Steel Kitten

Soft around the edges

I've been absolutely hammered over the last week. I started work on Monday in my client's office and boy! am I out of practice working during normal business hours. I hadn't realised just how much writing I do at unsocial hours. Sometimes I'm awake at 5am and writing, at other times I'm still up at 1am. This week I've been up at 7am and back from work around 7pm and the...well...normality...is driving me mad. And I haven't even managed to get into the office at 9am yet, I've been a slacker and started at 10:15. It literally takes me a solid hour and three quarters to get sorted in the morning before I'm out to catch the bus and then the train. I literally have a checklist of everything I have to do and tick it off, even down to brushing my teeth. Christ five years ago I used to be able to get up, get showered, dressed, put my make up on, make lunch, eat breakfast and leave the house for work in 30 minutes flat. It was automatic.

What the hell has happened to me?!

It's not laziness. When I'm writing in the flow, I can focus all day and not move. In fact, the longest writing stint I did recently was 13 hours and it just didn't feel like work. Maybe working at home has made me a bit soft around the edges. I can get up and write in my dressing gown and shower and brush my teeth later. My routine happens, just at a slow pace spread out over several hours. I'd forgotten that going to work means compressing all that down into a chunk of time where you move swiftly from one thing to the next and leave the house at the same time every day.

Bizarrely, the biggest shock to the system is being back to working with people with all their jokes and coughs and weird ticks and habits. Even when everyone's quiet and not saying anything I can still hear them, their presence is really loud. It's like I can hear their auras floating around the room. I'm having to work hard to shut out everything around me before I even start work.

Also, the last time I worked in an office I was used to having 3/4 of my brain focused on the computer and the other 1/4 keeping track of all the conversations and phonecalls that were happening. It was important that everyone was so up-to-date on every detail about every project that anyone could pick up the phone and talk to the client. There was no passing something to a colleague. You picked up the phone, you dealt with what was on the end of it. When someone went on holiday, the gap was naturally filled by everyone. At my clients' everyone deals with their own clients and their own jobs, yet my brain is trying to desperately sift through information I hear to put things into order and make sense of the client relationship and projects just in case I need to deal with something. Just in case some time in the remote future that important client rings up in a terrible state and needs an answer now and I'm the only one there to help.

It's going to take a while for me to switch that mechanism off. It feels really weird to have to do it. Maybe that's my perfectionism rearing it's head again.

It wasn't pretty

The man from Green Thumbs turned up on Thursday to measure up and analyse the condition of the soil.  Let's just say it wasn't pretty.

After I assured him I didn't want a bowling green for a lawn and he'd picked himself up off the floor, he got busy with his measuring wheel and trowel. Fifteen minutes later the results and costs were in.

Weed Analysis: Daisy, Dandelion, clover, Buttercup, Plantain, Chickweed, Selfheal, Thistle and L. Celandine.
Diseases: none
Insects: None
Moss: Light
Surface and sub-surface thatch: light
Compaction: medium
Drainage: bad

It's actually not too bad a situation and the four seasonal treatments a year they recommend as standard will improve most of the above hugely. He was very honest with me and said that although spiking and scarifying the lawn would help break up the compaction and let the roots of the grass breathe, he simply couldn't recommend it yet as the gains vs the costs (~£200 for both to be done once a year) were not worth considering because of the state of the lawn. I was impressed with this. I really thought I'd be given the hard sell on expensive treatments and I wasn't.

The cost of each 10 week treatment (based on the grass growing for 40 weeks of the year) only worked out to £30 (£120 a year). I was really delighted when he said that and almost bit his hand off in my eagerness to get signed up for the first treatment in April. I'd been imagining close to £100. He's very confident the weed and feed treatments will massively improve the condition of the grass as long as we're good about mowing it regularly. He also explained how I could improve the hillocks of couch grass by chopping into them and reseeding the splits with proper grass seed, not to mention every now and then adding a few heaps of soil to the worst potholed and uneven areas.

So there you have it. There is hope for the grass, a ray of light at the end of the tunnel.

I may yet lie in the sunshine without having to weed the area first. I may soon be able to run gaily barefoot across the lawn without fear of a thistle attack.

Actually I won't be able to run barefoot come to think of it.

Green Thumb may be able to remove the thistles but I doubt they have a spray that makes old rusty metal come to the surface and pop itself obligingly out!

I'd best keep my shoes on I think.

Great things come in small packages

And there's no greater small thing than the Fiat 500!!!! Well...ok ferrets are also great and small but I have more chance of persuading Martin to get a Fiat 500 than a ferret. Martin has restored four classic Fiat 500s and loves the little nippy beasts so when we were invited to go to the launch of the new Fiat 500 last night at the Northampton dealer we zoomed over. We weren't disappointed.

The new car is fabulous and has lots of cleverly integrated features that were present on the originals, including interesting little details around each headlight which make it look like Betty Boo eyelashes.

Fiat are marketing the car based on the high degree of personalisation you can achieve, some half a million possible combinations, which makes every car manufactured unique. Naturally we sat in every model, played with everything, had our photos taken and stuffed our faces with champagne and buffet food. 

Of course we've chosen the one we want: world meet Cha Cha Cha. Or to more precise Cha Cha Cha Azure. This is the diesel version, we want the petrol sporting.

It looks white in the this picture but it's actually pastel blue. Of course the interior has to be leather, red preferably but cream is a pretty good second choice.

Did I mention there are six different types of alloy wheels?

 

And finally the look that said it all. Martin's brother called this his 'beaker grin'. He's been won over and the decision has been made.

We're going for a test drive on Friday morning (my birthday) before heading out to an organic garden centre in Coventry. We're definitely going to get one but we're going to be good and wait for a few months so we can save up and dangle a wedge of notes under an excited salesman's face. 

Green Thumbs to the rescue

Dear me, after a slow start to the posting year I don't seem to be able to keep my trap shut now.

Spent another morning in the greenhouse tidying, repotting and planting bulbs, which gave plenty of thinking time. It also gave me a splendid view of our tatty, scraggy, dying lawn. For the last few years it's become clear our lawn is very sick. We don't actually have much lawn to speak off, as the green stuff is invasive couch grass. This has produced an interesting 'hillock' affect as the couch grass clumps together in raised mounds and we have a real job trying to cut it. The sturdy petrol lawnmower suffers terribly as it bounces up and down between the hillocks. Occasionally bedsprings and bits of scrap metal emerge to frighten me witless as they loudly hit the rotating blades. And of course it's also covered in plantains, dandelions and moss.

But no more.

On Thursday morning a lovely man from our local Green Thumb is coming to inspect and suggest a remedy (my personal favourite would be to bomb it). From what I can gather checking out various forums, Green Thumb come once a quarter to feed and weed the lawn and can produce very good results, very quickly and for very little money. Around 100sqm of lawn sets you back around £13 a treatment. I'm steeling myself to expect a quote of around £100, as I know I have at least 4 times that area outside, if not more when you take into account the areas around the trees. Plus I'm expecting to pay danger money to the poor sod who has to come and do the treatment.

Have I ever shown you my back garden by the way? This is the bombsite in all it's glory taken shortly before we moved in.

The garden extends down to where the dark green conifer hedge is by the small bungalow and right out past the greenhouse on the right. In short, it's a good size and one of the reasons we bought it. Would you like a close up of the slag heap that used to be in the garden and which we spent a solid week barrowing out?

It's a bit better than this now. The dead patch where they used to burn rubbish has grown back at least. We've also ripped down one of the huge fences (complete with its diseased climber), which obscured the view of the field from our kitchen window.

Anyhoo, I'm determined to spend more time sitting in the garden admiring it this year than working in it hence the visit from Green Thumb. I'm fed up with people telling us all we need to do is keep mowing it and 'it'll come good'. WE'VE BEEN MOWING THREE YEARS AND IT STILL LOOKS LIKE A BAG OF S***E.

Time to call in the professionals. 

Green fingers for spring

A few months ago I called a halt to the gardening. I mean, I'd really had enough of it. Every time I went out there I'd work for hours and couldn't see any discernible difference. I was feeling a terrible pressure to keep up with everything in the house and garden. So I told Martin I would be taking a break from the garden and really meant it. He was disappointed, but accepted my decision and decided he would carry on in a limited way by planting some potatoes and onions this year.

I've had a complete break from the garden since around September. Literally haven't been out there to do anything. Martin's been sporadically watering the greenhouse and I've had no interest in even looking out of the window. Until yesterday that is.

I woke up early and thought "Hmmmm...I fancy cleaning out the greenhouse." Do not ask me why after all this time I wanted to. I got togged up and walked in to be greeted by plants clinging onto life. The dead were binned, the living spruced up, and I unearthed a few bulbs from last year and made up some pots for the front garden.

Now I find myself thinking about the planting season ahead. I really shouldn't because with the part-time job and the freelance work I'll have enough on my plate without trying to maintain a kitchen garden. I've always felt the soil out there is in poor condition that will take years to get fertile and in the meantime the crops are mediocre for the effort involved. That's primarily why I gave up last year I think - I was disillusioned. If the rewards were there I'd be gung ho about it.

So this year, I agree with Martin we'll do the potatoes and the onions. I'm also going to add leeks to that list as they're just as easy to raise and look after themselves. I'm also going to do swiss chard and spinach for the same reasons. I may do one or two runner beans in a pot near the back door but no more than that to avoid a glut.

But all brassicas are out this year - cabbages, broccoli and Brussels. There are just too many pests and diseases to fend off. No lettuces or salad products either like tomatos and peppers. These need a lot of regular water and the latter the protection of a greenhouse. Beetroot and carotts are out as they've been ravaged year upon year by pests. I haven't had a successful germination of parsnips since we moved here so I give up with those too.

On the fruit front, the garden produces of its own accord plums, rhubarb, greengages and blackberries. This year I'll also look after the gooseberries as they were so good last year.

The rest can go to pot and fend for itself. I've had enough of feeble strawberries and minuscule raspberries. i just don't have the soil to keep them going and they haven't taken to pots over the last few years either. So enough's enough with those.

This is actually new territory for me. Usually I feel the need to plunge headlong into a project and the old perfectionist rears its head. But this behaviour hasn't served me well in the past and this is a classic example. I can't grow a few things in a pot, I had to have a kitchen garden. I can't just tidy up, I have to sort our and declutter a whole room. 

So I'm going to try very hard to do less this year. I'll grow what I know we eat and is easy and the rest can come from a box scheme or a shop. For once I want to see bloody good results from whatever I spend time doing and get some real, tangible feelings of accomplishment. Anything else just isn't good enough anymore.

No more unrealistic expectations or over-estimations of my capabilites. And no more bouts of chronic fatigue as a result.

Georgie takes a beating

Well....Georgie's luck ran out last week. One fight too many left him at the vets and on the receiving end of a thermometer in a place they have no business being inserted into.

The day started out as per his usual routine and he skipped out of the door bright and cheerily at 7:30am Monday morning. At 10:30am I suddenly realised I hadn't seen him asking to come in and opened the front door to look for him.

A very hunched, miserable cat limped slowly in agony though the front door. His right front leg and shoulder were enormous. Hugely swollen up and an awkward shape. He couldn't put any weight on it and every now then gave a little yelp when he tried. My heart stopped. This is a cat that rarely gets ill. As it all seemed to happen so quickly that morning, my first thought was he'd been hit by a car. I gently shooed him into the front room and brought in a litter tray, water and food bowl so he didn't have to move around. I then phoned the vet, not our usual one only a mile away, but a partner practice around 30 minutes away that has all the x-ray equipment he would need and possible surgical equipment as well. I could only get him in later on that afternoon so Martin and I spent the rest of the day 'On Watch'.

Most of the afternoon was spent grovelling on the living room carpet with our heads at awkward angles looking for any cause of what was wrong.We simply couldn't touch him to find out as he was in so much agony and ready to attack us if we tried. 

Then came the appointed time to get him the cat basket, which ended up with Sophie getting involved and making the process much more painful for us and Georgie. As we lifted Georgie off the sofa, he started yowling in pain, and growling and spitting at Martin. Before we knew what was going on, Sophie came hurtling across the room from behind the curtain and launched herself towards Georgie. Presumably, she thought Georgie intended to hurt Martin and went on the attack. Martin shouted at her, and frightened, she leapt backwards off the sofa and snagged her claws on my skirt. So I'm standing there trying to get the basket lid over Georgie without trapping his paws and Martin fingers, while Sophie is ripping my legs to shreds trying to get her claws free.

Martin got clawed, I got clawed and Georgie's shoulder ended up badly jolted. Sophie retreated to the stairs to stare at us with persecuted eyes and we knew we'd have to pay for shouting at her later. She's a terribly moody huffy cat.

Now we've talked about this episode since and Martin is convinced that Sophie wasn't attacking Georgie. She was attacking him. Even though our cats don't get on, when one of them is in trouble the other two come running to present a united front. I've seen Fleagle backed into a corner by a particularly nasty local cat and watched Sophie and Georgie race in there to help. Sophie can be very aggressive and puff up to twice her size, which keeps the other cat occupied and looking in the opposite direction as Georgie charges in from the side and bowls it off its feet.

I find it hard to believe she would attack Martin, as we're talking about an animal that is obviously fixated and deeply in love with him. To be frank, some of the adoring looks she gives him are quite worrying and when he comes home from work she snuggles up as close as she can to his face, often lying her head on his shoulder and gazing into his eyes. if I interupt this moment of supreme love, perhaps by talking to Martin or giving him a cup of tea, I am given the most filthy looks.

Anyway, unfortunately for Georgie his ordeal wasn't over by a long stretch. My memory decided to play tricks on me that afternoon and I misdirected Martin to the wrong place. We ended up having to come back to the house after half an hour of setting off to try and work out where the bloody vets was. Half an hour later we were at the vets with red faces after missing the appointment. By this time Georgie had given up all pretence of being brave and had soiled the basket and himself. Although he did give a brave token growl and spit at a whining Alsatian in the waiting room. Good boy.

In with the vet, he was poked and prodded, temperature taken and the verdict: cellulitis. He'd been bitten a few days before and the whole of his leg tissue had swollen up in reaction to it. The vet thinks the other cat bit so deeply it managed to get a tooth through Georgie's flesh to produce a nasty entry and exit wound. So he had his scabs ripped off, wound drained, antibiotics injected and then to add insult to injury, he was micro-chipped as well.

He refused to make eye contact when we came back and sat on the top step of the stairs all evening, we think partly in fear of anything more being done and partly in embarrassment. Well he was covered in wee and had a thermometer shoved up his bum, so I can appreciate he felt out of sorts about the whole thing. But a few days later and some cunningly disguised antibiotic tablets in yummy cat treats, he's fighting fit, hanging off my expensive Laura Ashely curtains and forgiven us completely.   

What a great cat. Never holds a grudge.

Unlike Sophie. We have to sleep with one eye open with that one.

   

I have a part time job!

Wow...the last few weeks have absolutely flown by and no doubt you've noticed the minimal posts I've made. Happily it's not because I have nothing to share, it's because I have so much and can't quite decide where to begin so I've put it off.

However, I feel tonight is the night when I pour forth information. I have a hot tea in hand, Antiques Roadshow on the TV and, as I was naughty and ate out earlier, there's no dinner to cook so I have time. Woohoo! I've decided to split the information into several different posts rather than one mammoth post so they're easier to read and categorise.

So where to begin.

Let's start with my career resolutions shall we, specifically career. I said a couple of posts ago I was going to spend 30 days (a la Steve Pavlina style) focused on finding a part time job. For seven days after that post I applied for part time jobs. Every day. I lived and breathed job websites, interview techniques, resumes and CVs. I developed an intimate knowledge of bus and train timetables to get me around and told everyone I'd have a job by February. I even told Martin not to book any time off for a holiday in the summer yet as I would have to consult with my employer. I focused all my energy on finding something. Quite wonderfully, in the space of 7 days I managed to line up 3 interviews and get a job.

Interestingly, it didn't come from any of the interviews I lined up!

One of my clients read this blog and rang me up to offer me a part time job. I couldn't have been more happy with this turn of events, as the company has very similar views and core values about marketing and copywriting to me. While many people wouldn't rate that as hugely important in the scheme of things - perhaps preferring to rate salary and benefits as more important - I know I can't work for a company or person that doesn't share my view of clients and customers as friends that need help.

I've known people tell me I've naive and need to grow up, get the money or signature on the dotted line, to put the company first not the client. Often these same people prefer to view clients as an irritation sent to try their patience, to be manipulated into parting with cash that the company feels entitled to. I can't work for people like this. I hate to say it, but at least two of the companies I applied to for a job had already revealed themselves to have this attitude during preliminary chats on the phone and I had serious doubts about them before going to the interviews. 

Anyway, after a very hectic couple of weeks too-ing and fro-ing, agonising back and forth about which place would be right for me in the long run, I made the decision to go with my client. Interestingly, we haven't yet talked about salary and benefits and right now I'm not that worried about it. Perhaps I should be, but I have the sense that I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be right now and that I should just relax and enjoy things. I can't wait to get started with this new chapter in my life.

So there you have it - the power of focus and intention in action.

Do moles hibernate?

In which case where did Georgie get this from?

We know it was him. We've seen him digging and looking in holes in the lawn frequently. I think when he was a stray moles were another food source and he's perfected the art of lying in wait for them.

I've never seen one up close. Fascinating. Sad it's dead but fascinating. Look at it's webbed toes. Amazing.

 

Someone had a creative urge

I came down this morning to discover someone had left me a wee note. Not having a paper or pen to hand, Martin improvised to leave me a message

A couple of little bargains

I have a serious urge to do some thrifting this weekend.

I haven't really done any sustained snuffling since a few weeks before Christmas and I'm getting withdrawal symptoms. I can hear the siren call of decades of junk from people's attics being heaved into the charity shops and landfill following a New Year declutter.

I've done the odd shop here and there as I've passed on my way and found two things worthy of note (besides an amazing spangly 70s dress I wore on New Year's Eve).

The first is a gorgeous little palissy container that cost only 20p, which I absolutely love. I can't find this 'Maytime' design anywhere else on the internet, including eBay, so I'll have to get a book from the library and see exactly what it it. I suspect from the worn silver leaf rim it used to have lid so it may have been a sugar bowl but until I find information on the design I can't prove. The only thing I can say is it's pre-1989, as the Palissy factory shut down that year and destroyed it's outstanding stocks. Not much to go on at the moment.

   

The second bargain is a set of six champagne glasses with perfect gold rims for £3. I've been looking out for some of these for a few months and was delighted when my father spotted and pounced on them for me. he's under instructions to keep an eye out for another six. They don't have any great age to them and as far as I'm aware Scotts of Stowe used to do sets of tumblers in a similar style. Anyway, I love them and they'll look great on the table at Christmas next year.

So that's it, not much to show you at the moment on the thrift front. I'm just gagging for the car boot season to start up again in April so I can satisfy my rummaging instincts. In the meantime, I'm going to whizz to Towcester on Saturday morning to see if there's any interesting vintage lovelies going for a song!