The Green Shoots of Recovery

Its not about the economy, stupid. Its the lawn. I thought I'd check it out today so I can fill Claire in on the progress when I see her this weekend.  The soil is drowning in seed, but all we have so far for our efforts are a few sporadic shoots.

I'm hoping that the proverb "from the acorn does the mighty oak grow" has some relevance here, and I'm sure Jeff having a few days holiday with Anne can only help the lawn's chances of recovery.

Blissed-out Feline

It turns out that being a house-cat with changes to the household (Jeff's arrival and Mrs Doubleu's recent comings and goings to the States) puts Max at increased risk of stress. And as this is one explanation for his scratching, we thought we'd give Feliway a go, hoping the facial pheromones would calm him and give the leather sofas a well deserved rest.




Well as you can see it seems to be working. 3 days in and Max seems to be slightly friendlier, more laid back and less destructive... and let's be blunt: a little blissed out at times!



This afternoon he sat at the back door watching wood pigeons and collared doves whilst less than 2 feet away, Jeff was watching him. We haven't seen that before!

The Bertenshaw-Douglas Dog Wrestling Service

Just a quick note of thanks to the Bertenshaw-Douglas Dog Walking Wrestling Service.  First a warning: if they offer to walk your canine friend, do prepare well in advance.  You wouldn't want to answer the door in your striped pyjamas without even having had a sniff of caffeine, would you?

Well let me tell you that punctuality is just the start of it, their service really is second to none.  Not every walking service offers an infant for your dog to play with, or an older dog for yours to harass, but the BDDWS does! And as far as the wrestling itself goes, they are not afraid to get down and dirty with your hound, as the muddy paw-prints on Catherine and Simon's shoulders attest.  Their fee is modest and payable with cake or biscuits.

As always, the proof is in the pudding: the pooch is pooped, too tired even to play with his new turkey.

Espresso-based beverages

I started easing myself back into working mode today with a 6 hour training day. I got a lift down with Christine as I still can't drive. But all seems to be hopeful for a return to work date of just after Easter.

Christine is just as hopeless a caffeine addict as I, so making good time on the way down we stopped for a Costa. Cappucino for her and flat white for me. To go. The caffeine jolt was just enough to get me through the day. Am I gonna need an espresso-based beverage every day when I get back to work? It's possible.

The most fun all day was the wager on whether we'd make it back over the Tyne by 16:45. At stake the complimentary free coffee card I "earned" in Starbucks last week when my coffee order was momentarily delayed. Christine hoped the cop-car mimicking properties of the pale mondeo with roof rails would be enough to give her a clear run, but I was suspicious that the Peppa Pig window shades would give her away as a civilian.

It looked like being a close run thing but stationary traffic past Chester-le-Street meant I was soon certain I would be keeping the free coffee voucher, but increasingly less confident that Jeff would "hang on" for his first day home alone in a while.

I don't know how I ever doubted him: these days he's such a good big-boy. He held on even whilst bouncing around the kitchen with excitement at my return, before bounding outside and happily emptying both barrels onto Claire's attempts to rehabilate the lawn.

Premature Egg-jaculation

Dave and Adele were our house guests this weekend. The activities were basically: eating, sleeping (Dave), followed by more eating, then some snacking and drinking. Now Cadbury would have us believe that creme egg season runs from Jan 1st until Easter. We're not adherents to this religion but such was the gluttony on show that we polished off all the chocolate eggs that Dave and Adele had kindly brought with them well before Easter!

Claire, Dave & Adele burnt some of that chocolate off on Friday during a brisk walk on Bamburgh Beach with JD. Me, I was plotting my next meal - a baguette in Alnwick followed by a visit to Barter Books. Buying WW2 propaganda mugs was the limit of my exertions.

Adele put us all to shame by getting her road bike onto my turbotrainer. She checked it wasn't seized up with inactivity and gave it a good thrashing. The turbotrainer has had a harder time before... supporting my weight, but Saturday was its first real work-out. Thank you! Dave tackled my inertia and DIY-ed the cupboard under the stairs. Thank-you!

After that, all that was left to do on Sunday was cook caramelised apples and pears to top the maple syrup smothered brioche french toast. We then stopped off at Colman's for Fish & Chips before Dave and Adele headed south.

I really need to get on that bike and I'm hoping for the all clear from the physio in 2 weeks time. The only worry now is that I'm sure I read somewhere that those minimalist pedals have a maximum rider weight.

We need a scarecrow...

Or more precisely a scare-garden-birds. Mrs Doubleu has decided we need grass where the lawn ought to be. Last years turfing experiment has been written off as a disaster, but I can't help feeling it wasn't the turf's fault.

We did water it, but so did Jeff. He also pooped on it, dug through it and my personal favourite: found the corner of the turf and enjoyed lifting the whole thing as if it was a rug. Added to this were the insults raining down from the magnolia tree (note to self: develop ecofriendly weedkiller made from essence of magnolia leaves and petals).

As reparation we've decided to try reseeding. Mrs Doubleu was very brave and went to the orange place (B&Q) on her own. The lawn is now "immaculate." That is, if the desired look is grass seed mixed with compost and soil. Unfortunately to the garden birds it all just looks like lunch.

We're hoping the 10 seed mix with aniseed will remind them that only the seed on the bidrtable is theirs for the eating. Oh, and thanks once again to the Flapjack-Pipes-Parkins for the birdtable wedding present - its what every young ornithologist dreams of..

Graveyard of Eviscerated Creatures

That'll be the backyard then...

Not only have Jeff and the magnolia tree ganged up on the lawn, but the back garden is starting to resemble something from a childhood nightmare.

The lawn has suffered the combined torment of magnolia leaves and petals on top of JD's pee, poop and an unfortunate digging habit. Add to this the combined gardening skills of Mrs Doubleu & I, and you are left with 3/4s of the lawn in a perilous state (i.e. it's mostly dirt now).

The back garden is the scene of past triumphs for Jeff. Such as the day he discovered he could barge through the hedge into the neighbours garden, and stole not one, but two wooden ducks. I returned the ducks on the first occasion, but Jeff sensing an opportunity, stole them again as soon as I left to visit Mrs Doubleu in Pittsburgh last autumn. Both Harv and Meyrick who housesat over that fortnight are quite laidback chaps, and their horizontal status denied the ducks any hope of repatriation. By the time I got back the pair were still recognisably duck-shaped, but neither had a head or legs!

Today, now that its been dry and I'm more confident of my ankle, I've had a bit of a clearout of Jeff's toys from the garden. It was a sombre affair. Most have been brutally savaged, often missing their eyes - sometimes their faces or even whole heads, with innards chewed out through the wound. Even his new big green frog, of which he is particularly proud, has lost its "rebbit!"

Square Eyes

Well, after 8 months with Mrs Doubleu in Pittsburgh and 8 weeks into recovery after ankle surgery, I am discovering that there is a limit to how much TV is good for a person. All I didn't need was for the physio to tell me last week was that my nothing was overdoing it a bit, and I have to work much harder at doing nothing for the next 3 weeks.

So I've seen all of The Wire, Being Human, Black Books, Green Wing, True Blood, Heroes, Flash Forward, Peep Show and of course Gavin & Stacey. I've worked through 4 series of HIMYM, 2 of the Big Bang Theory and most of Battlestar so far, with the latest series of 24 awaiting us on the hard drive. And of course let's not forget Dexter, with the 4th series finale just about causing Mrs Doubleu and I to tear our hair out the other night!!!

Unfortunately I've also seen more Homes under the Hammer and Cash in the Attic than I would care to admit to. I even mistakenly tuned to Jeremy Kyle last week - just for a moment, but still a step too far.

In an attempt to break things up I've watched women (& unfortunately men too) clad in lycra ski, skate, shoot & slide in Canada (- well done Amy). I've been keeping tabs on the Premiership despite Newcastle's abscence... and haven't England done well so far in Bangladesh. Jeff's joined in too, keeping an eye on the Spanish footie for me, or at least that's what he said he was doing when I found him in the kitchen chewing on the remote with the TV blaring. (Don't worry Maria, I've ordered you a replacement!)

Anyway I hope to be allowed to play outside again quite soon... and by that point I'm sure I won't want to see another TV for quite some time. In the meantime, further suggestions welcome...

Mary, Mary, quite contrary...

As many of you will know, I'm currently off work, as well as off my feet. Yesterday I had a little trip down Memory Lane to the life of an on-call GP of yesteryear... You know, oncall from home 24 hrs a day. Dr Finlay stuff.

Pipes Parkin was away to the Big Smoke this weekend, being organiser-in-chief for the stag weekend of the Great Lorenzo. Mrs P was home alone with Baby Mary, when she noticed a rash at bathtime. One panicked glass test later, Mrs P phoned her local "tame" GP. Me.

I dusted off my thermometer, found my stethoscope and wondered if I had any penicillin handy. Mary was very well in herself, smiling, chatty and very pleased to meet Max, whilst Jeff was gutted to have to stay in the kitchen.

It was an unusual rash so we thought Mary would be better seen by the paediatricians because, being "just a GP" I wasn't completely sure what was going on. Well Mary spent 24 hours in the shiny new RVI with the clever doctors and their blood tests, and we still are not completely sure what's gone on.

I'm fairly certain, though, that Mary is just being contrary - she's got that kind of smile.

Max averts disaster

The hot water has been decidely tepid lately. Thorough investigation revealed that despite Mrs Doubleu using the hairdryer as an emergency personal heating device, the radiators were in fact still working pretty well. It was clear though that at least one part of the combi boiler was not working.

We arranged to get a man in. An appointment was booked. He came. A part was ordered. Time passed. Then the man came again, and went - wrong part. Today he came back with the right part, fixed the boiler and had a self-congratulatory cuppa (strang, mulk, wi twa shuggas - part Geordie, part Glaswegian he was), then he foxtrotted.

I tried to make my lunch but kept being disturbed by Max. I suspected the racket was direct insubordination secondary to having been locked in his room during the plumbing procedure. It could also have been the chorizo I was having for lunch - that can make Max a bit cranky when he thinks Jeff might be ahead of him in the queue.

But no, Max wasn't hassling me. He was miaowing (which is rare) and trying to force way into the cupboard under the stairs. I chased him away a couple of times, but he was persistent, so I opened the cupboard to find water streaming from the boiler.

"And they don't think I'm smart enough to be an outside cat," thought Max as he settled down with his blankie, satisfied with his Lassie-like efforts. Meanwhile lunch was on hold as I tried to get hold of the plumber, again.

Good Session

Mr & Mrs "Pipes" Parkin had me round for tea yesterday... I took the soup: North African spiced butternut and lentil; they rustled up a chicken and bacon risotto; then, just as we had all decided there was no room for pud, DP remembered it was session night.

Hot foot down to The Brandling Villa for trad music. A sturdy old pub "under new management" - usually a phrase that fills me with dread, but on this occasion they seem to be getting it right.

Not only do they tolerate, nay, encourage the session but they have live music regularly, real beer, Hoegaarden, illy coffee, a good menu - and fresh from the extravaganza that was their sausage festival: The Big Pie Weekend is coming soon. 25 kinds of pie, 30 ales & 25 ciders... A recipe for success? I think so.

The session was its usual lively self but of course there was disappointingly no foot-tapping for me at the moment. I think I'm going to need a drum.