Nervous in November

 November saw Richard getting nervous about my blood pressure… so I was nervous, with the result that our blood pressure monitor began to show some very high and alarming readings. It was a very old monitor – at least 15 years – and not an approved type. In the end, I borrowed one from dear Sarah (who insisted on measuring my BP anyway, in efficient nurse fashion) and found that, in fact, I had nothing to be concerned about and all was fine. Bought a more modern and up to date device, and that was that. Phew.

But the real concern of the month was Storm Ciaran, due to make landfall the night of November 1^st. For a week,  both the news and the weather reports showed experts carefully tracking the storm, trying to predict where it might make landfall.  The radar pictures were quite astounding.

We prepared, along with the rest of the Channel Islands. Unusually, Guernsey and Jersey were named frequently in the weather reports and we knew that we would bear the brunt of the weather. Several rounds of the garden, stowing away all loose objects, moving tables and pot plants into shelter – or even inside the house – and even moving the motorhome to a more sheltered position, tucked in the L of the house to protect it from the wind. We had really no idea of how bad it would be.

And bad it was. I slept through most of the wind overnight, using ear plugs, but was awakened around 4.30 am by the wind buffeting the house, roaring around it in a way we had rarely experienced before. Rain lashed the trees, the storm stripping them of their leaves and tearing at branches. Opposite, our neighbour had a dying conifer down, inconveniently straddling the hedge across half of the road, with the result that all traffic had to slow down and stop in order to avoid it. The neighbour’s hedge was/is in dire need of cutting in any case…

At 8 am our neighbour next door, Catherine, spoke on the radio of how she and her husband had been awake for much of the night, listening to tiles falling off the roof. (Her children were unconcerned: two cool teenage boys and their younger sister, who slept through most of it!) We found shards of slate in our garden and pieces of tile on the roof, even though the tiles had come off the roof on the opposite side: it was almost as if a mini tornado had hit, as the direction that the tiles had been carried made no sense. A week later, I even found a whole, large slate lying in the middle of a bush at the back of the garden, well away from the neighbours’ property.

The storm raged all day as we all sheltered indoors. Schools had been closed and the public urged not to travel, as the emergency services and the tree surgeons worked to clear the 70 or so trees which had fallen all over the island. We watched with sadness as television reports showed how a whole estate on Jersey had been destroyed and families made homeless. We felt we had got off very lightly in comparison…

It took a little time the next morning to sweep up the patio, littered with leaves and berries, and tidy up the front drive. We helped our neighbour remove much of the tree – although there is still a hefty chunk peeping out of the hedge.

We began, also, to prepare for our trip to Tanzania at Christmas. I spent some time, as an avid recycler, in sourcing a second-hand (but barely used) suitcase to replace an old one which had ripped the last time we travelled. As a bonus, I found a pair of very comfortable winter boots in my favourite make for comfort, and two kitchen bar stools to replace ours. Cheap 7 years ago, they had begun to wobble somewhat dangerously and we knew that it wouldn’t be long before they broke. Plus a few visits to the toy department of our charity shop for items for Finn….

And Richard spent his days up in the loft, installing modern insulation – at the expense of his back, which became very sore… (and is why we had to travel Premium Economy to New Zealand…)

The month moved on, the weeks full - as was the bonfire pit. The rear of the garden is prone to flooding and we soon found that the pump would be put to good use as Guernsey endured three times the average amount of daily rainfall within a few hours...

It carried on!

Ferocious February

Flu, floods and friends...

There has been a harshness, an unkindness about February which I don’t usually experience... after all, every month has its days of joy. The weather, though expected cold, is not usually such an issue...

This month, though, the fierceness assailed me from other quarters.

Well into the term, I succumbed to ‘flu’. Not real flu, of course – nor the coronavirus which is menacing the world with the threat of a pandemic – but a fluey type cold. Enough to sap me of energy and leave me feeling so unwell that I stayed off school first one day one week, then two days the second week. A lesson not to return to work too quickly...and the feelings of malaise lingered on for the first half of the month.

The weekends were punctuated with storms: gales, wind, rain...one Saturday afternoon was spent adjusting the motorhome cover as the wind threatened to tear it off. We added straps, winding around and down, eventually securing them to my little Micra: then stood, watching the motorhome withstand the strong southerly wind. It was a relief when the wind swung round to the west: the house protected it and the cover settled back down with a sigh of relief. It had looked uncannily like a charging bull elephant.

How  to survive Gale Force 10...

That wasStorm Ciara, bringing rain and the threat – and, in some places, actuality – of flooding.

Barely had Ciara left when the next weekend heralded the arrival of Storm Dennis.  Huge winds on the preceding Thursday, a brief lull on the Friday and then returning in full force for the weekend. Ferries and flights were cancelled...except ours, fortuitously booked for the Friday. We were able to travel across to the UK with the motorhome on a relatively calm sea. Our journey up to Doncaster to see Phil and Judy looked to be ‘interesting’. To avoid the worst of the gales – 50mph was forecast – we left just after 6, experiencing only a little rain and empty roads. Saturday morning traffic, with a populace warned not to travel unless absolutely necessary, made it an amazingly easy journey.

Not the return, though. After collecting the vehicle from CamperUK in Lincoln, where it had been treated for a little damp due to the outer seals needing redoing, we had a long journey down, hitting the inevitable traffic jams  around Oxford, after Southampton and into Poole. Dark by the time we arrived at the ferry terminal for our overnight stop.  Little respite.

Lincoln. Always a pleasure. This is the Jew's House, built around 1150... Amazing.

 Because the weather had not abated. The winds had dropped to moderately strong, but still brought unprecedented amounts of rain. One area had had a month’s rainfall in 24 hours; flooding was widespread as rivers burst their banks and the sodden earth could absorb no more moisture, leaving wide expanses of fields and agricultural land under water. So many ponds and little lakes...The ferry crossing the following day was....interesting. Force 7/8 winds and a big swell gave a more uncomfortable ride than usual, though glimpses of tiny puffins and majestic gannets were rewarding.

Flooding near Oxford

Brownies Island as we sailed out of Poole Harbour

Leaving Dorset for home... looking stunning.

Yet all of this, while devastating for many, barely touched us. Truly devastating news was that our dear friend Stan had died in a tragic accident on February 15^th, while on a visit to his daughter and family in Thailand^,. It was, and is, unbelievable: an event of such ferocity in its unexpectedness that it has left me breathless. It is so completely shocking. Outrage, anger, disgust – all seem mild expressions here: this good man has been ripped from his loving family and friends well before his time. He had only recently celebrated his 64^th birthday...

I write much of Stan, separately, trying to process the news. I think constantly of his family. Numb, sick, grieving.  I feel such pain for them. After the initial shocking news, social media goes quiet. There is such a void. Words useless.

So, February, in many ways you were not my friend. Yet still I can be grateful: for family and good friends; for laughter, celebration, opportunity; for safe travel, a safe and comfortable place to live. Some of the moments where I have stopped to look around me...

Our little group... Stan with trademark grin front left, Tami front right.

Coming home to a wonderful gift of eggs from dear Nicky's hens.

Using the rocket stoves at school to make pancakes #Shrove Tuesday

I march, more resolute than ever to use my time wisely, into March.

January: jeepers!

Not reached the end of January yet, but, well, jeepers!  Today is YET AGAIN WET, MUDDY, FOGGY and MISERABLE.

Dog walking has, at best, been a dodge between showers or a walk in the rain. Access to the cliff path has become impossible without gumboots, so we have been exploring the lanes behind the house.

We’ve managed not to get lost, despite our neighbour referring to the area as The Bermuda Triangle. He has a point, but we are definitely getting a feel for the Wrong Direction now and usually manage some pleasant circular rambles without wandering too far off track. Time, too, to stroll along the seaweed-strewn beaches, left ravaged by the storms. Vast swatches of sand have been washed out by fierce tides, exposing stripes of prehistoric peat or forgotten rocky slipways.

We have had this weather for at least a month now if not longer, interspersed by just a few drier days.

I can’t even say DRY, because they weren’t, really. Some cloud, a little sunshine at times, the days growing imperceptibly longer until now, more than a month after Christmas, Spring does indeed feel less far off than before. Daffodils have been blooming defiantly for some weeks, robins are making their presence known in the garden and, on the way home yesterday, a crowd of sparrows in a stand of bamboo sounded like a flock of weaver birds on their nests.

So, some hope of better weather, then. Today is foggy, but the log burner is lit and glowing, reminding me of Christmas.

We began the month with fierce thankfulness. Cat and Andy had left us the day before but we were SO glad to have had the gift of ten days with them over Christmas.

So we kept telling ourselves that.

Practising gratitude, holding the sorrow of parting in loose fingers.

Keeping busy – I was back at school (only two new initiatives so far this half term, another new one planned for March), Richard preoccupied with various home projects. (More of those later...)

Meeting friends. We hosted on half a dozen occasions; went out to dinner a few nights, catching up; got together for chats over tea. Precious relationships.

Mike and Clare came round to help us cook a special Indian meal, using spices from The Spicery, a mail order subscription spice kit which Cat gave Richard for his birthday... This one was BBQ India.

Dum Aloo

Homemade mango chutney

My signature naan breads.

Laughter and light and warmth in the darkness.

And some lovely moments. Possibly the best, for me, was a story from a friend who teaches some of the boys I had in my class a couple of years ago. The boy suddenly said, in the middle of a Maths lesson, “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for Mrs Pollard!” (A good thing – he is glad to have passed his entrance exam and so was able to go on to the secondary part of our school.) Teaching is so strange... we pour ourselves out to the children we teach, year after year, enabling and equipping them to continue to grow and develop. Yet we rarely encounter them again and very, very rarely do we ever know the impact we have had. So many celebrities talk about the teacher who encouraged, challenged or inspired them to greater things, but for most of us, we never know what effect we have had.

On the home front, Richard has been delighted to have, he hopes, solved the problem of mould we have in our bedroom. Morningstar is a lovely warm house, made more so by the wood burner Richard installed shortly after we moved in. As a consequence, it is almost draught-free and so condensation has tended to develop on the window and wall of our north-facing bedroom, resulting in a little black mould which, left unchecked, threatened to spread to the ceiling and back of furniture.

Solution? A continuously running, low noise, efficient, extractor fan in the bathroom and some efficacious chemical to paint on the wall which has removed the mould completely and claims to seriously inhibit its return.

We shall see, but we hope so.

The other ongoing project has been the repair of the garage side door, which blew off in one of the many storms which have blown over our island in the last few weeks. The latch had been rather ‘iffy’ since we had to replace the lock in the summer (the lock had jammed shut, just a few days before we were due to go away) and so a strong gust caught the door one night and ripped it off its hinges.

Clever Richard has repaired the wood, turned the door upside down and is waiting for ‘outside working weather’ to finish re-installing it....

Add to that: fine-tuning our house listing on Airbnb ready for summer guests...

No. November

November. Never anyone's favourite month, in spite of the excitement of Guy Fawkes and fireworks night.  And that's a mixed blessing, anyway: I know we should be thankful that a seventeenth century act of terrorism was foiled and the monarchy and Parliament were saved, but it has never sat comfortably with me that we celebrate a cruel death.

But bonfires and fireworks are long gone. Instead, we have Storm Angus, who howled through the English Channel last night, breaking branches off trees, tossing trampolines, stamping on surfboards and boats and generally keeping everyone awake.

Not us, though. In spite of hearing all kinds of tales about the fierce winds which affect this part of the island, we slept through the Force 12 gusts which tore through at 2.20am this morning. The only damage was to the spinach: already hail-battered, it is now looking rather wind-shredded. Green debris and the odd slate littered the roads this morning.

We are thankful. Thankful for a solid, warm house, when many sleep out in the cold, fleeing from terror.
Thankful for the loving friends we have, as I put together our yearly newsletter and start to send it off with Christmas cards. (Feeling somewhat under pressure, as some folk still don't know that we have moved, let alone have our new address.)
Thankful for family , even though they are all so far away that it tears my heart to shred.

There we are. No.Vember.

Some photos to bring cheer to a cheerless month:

Richard preparing to light the wood-burning stove he has installed

Lit!  It warms the room incredibly efficiently.

Final 'autumn cleaning' of TMH.  It needs a name.

Tanna coffee. From Cat and Andy in the summer. Warm climes, warm memories...

Baby butternut. The plant produced three medium sized squashes, in the end. Well done, plant!

Spinach, pre-Angus.  And the potatoes are ready now, too!

Orchids in the evening sun

 

Island life

April 'showers' have been April downpours and gales.
Force 7 today.
I didn't cycle to school.
I didn't take the dog for a long walk. - just a short, let's-get-out-and-back-quickly one.
I didn't decide to stroll along the Castle breakwater to watch the fishermen.
This is why...

(Photo taken by George)