Going soft?

When I opened the curtains this morning, my heart sank a little as I looked out at our first snow of the winter, albeit only a sprinkling. From the warmth of the truck, I watched the birds as they flitted about in their search for food, for a breakfast, to fuel them through the day. Then for some reason, this got me thinking about the past. From the age of about six we lived in a council house, as did everyone that I knew and because it was new, it had central heating on the ground floor, real luxury. I remembered some of the winters, substantial snowfalls and frost were normal. Of a morning, our then pretty young Mom, would wake us for school before she went downstairs to light the coal fire, which heated the water for the radiators. Clambering over my disgruntled brothers bed, I would pull aside the curtains to look outside, to find the windows encrusted with ice. The net curtains would be locked in the ice on the glass. I would place the end of my thumb on the glass to defrost a hole through which I could look. "It's snowed, it's snowed" I would excitedly tell my brother Ian, whose head would wearily lift off his pillow as he sat up to check whether I was lying or not. The moisture in our breath was visible as we excitedly chatted and dressed. Mom made us wear a vest in winter, a white singlet beneath a grey flannelet shirt and a short sleeved jersey, that is now called a tank top. For the winter months we both had thick grey shorts and long grey woolen socks that were held up with bands of elastic called garters. We both hated wearing a vest, it was cissy, but our garters were essential and if one was displaced it would sometimes cause a minor skirmish. By the time we got down stairs, the fire would be burning bright, but with no heat in it yet and the room would be filled with the smell of coal and wood smoke. After breakfast, we put on our second hand corduroy "windjammer" jackets and knitted balaclava's before we set off for the mile and a half walk to school and a snowball fight or two, the last words from Mom would be "Have you put your vest on?" Sometimes, the snow would come up to our bare knees and beyond, our socks would be soaked before we had got two hundred yards. The leather of our "Tuff" shoes (a boring but quality brand) beginning to absorb the wet as we kicked about in the snow and slush. All day long we sat with wet feet, the schools never closed due to the weather, later with the shoe leather slowly beginning to turn white as it dried on our feet, it would be time to walk home again and tuck into a plate of sandwiches for tea, or if Dad had finished work a plate of belly pork or perhaps even neck of lamb.

Maybe this morning isn't so bad after all.

Misty morning

We are back in the midlands and have been for about a week, there is not much happening so we are just kicking back as we prepare for Christmas. Most of my time has been spent making more gifts, it has so far been a very useful exercise because I have made items that I perhaps would not otherwise have tried. Last Sunday we turned out for the local Remembrance Parade, which sadly I found a little disappointing. The only serving military presence was two army officers, with the majority of the parade made up by children of the cadet forces, scouts and guides etc. Not a good example to the youngsters I thought.

Due to the increased frequency of frosty mornings I have fitted some carpet in the truck, it takes the edge off placing feet on the cold cushion floor when getting out of bed and scraping ice from the inside of the windscreen yesterday, spurred me into repairing the ageing external thermal screen cover which we made about three years ago.

I am not one for lying in bed, even in the winter when it is cold and dark and this morning was no exception. No more than five minutes walking and I caught this chap just as the sun was rising at the start of a lovely day. I walked for about a mile or so before turning back towards the truck, this is the view that I returned to.

Resting up

On Tuesday we went Christmas shopping, we had a fairly successful day and came away a few pounds lighter, both physically and financially. As the day went on Pat seemed to be getting less and less well, coughing, sneezing and croaking like Kermit. Despite dosing up with decongestants and paracetamol the following morning she was far worse. We went into town at 09:00 am to try and get to see a doctor, but the health carers at two surgeries didn't care and so we had to attend the hospital. I ask you, hospital for a dose of antibiotics. Happily, half a dozen capsules later and she is already sounding a lot better. While Pat was resting up, I decided to take advantage of our inactivity and make some Christmas presents. No clues and certainly no pictures. The weather has been very pleasant and for most of today we have sat with the door open. As the daylight began to fade, the sun cast a brief golden light across the field which I thought worthy of a photograph or two.

A time to worry?

Well, things have been somewhat slow. We have carried out a few grandparent duties as planned but with our daughters' independent streak, the requirement has been less than anticipated and so we have now left Staffordshire and our daughter with foot still in plaster, for warmer climes, ie. Somerset. Over the last few weeks there has been a short series on TV about the "Eddie Stobart" trucking company, with both of us having a passing interest in trucks, we have watched several episodes. We were told, in one of the programmes, that on average a "Stobart" truck will be seen every four minutes. Well, something is clearly amiss. Last week, we made a brief shopping trip to Belgium and back by coach, none stop, in 16 hours. During that long, mind numbing, butt crunching, night and day of relentless motorway travel we only saw about 25 Stobart trucks, but who's counting. Today we began our journey at 09:30 am. We travelled non stop, by motorway for 140 miles until 12:05 pm. Now I don't want to be alarmist, but we only saw ten Stobart trucks. What's going on? Have I really become that sad? No....I just need to get out more, Now then, where did I put my anorak?