping knife for that.  Perhaps I could put the oats in a plastic bag and then crush them with the rolling pin?  Well, maybe if I had a plastic bag.  I do actually have many plastic carrier bags rolled up under the sink, ready to use as bin liners, but none of them seemed quite clean enough.  Then I remembered the loaf of bread in the fridge - that was in a plastic bag!  I quickly re-wrapped the bread in tinfoil, tipped the crumbs out of the bag and re-filled it with the oats.  I wasn't sure how fine I was supposed to crush them, but after I'd rolled them for a few minutes the bag started to get holes in, so I decided that was enough.

Right, what next?  "Add warmed honey and orange flavouring and mix well.  The mixture will be very sticky."  Yes, it was.  And rather gritty, so perhaps I should have rolled the oats a bit more.  It was also too crumbly to roll into balls, as suggested by the recipe.  All I could manage were unattractive sausage shapes, so I squidged them up a bit between my thumb and forefinger, so they looked more like mini granola bars and less like giant owl pellets.

I am now waiting for them to "set before serving" but it doesn't say how long I have to wait; an hour? 24 hours? until Hell freezes over?  I'll probably wait until tomorrow, and if they're no good by then I'll leave them out for the bears.

Decisions, decisions

I noticed recently {well, for the last few months, actually} that the inside of my washing machine smells a bit musty.  This surprised me, as it's the only kitchen appliance that I use with any regularity or, indeed, competence.  {I do not class as 'kitchen appliances' any items that can reasonably be used in the bedroom, eg kettle or toaster.}  Also, since my previous washing machine died of the Black Death, I've been careful to dry the rubber bit inside the door after every use.  Although I still can't decide whether to use yards of kitchen roll {efficient, but extravagant with resources} or a cloth {re-useable, but pretty useless}.
So do I have to leave the door open now, when I'm not using the machine?  This goes against every instinct I have; I don't think my OCD could stand it, it's probably terrible feng shui and, as anyone who's ever kept cats will know, you don't leave the washing machine door open. {Or the toilet lid, but that's another story}.

  Ok, so I don't have a cat, but what about mice?  How dreadful would it be to find a mouse spinning round in your knickers?

I know, I know, the chances of a mouse getting indoors, never mind climbing inside the washing machine, are rather remote... but then, I didn't ever think a bat could get in through my bedroom window.  I have decided for now to continue drying the rubber seal with a cloth, leave the door open very slightly, and give the drum a good manual spin before every use.  I think I shall use the dustpan brush to rotate the drum, just in case a mouse does drop out.  Or perhaps I should get a cat after all.

Another thing I'd noticed lately is that I could do with some new glasses.  I've had varifocals for some time but, since starting my new job, I've found them rather frustrating.  I work in a museum now, where information is displayed at every level, from next to the floor right up to somewhere above my head.  If I were to lie on the floor I could focus through the correct part of my lenses to read the lower texts, but it's too dark to see anything down there because of dim lighting to protect the artefacts.  Also, I don't want to trip up the visitors.

I can read the higher displays by standing on tiptoes and lifting my glasses so that I'm looking through the right bit.  In extreme cases I can manage by tipping my head back as well, but I don't think that gives a good impression either.
Since new varifocals are rather expensive and I don't really need glasses for just walking around, I thought I'd try some cheap reading glasses from Poundland.  {Unfortunately I had to ask the assistant to help me find them, rather proving that I do need them all the time.}  They'd have been ok if I could have dealt with constantly putting them on and off, but I have to carry a two-way radio and often a cleaning cloth as well, so that didn't work.  I tried keeping them on all the time and peering over the top, but that just made me dizzy.  Eventually I decided to give in and get new varifocals, but with a larger lens, which I was assured would help.  Thankfully, it does; I can now both walk and read reliably, but can't afford to go anywhere or buy any books.

Now that I can see properly, I realise that I can no longer put off buying a vacuum cleaner.  My old one stopped working rather suddenly when we were clearing up after I had my new bathroom fitted, and I rather think it ate something that disagreed with it.  I've managed without my own vacuum for nearly a year now, by borrowing one from my Beloved whenever I think I need to.  He's been quite happy to bring it round whenever I've asked {and sometimes even when I haven't} but it rather takes the spontaneity out of housework, which is actually the only way I'll ever do any.  If I don't deal with dust when I first see it, I get used to it and it never looks any worse.  Also, his vacuum is a large, heavy upright, which I struggle to just carry upstairs, never mind about hanging on to while I clean the stairs.
I have therefore decided on a lightweight, cordless model with a detachable hand-held bit for zapping hard to reach places.  Apparently the battery only lasts for twenty minutes before it has to be recharged, but who on earth wants to be vacuuming for more than twenty minutes?  Certainly not me!

Lost in translation

My Beloved recently remarked that he'd quite like us to go on holiday to Germany next year, so I thought I'd better start learning a few useful words and phrases.  OK, so I can already say 'the polar bear is in the fridge and he's eating all the cheese', but how often is that likely to come up?

Actually, I was pleased to realise that I appear to have picked up quite a few words in German over the years.

 {Although, to be fair, the dog probably knows more than I do, having sat through rather more hours watching the History Channel with my Beloved than I have.}

In the 1970s my mum had a German boss, and when he happily agreed to teach the language to his co-workers in the Accounts Department she used to wander round our flat pointing at things and muttering random numbers, so I can count up to 100.  A teenage holiday with friends taught me how to ask about trains, and the polar bear turned up many years later when my daughter was revising for her GCSEs.

Since I'm probably going to need a bit more than that to get by next year, {drei Eisbären im Kühlschrank, aber kein Käse} I've found a free online course that seems quite good so far.  After only a few days, I can confidently inform any German speaker who might be interested that I'm a woman, I'm eating bread and reading a book.  Although that ought to be obvious and, if I was doing those things, it's unlikely that I'd want to start talking to anyone.

As you'd expect of a writer, I rather like words, and I did an online taster course in Welsh a couple of years ago.  The presentation was similar to the German course, but the order in which the vocabulary was taught was completely different.  I wonder if this has anything to do with the respective cultures of the countries concerned?  I can ask the whereabouts of a number of things in Welsh - keys, cases, the bank, the hospital {but, sadly, not understand the answer}.  In German, however, I can so far only make statements about people's gender {and, to a limited degree, species} and what they're eating, drinking and reading.

Are the Welsh geographically challenged, or constantly losing things?  Or do they just take delight in hiding things from foreigners?


Do the Germans not care where anything is, so long as they've got something to read and know if you're a man?



This apparent difference in basic philosophy might explain a mystery in my own family background.  My great-grandmother was Welsh, and her husband was German.  When he filled in the 1911 census, he recorded her as a lunatic!

In French lessons at school, the first verb we were taught, after 'to be' was, 'to have'.  In German, however, whilst 'to be' still comes first, 'to have' is only the fifth verb I have encountered.   Eating and reading appear to be much more important.  And the second most important verb?  To drink!  I'm starting to look forward to next year's holiday!

Going undercover

I was following a woman in Hull this morning.... that sounds bad!  I wasn't stalking her, just happened to be behind her and going in the same direction.  Anyway, she looked a bit different {Honestly, I've never seen her before - I mean different from other people that I've seen recently} and I realised that it was what she was wearing.... a chunky-knit woolly cardigan.   And she wasn't the only one - other people were wearing them too.  Suddenly it's autumn!

Perversely, for someone who feels the cold as much as I do, I love this season.  It's still warm enough to go outdoors occasionally, but with a sharpness in the air that's just enough to make you remember you're alive.  It's a time of fresh starts, and new exercise books and, yes, woolly jumpers.  I no longer have to dither about getting dressed or packing to go away, wondering if I'll need to take a jumper; I'm already wearing two.

{Interesting semantic point here; what I, probably quaintly,  call a jumper, others would call a sweater or possibly a pullover.  Although I suspect that, if we're being picky, pullovers don't have sleeves.  Now 'sweater' and 'pullover' I understand - the names make sense in terms of the garment in question.  But 'jumper'? The only connection I can come up with is that it refers to the sheep that the wool came from.  Not that sheep jump a lot, except when they're very young, and then it's more like bouncing.  I suppose it could lead to all sorts of unfortunate misunderstandings if we called those garments 'bouncers'.} 

Picture: © Copyright Derek Harper and licensed forreuse under this Creative Commons Licence

Another reason I don't have to think about what to put on is that I have a new job, for which I have to wear a uniform - and it includes a lovely thick sweatshirt and a fleece.  I've never had a fleece before.  I'd seen them, obviously, but never felt the need of one; they're what you wear for hiking, surely, and other general outdoorsy stuff.  And then there are the other kind of fleeces... one of my most surreal experiences was when I went to see a Queen tribute band a few years ago, and noticed that most of the audience were wearing fleeces with pictures of animals on them.

So I've tended to dismiss the idea of ever owning one myself, but I have to admit I'm a convert.  It's so cosy! And it has pockets to keep my hands warm in!  {You will be relieved to learn that my fleece is plain dark blue, and the only picture on it is a discreet logo.}  I don't want to wear it all the time though,  so now I'm home for the day I've wrapped myself up in my blanket rather than put the heating on.  It is only September, after all!

{After I wrote this I tried cooking some pasta sauce, but that didn't feel like a good idea to be doing while wrapped in a blanket.... so I gave in and switched on the heating.}

 

Two B's

I was rather worried a few weeks ago, when I awoke to a loud buzzing sound.  No, not.. um.. electrical equipment. "It must be a bee", I thought.  "At least it can't get in." I have the sort of windows that you can lock open, leaving just a tiny gap. 

Nothing can get through there, especially the giant bees we get here in the north.  They're probably wearing three extra jumpers under their coats, to keep warm.  I know I have to.

When I woke properly, about an hour later, there was an enormous furry bumble bee sitting in the aforesaid gap.  It has been unseasonably warm this summer, so  perhaps this one wasn't wearing so much.

Now, you have to understand that I have a horror of anything with wings.  {Including planes, and those rather creepy armchairs you find in gentlemen's clubs.  I can just about deal with owls, so long as they're folded up.} so it took a few minutes of me going "Eeeew!" and flapping my hands about before I could bring myself to summon up all my courage and open the window properly.  The bee didn't move.  Perhaps it was dead, but I still wasn't going to touch it.  I huffed and puffed for a bit, but eventully managed to blow it out of the window.

OK, so what were the chances of something like that happening again?  Pretty slim, I thought, so I decided to risk leaving the window locked open.  It is only a very small gap, after all.  Also, I have fairly substantial roller blinds; even if another insect did get in, it's unlikely to get past that and actually into the room while I slept.

Imagine my feelings, then, when I glanced at the candle lamp on my windowsill the other morning....

 ..... and saw a little furry bat lying in the sand.
 {I know, I know, I should have taken a picture at the time.  I was a bit preoccupied.}

Surely it couldn't have got in through the window? It was about the size of an egg, for goodness sake!  With wings.  However, a rapid survey of the ceiling confirmed that there were no holes, and the bedroom door is such a tight fit that I have to use both hands to close it.  That left only one possibility - a bat, an actual bat, had clambered in through my bedroom window in the middle of the night.  Eeeeeeeee!  I managed to get close enough to slide my tea tray over the top of the vase, then called my Beloved to take it all away.

Hmm... so that's two occasions on which something brown and furry has climbed in through my bedroom window in the night, and they do say that things come in threes.  At least burglars aren't generally known for being brown and furry, so I can only hope that the next thing isn't a bear!