I just looked back to see what I posted last time I wrote here and although it feels like it was in the last week or two, it was apparently April. Sorry. I write all the time in my head. Don't know why it doesn't show up here.
We did go back to Canada for just shy of four weeks and it was amazing even though I FREAKED OUT the week before we flew. "We can't come" I told my mom. "Don't be stupid" she replied. She knows me. I was caught between a rock and a hard place. Turned out I was more afraid of telling my mother we couldn't come than I was of the possibility of having to quarantine for two weeks in Neal's sister's spare bedroom. Close run thing though. As it turned out no one had to quarantine, no one got covid (or, much much worse, spread covid to all their family and friends), and we had a really lovely, well-needed visit in the homeland.
For about a month after we got back we had one of those beautiful windows of calm, contented ticking over. In my experience, when these times happen, it pays to gird your loins - you know something's coming. And sure enough, in June, our beloved landlady (may she be forever blessed) decided she was finally selling the oast. She is selling it as a tenanted property, so we may be able to still live here, but market rent, as it turns out, is a very different thing than it was when we moved in 19 years ago. Well, I thought, once I'd picked myself up off the floor, if our rent is going to double, I might as well look at other options.
So I pulled on my big girl pants and really looked into the whole housing thing, and boy oh boy they are not kidding around when they talk about the housing market crisis. I keep seeing the word "imbalanced". The word they are actually looking for (please excuse this momentary lapse into course language but there is really no alternative) is FUCKED. The housing market is totally incomparably thoroughly entirely fucked. I am really lucky - even at my age I can get a mortgage - a big one - more money than I can even imagine. We have even saved enough to cover a (very small) deposit. Phew, I thought. That's all right then. HA HA HAH HA HA HAH HAH HAH. Prices in Faversham have skyrocketed, apparently our town is very attractive to DFL's (down from London's) who fancy getting out of the city when they sell their even more outrageously priced London flat, or buying a second home for those cheeky weekend getaways. We love our town. We don't want to move away. Not as far away as we would have to move to find a house we can afford (Inverness perhaps).
It's not looking good for our plucky heroes (that's us, naturally). We'll just have to wait and see how it all pans out. Perhaps our courage and derring-do will lead us to the mythical affordable shed of our dreams - who can tell? Stay tuned!
Meanwhile there is a lot of waiting, and a lot of uncertainty. And - not to forget - (AHEM KARLY PAY ATTENTION) a lot to be grateful for. We have been so lucky in the oast for all these years - we love it and it loves us. We've had so much fun, so many delicious meals, so much laughter, so many good times with friends and family, so much music. Humphrey, our beloved greyhound, lived here. And before you ask - no, we can't buy it. It's too expensive, and it needs too much work. Expensive work. It's not for us. We are not investment buyers (!!). It's time to move on. But I really hope it finds someone who will love it as much as we do.
Wish us luck x
It's twenty to twelve. Usually at this time I am sound asleep, for hours, but I had a big band gig with Orbi tonight and I am still coming off the adrenaline. Normally I'd be burning this off in the pub with the rest of the band but we are hoping - planning - to fly back to the mother country in just 12 short days - so PROJECT COVID AVOIDANCE is in full swing. The gig went well, I think - although I'm not much of a judge of these things. But one of the songs we played has led me down an interesting little rabbit hole which I feel compelled to share. Everyone else is sleeping. It's just you and me :)
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| backstage |
Last week I decided I needed to pull my socks up. Try harder. Be more disciplined. Little steps. Etcetera etcetera.
You know where this is going, don't you?
I made a list. (of course I did. that's - like - practically doing it, right?). Not only did I write a list, I made a system where I can check things off ! How could this possibly fail? It's even got a theme (bonus points!). It's my 10 things list. It goes like this:
In a week I will aim to complete 4 trombone practices, 3 runs, 2 non-drinking days, 1 online course chapter.
Last week I scored 5. It was harder than it looked.
This week so far I've scored 2 and frankly, my friends, between you and me, unless all of my paid work requirements magically vanish tomorrow and the house finally figures out how to clean itself, I'll be lucky to match last week.
And this doesn't seem like that high a bar. Maybe I need to get up earlier.
On the other hand, I knit a pair of mittens, met a friend for a celebratory drink, cooked some mighty fine food, and generally had a lovely week.
Ah balance - why is it so difficult? How far do you push? Where do you pull? How much is enough?
I saw this which seems to sum it up:
I'm torn between two thoughts:
1/ Eat the mac and cheese! Life is short!
2/ Life will be bloody short if all you eat is mac and cheese!
Yesterday morning's run..... considerably extended by stopping every 30 seconds to take yet another foggy spiderweb picture, none of which turned out.
But this did -
I love the marsh always but especially in Autumn. When I showed this to Neal, he just looked at me over his spectacles and said "..............werewolves."
And although I laughed, I feel that thought may resurface...
I'm sitting outside, with a good book and a glass of wine, listening to the long-absent sounds of a band rehearsal coming out of the oast for the first time in so so long. It's the folk/barn dance band Neal drums with - they have gigs next week for Broadstairs Folk Week and they are trying to remember songs. There are a lot of starts and stops as they piece it back together - a lot of laughter - "who wrote this song anyways?" someone shouts. And then, almost out of the blue, they are all singing in harmony and Gemma's violin is dancing over the top and it is so beautiful and joyful and pure that it almost hurts. Time stops, just for a moment. "Argh! in D!" somebody yells, someone else swears and the spell is broken. Everyone laughs again and I smile, out here in the garden.
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| Seasalter this afternoon |
I have a funny story for you. It starts off with a not-so-funny bit - I fell off my bike day-before-yesterday. I was trying to avoid a patch of stinging nettles, and I caught my wheel on some gravel and went over, predictably right into the nettles. They duly stung. There's probably a life lesson in there somewhere about the futility of avoiding the unpleasant or something. Other than the welts from the nettles, and a bruise on my arse, I'm fine - just a bit stiff.
Today, my morning meeting ended early and I decided to hop on my bike and head up to Seasalter for a cheeky lunchtime swim. You can only swim there when the tide is high and today was a perfect alignment of sunshine and tide tables. My next meeting wasn't until 130 so I had two hours if I put a wiggle on. I threw my towel in my basket, made a quick lunch to take with me, and off I went. I was halfway there when I realised I forgot my bike helmet. There's just one stretch of road leading to the beach where traffic can be a bit close and I usually put on my helmet for that bit. If I went back I wouldn't have enough time so I shrugged and promised to my self to be careful. As it turned out, I followed a slow moving highway engineering lorry all the way up the road so we were a convoy and there was no passing anyways.
I had my swim (bliss), ate my sandwich and watermelon slices, and reluctantly went back to my bike to come home for my meeting. Another woman was unlocking her bike and we said hi and had a quick chat - we were both cycling back to Faversham. I told her I would have stayed all day but I had a meeting to get back for. She laughed and we agreed working from home was great. We pulled onto the road and the highway truck stopped us - they were resurfacing the road and we couldn't use it. It's the only road to Faversham.
There is, however, a track, through the fields and bird reserve. Never mind, chirped the woman, we can go the path way. I'll get you back for your meeting!
Let me take a moment to describe her. I think she was around my age, maybe older, very slim and trim. Her bike looked just as svelte - I imagine it had the word "carbon" in the description somewhere - and she was wearing padded bicycle shorts. She looked, in short, like a proper sporty cyclist. I am guessing she swims sea lengths.
I was wearing a pair of cut-off jeans and a rash vest to fend off sunburn, and I ride a dutch touring bike with a milk crate cable-tied to the back. We are not built for speed. In the sea, I splash about like a labrador.
But necessity makes strange bedfellows. I gamely followed her and thus commenced one of the most terrifyingly quick, reckless rides of my life. All the way I was laughing in spite of my fear and - soon - exhaustion - at the sheer incongruity of it all. There were fences and turnstiles that needed to be clambered over, bikes and all, and at one point (oh the horror) cows. It was so bumpy I nearly flew off more than once. I had to keep up with her because I couldn't lift my bike over the fences by myself. She was like a whippet speeding off into the horizon while I held on for dear life and tried not to crash my bike on the gravelly, pot-holed, grassed over, sometimes barely visible path. Every so often she would call back - "We''ll make it!" and I thought - I am not so sure.
We did make it. Technically. I did not, however make my meeting as I was in urgent need of a cold shower and a lie-down. Now, several hours later, I am slightly concerned that my poor bruised bottom will actually just give up and fall off. The irony of having worried about not having a bike helmet on the busy road is still making me laugh. My dad was right - you never worry about the right things.
Why I did not just ask the highway guys how long it would be and go back to the beach to wait in the sun I have no idea - I guess I was so focused on getting back in time it didn't occur to me. Amanda (for that was her name) was so matter of fact and confident I didn't really stop and think at all.
Just goes to show you never know what will happen in a day! Also that sneaking off to the beach at lunchtime may have unintended consequences. And you should probably pay more attention to what the highway engineering lorries are up to...
