The George at Hathersage

On Saturday we met Bea, Simon and Phyllis at The George at Hathersage for lunch.  And what an excellent lunch it was.  We have never been there before. When we lived in Sheffield we used to go to the Scotsman's Pack - I think it was in the days of Jim and Sarah.  And that is another long long time ago.

I asked Col to take a photo of the Autumnal flower arrangement outside the pub.  It was such a lovely drive through Derbyshire in the Autumn sunshine.  Bea said the same of her drive.

I had cod with a sweet potato and herb cake, broccoli, and an exquisite butter sauce, and Himself had a very tender beef dish.  I then followed up - sheer greed - with an apple and ginger pudding with coconut ice cream that I was simply not able to finish, good though it was.

Maybe this is the moment to talk about the delicious meals Nute cooked for us: stir fry chicken, sphagbol, and a berry crumble to name a few.  All I was capable of was making the lunchtime soup.

I wonder if we will get to The George again. I hope so. It is an excellent meeting point for us and the Marple diaspora.  On the other hand, I found myself wondering if this would be my last trip to my beautiful hometown.  Since my parents moved there when I was four I have either lived in Sheffield, or visited at least once a year.  But will I be able to continue. Was this my last visit?

Old age is a series of "lasts" not all realised they are "the last time" until they have gone.

Of course I hope to "inherit the earth", as Jesus promised, and live forever on this splendid planet, but that remains in Jehovah's hands.  And the way things are going, if I am there I will have to come the long way round, by the resurrection.

Compelled by Squirrels

I would say propelled by squirrels, but I am not really capable of any kind of propulsion these days.  Anyway, during the last two weeks while we have been at the bungalow and I have been sitting in the dining room typing away on my computer - being as housebound there as I am here - several times a squirrel has come up to the window, stood up, scrabbling at it and staring at me. This has compelled me to get up, slowly and painfully, creak off to the kitchen, get a handful of nuts and go out and feed the beast.

The summer of drought has probably left them short of food.

We drove back down to the South Coast on Monday - 5 hours door to door and a much much easier journey traffic wise than the journey up two weeks ago.  And it was another lovely Autumn day.  

However a seagull has set up home on our balcony while we were away!!   She is sitting one of our flower boxes on what may be eggs  - though I so much hope not - and, brave creature, will not move.  I think all we can do is use the balcony to the max and hope they will get the idea that this is not a suitable place to raise their children. And, surely, if there are eggs, they won't hatch?  Isn't this the wrong time of year?

I daren't look it up in case I find they have three broods a year.

The photo above is of a Sheffield Squirrel on one of Nute's bird feeders.

A Mini Aramco Reunion

These are the pots that Anne Marie Sheal made for in our expat years. We still use most of them, and they all decorate our flat in their various ways.

We almost managed a bit of an Aramco reunion, as Julia came over for lunch on Wednesday just missing Peter, Marie's husband, who didn't arrive till early evening.  It was good to talk over old times and old memories and also to note how much we are all enjoying our retirement - despite the ill-health and the losses that come with age.

Both are keeping themselves amazingly busy in their different ways.  And Peter is busy writing a memoir, which I am hoping he will finish before I do, as it will obviously contain a lot about Anne Marie.

We gave Julia sandwiches, crisps and ice-cream for lunch, and Nute cooked a great supper of spagbol for Peter, followed by the chocs that Julia had bought us.  Thanks Julia!

I was browsing the web today and came across this from Julie Burchill in an article about the Police and the tragedy of Henry Novak:

"Once more that quote from Huxley’s Crome Yellow comes to mind, as it does with increasing frequency:

‘The surest way to work up a crusade in favour of some good cause is to promise people they will have a chance of maltreating someone. To be able to destroy with good conscience, to be able to behave badly and call your bad behaviour “righteous indignation” – this is the height of psychological luxury, the most delicious of moral treats.’

https://www.spiked-online.com/2026/06/05/the-police-are-not-our-mates/

I guess that sums up my wariness about Woke - too much "righteous indignation", which looks a lot more like self-righteous indignation, goes along with it.  Be woke by all means, but don't use it as a tool with which to mob and target others.

But what I would really advise, what is truly life-saving, is to be awake in the spiritual sense, to listen to the Kingdom message that our loving Creator, Jehovah, is having preached worldwide.  And that is a message that heals our relationship with others, rather than causing us to judge and denounce them.

Life With Cats.

 

This is the latest instalment of Nute's life with her cats, written as a Shakespearean tragedy, on Facebook.

The cats are Janet's two (the "imaginary cats" - very shy cats taken in when Janet, their person and our friend, died) and who are super fussy about their food, even in cat terms; Bartholomew (a recently adopted stray); and the One-eyed Bandit (who arrives regularly via catflap from who knows where).

He is glossy and portly, so he either has a good home, or has a lot of regular cat restaurants to visit.  Probably both.

The photo is one Col took some years ago of one of the imaginaries, Abra, visible and asleep.

CATTUS ANDRONICUS: A Tragedy in One Act

Dramatis Personae

DANUTA – an elegant and wise woman of a certain age

ABRA – an Imaginary Cat of the grumpy persuasion

TABS – likewise, but mildly benign. The rumour that she has brain cells between her ears has been greatly exaggerated.

BARTHOLOMEW – a stray who was recently caught by a cat charity and de-nutted. BARTHOLOMEW is understandably a bit peeved about this.

THE ONE-EYED BANDIT – a one-eyed bandit.

Act 1, Scene 1

A kitchen. Enter DANUTA, bleary-eyed, yawning, would no doubt be scratching her bum if she wasn’t too elegant to do that. Heads towards kettle. Enter ABRA

ABRA: Yow! Yow! Yow! Yow!

DANUTA: sighs and diverts from kettle. Opens tin of super-expensive cat food and offers it to ABRA.

ABRA: Ack! (spurns food with burying motions) Yow! Yow! Yow! Yow!

DANUTA rotates cat dish south-east, north-west and finally nor-nor-west. ABRA consents to eat.

DANUTA heads back towards kettle. Enter TABS.

TABS: Chirp. Chirpchirpchirpchirp. (Walks in little circles) Chirp!

DANUTA: Sighs and diverts from kettle again. Opens a tin of different flavoured super-expensive cat food. Aligns the dish with the shadow cast by Stonehenge on the first Tuesday in May 1890.

TABS: Ack! (spurns food and makes burying motions) Chirp! Chirp! Chirp!

DANUTA realigns bowl, Stonehenge, shadow, June, first Thursday, 1969. TABS consents reluctantly to eat.

Enter ONE-EYED BANDIT, probably wearing cat flap round his middle.

ONE-EYED BANDIT: MAOWRR. Heads towards cat dishes as Imaginary Cats flee tripping up DANUTA who now has her cup of tea.

DANUTA: Delete!.

(DANUTA drops cup. Tea, bits of cup and what remains of DANUTA’s equilibrium head for four corners of the universe.) EXEUNT CATS.

DANUTA: DELETE DELETED DELETING DELETE! (Sits at table and bangs forehead on surface.)

Enter BARTHOLOMEW who makes his way to the dishes and cleans them out. Exits.

Enter TABS. Inspects empty dishes.

TABS: Chirp?

If Jehovah has kept Janet safe in his memory, then she will live again when the time comes to wake the dead from their dreamless sleep and I hope she will be so happy to know how well her last two cats settled down in their new home and their new rambling garden. We know she was very worried about how things would turn out for them.

Botanical Road

 

I walked up Botanical Road

Gold leaves against the blue

I said, out loud to my surprise

"Thank you God, Thank You".

I wrote that poem many years ago - 40 years ago in fact.  It marks a moment in Sheffield, on a late September afternoon, when the creation finally told me of its Creator, as clearly as if it had spoken. And I began to search for Him, in order to say thanks - thanks for making us such a heartbreakingly lovely planet.

It took me nearly two years, but I did not give up, and Jehovah, very very kindly, let me find Him.  And it transformed my life.  How I would have got through the distresses of old age without the support of the truth I do not know.

And when I began my Bible Study with the Jehovah's Witnesses, I came across these words, for the first time:

"The heavens are declaring the glory of God; the skies above proclaim the work of his hands." - Psalm 19:1

Yes.  I knew those words to be the truth as that is what the sky had told me.  And it had been such a powerful moment that I had said "Thank you God", out loud, and then hastily looked round to see if there was anyone on the road looking askance at a middle-aged lady who was apparently talking to herself.

There was no-one.  And now, speaking from the depth of old age, I wish I had known how young I was then.

In the wake of my unusually prolonged arthritis flare-up of the previous week I have been left exhausted, feeling as if I have had a bad bout of flu and with a terrible cold sore (I think its that) - something I have not had since I was a child.

Well, they do call it a second childhood...  and poor Captain B has gone up to the 24 hour Pharmacy to see if he can get me anything for it.  It is quite painful and did keep me awake a bit - though there are plenty of other aches and pains to do the job too.

The outcome of that visit is that we spent the rest of the day at the Drop In Health Centre, waiting and waiting and waiting, and I am now on a course of antibiotics.  Oh for perfect health, under the loving and perfect rule of the Kingdom of God.

ASLAN

Apparently Hollywood - well I assume it could only be Hollywood - is making a new version of The Chronicles of Narnia, and is casting Meryl Streep as Aslan the Lion - the godfigure in C.S.Lewis' theology.  Well, she is going to voice him.

Aslan the Lioness?    The photo above is one Col took on one of his trips to South Africa. The lion looks rather splendid,and I confidently feel that, if it did speak, it would sound nothing at all like Meryl Streep.

Should Christians be upset about this?  I assume the point is to upset them, but why let it?  As a Christian all I ask of Hollywood is that I be allowed not to watch its product.  And I hope and pray to continue to be able to tell all who will listen about the Kingdom of God, the heavenly government - what it is doing already and what it will do.

But also why is the Narnia series considered to be Christian?   I loved reading them all as a child - C.S.Lewis really takes you into that World Within the Wardrobe, but the theology is strongly Trinitarian, and the Trinity is not a Christian teaching. In fact it contradicts what Jesus himself said about his relationship to his Father.

We are having such a lovely Autumn here in the UK. Heartbreakingly lovely. 

The Captain and I are both on new meds - and he is back on the daily Blood Pressure routine.  That may be why the loveliness of Autumn seems especially heartbreaking this year.

The Red Arrows (and me) - and a Flare -up, also me

On Thursday the little educational bit in Bargain Hunt was about the Red Arrows, interviewing one of the pilots.  They do these spectacular flying displays at speeds of  - if I heard this right! - 600 miles an hour, flying only feet apart in the most extraordinary configurations.  Without bumping into each other, or falling out of the sky. Amazing people, truly.

The above is a photo Col took some years ago when they were doing a display locally.

So, a thought, just in case under some new Equal Opportunities Law, I am hired to become a Red Arrow pilot, and you actually see me zimmering towards the cockpit, full of reckless over-confidence brought on by years of various media telling me that us wimmin can do anything, please stop me before I make it to the cockpit!  It won't be difficult, Just turn off the Stairlift they will have to have had installed to get me up there.

Don't let me leave the ground, or the whole elite squadron would be wiped out in an instant as I tried to remember which was the clutch and which was the brake.

As far as the Red Arrows go, I am definitely the wrong stuff.  But I very much admire those who are the right stuff.

What will there be in the way of air transport when the whole earth is paradise?  We will not need any warplanes for starters, as we will study war no more. The whole earth will be at peace, real peace.  And we won't be in a hurry to get anywhere. There will be all the time in the world.  But we might of course fly.  In my travelling days I used to think what a privilege it is to be above the clouds - or among the clouds.  To see countries and coastlines miles below,

So who knows?  The main thing is to search for our Creator, Jehovah, now, while he is to be found and to be there and find out.

Have you ever had one of those flying dreams?   Now I don't suppose we will ever be able to fly in that sense, like a load of Peter Pans, but once again, why not be there in the restored earthly paradise to find out.

By the way, what a sad story Peter Pan is.  Peter flies out of his nursery window every night, has his adventures, then returns to his nursery.  But, one day, he flies back to find the window closed and locked and his mother sitting on the bed nursing a new baby. She won't look up at his taps on the window, or let him in. 

And so he becomes one of the lost boys, and needs Wendy to mother him.

I had a sad - well it wasn't sad exactly - dream last night. We were back in Saudi again - Col had got us re-hired and I was trying to negotiate the vast supermarket/food hall system that, in my dream, had replaced our dining hall.  I was wandering round with my tray realising that, even if I worked it out, I didn't have riyals so couldn't buy anything.  Then I woke up and found Col was already up and making breakfast.

What I should have done in the dream was enjoyed the feeling of being able to wander about a supermarket with no pain - that is probably my current equivalent of the flying dream.

I have had a terrible, painful, debilitating flare up - everything hurting so much, and have been left with a new pain in my left leg.  But I guess this is what approaching 80 years old with a chronic condition is.