Being such a gentle English Rose I don't take kindly to fighting against a buffeting wind. I don't know whether I'm in a particularly wind-blown part of Torquay but the fences blew down last night. They must have been only held together by the infestation of ivy and the dire shrubbery that I had cut down yesterday but, even so, I had hoped they'd at least survive until the new fencing panels arrived - ordered two weeks ago, they've yet to be delivered.
Something else that was one of the first things ordered was a house sign for the gate because no-one can find the place. I've lost count of the times I've been phoned by panicked delivery drivers or walked down the road in search of something that vaguely looked like a delivery van. I'm afraid I may be getting something of a disreputable name amongst local drivers and will soon be known as 'that mad woman from London'. Sod's Law dictates that the house sign, being one of the first things ordered, has gone missing - perhaps the delivery driver couldn't find the house.
There's still no sign of the camera so I can't show you before and after pics of the front garden but it does look better. Behind the life-sucking ivy was a beautiful curved wall of local stone and I love it - it's so bright and quirky. The plan for this long weekend had been to clear out the stones and dead twiggerybits from the adjoining beds but it's just too windy out there for me today. I actually had to drag everything inside yesterday following the fence incident - and I mean everything that I'd stacked in the garden because of lack of space inside, including the terrace furniture, the raised beds, the water butt and 325 litres of compost. I always say the most important thing in life, when you get down to the nitty-gritty, is access to the kettle and the teabags and that I have. As long as I have that, I won't complain (too much).
I either haven't been able to find the right tools or I'm not tall enough so I can't think of one job, beyond hanging a pic here and there or putting up some nets, that I've actually completed and it was mulling over this sad state of affairs that prompted me to make an appointment with a hairdresser. Some women buy a hat when they're cheesed off but I prefer the hairdresser. She's local, here name is J, the 'salon' is hyper-busy and rather swish, and she did a good job so I'll be going back - a rare event after I lost my usual London hairdresser to Suffolk. She also knows all my secrets in one forty-minute session - I've told her that if the other staff burst into laughter when I next walk in I'll know who to blame! We had such a good laugh & never stopped talking - therapy for a sore soul.
A man who is tall enough and does have all the right tools is P, the builder, and he's coming back on Monday to begin work on the kitchen. I hadn't realised it was a Bank Holiday when we made the arrangement and was concerned that he'd forgotten too but, no, he's happy to work on that day so I'm not complaining. He's been really helpful and I don't know where I'd be without him. Unlike some *ahem*. (The person that was aimed at wouldn't read this blog in a million years but it made me feel a little better to write it :)
Tomorrow, depending on the weather, I'll be either re-painting the front door ironmongery prior to a full re-paint (British Racing Green - what else?) or I'll soldier on with the garden clearance and forget about the central heating/hot water problems until the work's done and the bill comes in. I might even figure out how to erect the flagpole or put the barbecue together.
One thing I can't emphasise enough is how I'm so happy to leave London. I never belonged there. I'm Yorkshire-born and bred, went abroad, met someone, got married, lived in London, got divorced, did well, someone died, got ill, went to Spain, came back to London, got ill, got stronger, came to Torquay. I love it down here. I've met neighbours M, L, H, J and B and, boy, did we have some long chats, such lovely people :) I've also 'met' all the other neighbours sort of - a cheery wave Hello and Good Morning from a distance.
I can't tell you how different it is down here. The local shops are wonderful - I went into almost all of them on the way back from the hairdresser's this morning (I gave the Estate Agents a miss) and bought something or other - a paper here, a pint of milk there, a price-list or two for the local 'Sanctuaries'. There's also a wonderful Patisserie making delicious baguettes and pastries. I bought something for lunch and a fruit tart. Heavenly! They also had whole slab cakes displayed, freshly baked that morning and priced at £2.80. I had to ask whether it was priced per slice or for the whole, entire, tootly-fruitly-delicious cake. You could have knocked me down with a feather - it was £2.80 for the whole cake - in London it would be £2.80 for a slice. Hello Torquay!
One possible blot on the horizon is the chap I saw taking a pic of my house two days ago (in truth it was he, combined with the other problems, who sent me to the hairdresser). Why? That's what I want to know. He didn't even have the decency or good grace to knock on my door: he hi-tailed it up the road when I opened the front door so I'm expecting a snooty letter from the Neighbourhood Stasi some time soon and I shall respond to them in a truly English way... He, whoever he is, is 100% bound to love my flagpole.
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