JANUARY began after a delightful New Year’s Eve spent with a few friends: a somewhat scaled down event as Omicron cases surged and we were all mindful of being careful, social distancing and taking lateral flow tests every time we ventured out.
Not that we usually stay up till midnight, anyway. After all, every day is a new day and God’s mercies are new every morning. Still, the New Year does give us a chance to reflect, and, as usual, we wrote down hopes and dreams for 2022, tucking them away in a little jar until next year. We shall see…
But the beginning of January was dominated by a sense of fear and panic, as we struggled to find out whether our internet and computers had been hacked. There had been a number of threatening emails in recent weeks: spam, of course, but still containing enough pointers to make us wonder and want to find out what was happening. One or two sleepless nights, mindful that online banking is always a danger…but unavoidable nowadays.
At one point, we thought it could all possibly just have been Google’s intrusive software, but it did make us review and improve our online security. Never a bad thing. And suspicions later were confirmed… and we were just one household among thousands in Guernsey to have a problem. #safetyinnumbers? #notreally
Finn, of course, continued to grow apace and delight us all. He is a strong, healthy baby, doted on by adoring parents and grandparents. Such a wonderful answer to many prayers over the years…At five weeks old he started smiling, chuckling even at the video of his adoring father teasing the smiles out of him. We watch the videos on repeat.
The month dragged by slowly. Back to school, initially limited to working in ‘bubbles’, so my normal teaching commitments were suspended for the first couple of weeks. I did several days of supply, both at ECJS and a morning in a new-to-me school in the next parish.
January weather was cold, excluding many projects which needed to be done outside, although nearer the end of the month we ventured into the garden to trim and prune bushes and hedges.
There are A LOT of hedges in our garden. So much so that Richard has bought a long pole, battery operated trimmer after a retired gardener friend brought his round to show us. It has made all the difference. No more clambering up and down ladders, moving (or occasionally cutting through) extension cords, and much less tiring overall. It will make the task of keeping the garden tamed much easier. And Pete’s comment, after we had shown him round the garden (nearly half an acre, but he finished his career as gardener of a beautiful 23 acre garden): “You have a LOT of bushes.” Indeed.
We tried to feed the birds, succeeding quite well until a fieldmouse decided to muscle in on the grub. He sat on the bird feeder in the gloaming, merrily scoffing away at the grain and only reluctantly moving away when we actually got within a metre or so. So cheeky.
And January was, sadly, dominated by Dying Rabbits. One little one, evidently suffering from myxamatosis, developed blindness and spent much of the day sitting in the middle of the lawn, eating grass. Pickle must have sensed that all was not well, because she refused to chase it, uncharacteristically for her. After a couple of weeks, when we saw other tiny rabbits just sitting on the bank opposite, there was a carcass on the road. Every bike ride seemed to yield sightings of sick rabbits, shivering on the verge or up on a bank, or dead rabbits which had been run over. One baby rabbit in particular just seemed to crawl to the safety of the roadside…safety which lasted only a couple of days. Much as we find the rabbits highly annoying and very destructive, it is still sad to see them so ill and suffering.
And then… our ‘office’, the third bedroom where we keep files and books, had developed a mildew problem due to lack of use. We had not realised the extent of the condensation behind the big bookcase, staining the carpet with mildew and mould. The smell lingered so much, despite airing, use of the dehumidifier and cleaning, that we decided we needed to cut out the offending part before putting the bookcase onto small blocks so that there would be improved ventilation. Having books and files scattered in bags and boxes around the house messed somewhat with my head and I found it difficult to settle to my ‘jobs to do’ list. As for any writing, or more serious reading: a huge challenge. In the end, I decided to go easy on myself. It is January, after all… a time to hibernate and retreat and wait until spring…
But first: there was FEBRUARY.
Normally ferocious, February was quite mild, with even a few ‘sitting out’ days where, for an hour or so, the suntrap outside our front door offered a relaxing spot for coffee.
When I was at home, that is. I still had my regular day and a half, but found myself doing more supply both locally and at the school. Still wearing masks, still careful about how the children mixed – or didn’t mix, with separate assemblies and, sometimes, playtimes. #legacyofLivingWithCovid
I had swum a few times in January, or ventured to Vazon with the bodyboard when the waves looked reasonable, but my swim in February was almost frightening. I managed 8 minutes in the water without becoming too cold, but my blood pressure afterwards seemed to be unnaturally high. A normal consequence of constricted blood vessels due to the cold water (10 degrees), but it was enough to make me consider easing off until the water warmed up a little, or wearing a wetsuit – which is never very satisfactory in terms of a good swim.
Catching up with friends over lunch (Nicky), tea (Sarah), a Zoom call with Cath and Mary in Shrewsbury and Ireland, or going out for meals with various others was great fun, along with a monthly breakfast for a few ladies. (I had to cancel the March one… the reason for that comes later.) And, of course, home group every week: a great joy.
Not only a joy, but home group has brought us into friendship with Ellis, who has kindly agreed to come and ‘dogsit’ for a week while we are away in April. Such a bonus.
But before April…MARCH.
The first half of the month: more of the same. Spring started to peer around the corner, the primroses I planted last year having multiplied hugely and blooming non-stop. (They carried on until May! Astonishing!) The daffodils erupted from the banks and flowerbeds…I started picking the buds but very quickly couldn’t keep up and the garden was awash with yellow by the end of the month. We have five or six different varieties, as well as my favourite narcissi: Soleil D’Or, which, apart from the deliciously fragrant scent, hold a piece of my heart from having worked as a teenager on a bulb farm on Tresco in the Isles of Scilly.
Then, on 10th March, Everything Stopped. Richard tested positive for Covid. He spent two or three days lying on our window seat, soaking up the sun and dozing. Feeling unwell, but not desperately so.
Then, 3 days later, it was My Turn. I had been testing daily as part of the school requirements anyway, but was still astonished to see the little pink lines in The Wrong Place. I did a couple more LFTs to be sure. Yep, still positive.
And I felt ABSOLUTELY FINE. For 24 hours. Then, for the next 6 days, I became progressively worse. Unable to do anything except lie in bed (doing my fair share of tossing and turning) or crawl – almost literally, on one occasion, as Covid inflamed my badly arthritic knee – to the bathroom. I was quite aggrieved, really: wasn’t Covid ‘just like a bad cold’ by this time, especially for someone double-vaccinated and boostered? Or even asymptomatic, as some friends had been? This shouldn’t be happening.
I was thankful for the spare room.
Friends were kind, dropping in with flowers (Bel) or baked goodies (Martyn and Heather). We sat outside far away from each other: it was hugely encouraging and cheered us both up no end. So grateful for such thoughtfulness and love. And for weather, good enough to sit warmly in the sun.
I dragged myself into school after the mandatory 10 days self-isolation, although still quite unwell, but it was nearly the end of term and so I managed to fulfil all my teaching responsibilities in the knowledge that a rest was on the horizon.
Social engagements – breakfast, suppers – were cancelled, of course. School reports still had to be done: 135 altogether, even though I teach for less than a third of a week. And then… there was packing…
APRIL arrived.
So, 1st April saw us fly off the rock on the first (of many) legs towards Tanzania, Jonny, Adele and FINN. First time for meeting our favourite (our only) grandson.
I had prepared for weeks, receiving parcels for him from England and New Zealand and the Mighty Amazon. Scouring our favourite children’s charity shop for suitable clothes, finding some animal-themed baby-gros which would fit perfectly. Finding little toys and books, which would come into future use: who knew when we would see him again? Packing was an absolute joy.
Margaret and David, old friends from Rugby days, had arrived the day before to enjoy a holiday in Guernsey and keep Pickle company. Lovely to catch up. Dear Sarah came to drop us at the airport (so kindly waiting for us, too, on our return).
The first flight to Gatwick was easy on the Aurigny jet and, again, I met a former colleague on the plane, so great to catch up with her. Coach to Heathrow was easy and we had plenty of time. We had planned to stay in a hotel at Heathrow before catching an early morning flight to Amsterdam, but that had been cancelled and so we were to fly that evening, overnighting at Schiphol instead.
At least, that was the plan. Going through security was straightforward and soon we were in departures at Terminal 3, enjoying a coffee at Café Nero (surprisingly good: large, hot and delicious) as we alternately checked the departures board, charged our phones and people-watched. Until…
First our flight was delayed by over an hour. Okaaay. Then…CANCELLED! Our connecting flight to Amsterdam, enabling us to then catch the flight down to Kilimanjaro, was CANCELLED!
We rushed back to the security personnel who told us we had to go all the way in the opposite direction to go through the back of departures to arrivals and thus back to the KLM check-in desk.
It was MILES. Bad knee cooperated and, as we rushed back, we had an email before we even got as far as KLM. We had a departure at 9pm to ARL with SAS. Not even Terminal 3…Terminal 2. Out we went into the open air across the concourse, eventually finding the SAS check-in desk.
“We don’t fly to Amsterdam,” said the check-in agent when I explained. “I’ll just check your name anyway…. Ah, yes. You’re flying to Stockholm and then from there to Amsterdam. 6.30 tomorrow morning.”
I had wondered where ARL was until the penny dropped: Arlanda, Stockholm. We were going to Stockholm! ???
“So we’re going to be up all night?”
The agent smiled sympathetically. “Afraid so.”
Oh well. At least we were leaving Heathrow. I didn’t dare think about the consequences of another delayed or cancelled arrival in Amsterdam. When KLM had cancelled our first booked flight they had, initially, wanted to re-route us with Kenya Airways via Nairobi, arriving a day later than planned. Not ideal.
So, off to Stockholm. Minus 5 degrees, but no snow, at least. And, indeed, we spent the next 5 hours in the airport, wandering past closed shops and cafés, intermittent Scandinavian artwork and groups of miserable looking travellers attempting to rest on hard wooden benches.
A beautiful, clean airport: it would have been lovely in the daytime. As it was, I found myself ridiculously pleased to be back on Scandinavian ‘soil’ after more than 40 years away and walked through the concourse grinning happily as I glimpsed familiar sights behind closed windows.
The feeling wore off after a few hours of ‘rest’ on a hard bench in our own little corner near check-in. Thank goodness for free airport wi-fi to help pass the wakeful hours.
Anyway. The flight was on time, we got to Schiphol with enough time for a coffee and then a haphazard struggle through security and passport control – it all seemed quite chaotic. (Though we escaped lightly, after reading tales of huge queues and utter chaos a few weeks later, as baggage handlers went on strike and Covid-induced staff shortages bit hard.)
As for the KLM flight: okay cabin-crew, not very good food, (the gluten-free options were disgusting, and Richard ‘s ‘breakfast’ consisted of 2 hard-boiled eggs! Luckily he likes them) but our extra-legroom (exit row) seats were surprisingly comfortable and the long flight down to JRO was easy.
Beautiful heat greeted us at 9 in the evening as we made our way through immigration and customs. Couldn’t claim our baggage, though: it hadn’t managed to keep up with us. We suspect it was left at Heathrow as it arrived, eventually, two days later, courtesy of Ethiopian airlines.
And what did all that matter, apart from a struggle, later, with KLM to reclaim wasted hotel bookings? NOTHING AT ALL! We had arrived in Tanzania.
The rest of April: a delightful blur of meeting Finn, enjoying wonderful family times, birds, swimming, camping, Africa....
Words are not enough.
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