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Location: Cornwall, United Kingdom

Monday, May 29, 2006

Spring-heeled Jack

Sorry I haven’t posted for a while: it’s not my fault, it’s my scribe, S. He claims he’s been busy, with an Ofsted inspection at work, exams to prepare his students for, etc. Pretty feeble I know, but he can be very recalcitrant.

So he’s on holiday this week (apart from tomorrow), and has finally relented.

Since my last message I’ve not done much, but we did find a new walk yesterday. It’s near a hamlet called Kea, named after one of those Irish monk saints who drifted over the sea to Kernow on a granite boulder. It must have been like a flotilla back then, a sort of Celtic boat-people, only the reverse of today’s refugees fleeing autocratic regimes: this lot were after new ascetic ground and fresh flocks to convert. You’d have thought they’d have floated across on something more seaworthy.

The walk is in a millennium wood, about one square mile of open land planted with thousands of young trees. There was a dead blackbird near the entrance, which I took to be a good omen, and had a good roll on it.

Went back there today. G and S had to lift me over a stile at the end of the path, which I found most undignified. Then they had an argument about the best way to the churchyard. Turned out they were both wrong, which I found edifying.

They’re off to Suffolk for S’s niece’s wedding at the end of the week, so that means back into kennels for me. As usual they got it all wrong, and assumed it’s on Saturday, when in fact it’s on Friday, so they’ll have to stay fairly sober with R and R in London on the Thursday night and catch an earlier train from Liverpool St. They shouldn’t really be allowed out unaccompanied.

S painted the garden furniture with woodstain today, first time he’s done anything remotely helpful since they moved here, and about as interesting as a game of croquet with John Prescott. Can’t believe he sold out his working class origins by letting himself be photographed without a vest on.

G and S did some gardening yesterday, which means throwing over into next door’s garden all the weeds they’ve pulled up. G planted a whole lot of bedding plants in pots on the patio; she doesn’t know what they’re called, but I call them slug salad.

World Cup starts next week, and S is getting excited; G meanwhile is resigned to several weeks of tedium. S thinks she should show more enthusiasm for his interests, but she thinks he should get a life.

I’m with G.

Jack is cutting a tooth, apparently. Has taken to shuffling across the floor on his back. Like that’s difficult. Nobody shows much interest when I shuffle across the carpet on my bottom to eradicate an itch, so I don’t see why I should bust a gasket over this.

Must go now: S wants to see Springwatch. Don’t know why he can’t just look out of the window.