Weeks 48 & 49: The Ice Goth

An official looking and unexpected letter arrived for Gin (so called because ANY gin other than Gordon’s will do) last week. Now I don‘t know about you, but Official Looking And Unexpected Letters are always a source of instant worry, and this was no exception. She opened it, gripped by The Fear, with the rest of the family hovering, waiting to hear her fate.

”Bloody hell!” says Gin.

”I don’t believe it!” says Gin.

”I didn’t see that coming!” says Gin.

”WHAT IS IT?” says everyone else.

“I’ve had a bit of a windfall!” (well OK, these aren't her exact words, but you get the drift).

Hallelujah and praise the Gods! Just when we thought this year’s holiday fund had been converted into a rubberised roof, out of the blue there’s enough to rent a villa somewhere in the Med. Which is handy because we’ve already for EasyJet flights booked for Corsica, but nowhere to stay.

Immediately we fire up our preferred villa-booking website and start hunting. BT (Boy Teenager) is excited at the prospect of sea and snorkelling. GT (Girl Teenager) though doesn’t want to go to Corsica. Sardinia would have been OK (because Italian speaking), but not Corsica. We press on anyhow, with Gin asking me what time of the day the flights are? I have to check on-line with Easyjet.

I sign in and look at the booking: FLIGHT CANCELLED.

Whhhaaaattt? Cancelled?? At no point has EasyJet bothered its corporate arse to tell us this. But good news! We can apply for a voucher (to add to the other voucher which was only part spent on the Corsica flights). It will only take 28 days to come through. Here’s hoping that there isn‘t a mad rush for Sardinian flights (yes, GT won the day) and villas (at least the one we’ve set our hearts on) in the meanwhile.

Fate (yes, him again) has a funny way of making sure you don‘t get too carried away when a bit of fortune comes your way, and this week was no exception. In case we became excited with the lovely windfall news, he threw in Washing Machine Trouble to keep us grounded. And he really went for it causing not one but two machines to fail. Yes, yes, we have two. One is 17 years old and parked in the cellar. It’s been there since the day we moved in. The other is six years old and lives in the little Utility room which we added on as a part of a more recent kitchen extension. The old one hasn’t been used since the newer one arrived. The newer one, for a supposedly quality piece of German engineering, has always been A Bit Of A Disappointment. And now it had thrown an E-18 error, whatever the dickens that is. It turns out it means it can‘t drain. I drained the system (Oof, the smell told me there was something not very good going on). Filters, hoses and waste checked for blockages, and all fine. The problem was bigger (and therefore Expensive). But no problemo, Old Faithful in the cellar could be brought out of retirement. And so she was, lasting half a wash before it became apparent that its innards were perished, and the filter was blocking. Gah. At least in this Modern Age, one can jump on the t’interweb, buy a new machine and be happily washing with it a few days later. And indeed we were, with Messrs AO happily taking another slice of the holiday fund. That villa might get downgraded to a tent.

What else Mr H? Well now, locally there has been unprecedented shenanigans. The local WhatsAppm group, set up for neighbours to offer support during lockdown, and more recently awash with concerns about Absent Postmen, was filled with horror at a takeover of the Residents Association by a wrong ‘un. And this man (lets call him Morgan, because that’s his surname. Big M, little organ, so to speak) really is a wrong ‘un. Having already taken over the sister association for the North of the district, Big M (no I can’t call him that, we will go with “Little Organ“) had then installed himself as the Chair of the South association and replaced key positions with his own henchmen. Quite how is a mystery. Little Organ though has a master plan requiring the control of two Residents Associations’ newsletters, allowing him to spread the word. And Little Organ has a cause; one that is so right wing both the Conservative and UKIP parties have thrown him out. Can you imagine that? The party that thinks Jacob Rees-Mogg is an Alright Human Being threw someone else out? Well it did, because Little Organ is a nasty racist. You have to wonder at the man’s mind; does he really think he is going to draw people in by hijacking two Residents Association newsletters, particularly in a an area that is ethnically really diverse? It’s utterly bizarre. Still, gives us something to gossip about. And something else to fight, aside from the property development plan next door.

And then the end of the fortnight was upon us, as was the “Beast From The East 2”. Despite the snow and cold, Milo the pup still requires his walk (Spaniels and not being walked are recipe for things being chewed that should not be chewed). We’ve bought him a nice fleecy jacket (I believe the phrase is “Man’s got drip”) as he gets cold, and he is as happy as Larry charging about in whatever the weather throws at him. Because the ground conditions are so awful, I‘ve taken to walking him around the currently closed Surrey National Golf Course because nice buggy paths. The course was built on the site of an old Victorian asylum, and in the middle there is a small, overgrown, enclosed graveyard for poor pauper kids that had died whilst there. It’s a quiet, serene and sad space, which also happens to be the perfect place to manage an errant hound, who doesn’t like it, back on to the lead. And so Milo and I at the end of each walk, pay the place a visit, he goes on the lead and I thank the poor souls that are there for letting us use their place (I know, I don‘t believe in God etc, but, you know ...). I mentioned this to GT, who decided that she needed to see this place and it needed to be This Week despite the weather. And so it came to pass that Milo and I were accompanied by a lovely young Goth lady, dressed in fishnetty things and other items of clothing that might keep you warm in Barbados, for an hour’s walk in weather that would have made Captain Oates hesitate. With each step, the snow built up on her hair and in the gaps in her clothing, and with each step she slowly morphed into The Ice Goth. By the time we reached the little graveyard, the first signs of hypothermia were becoming apparent, and we decided a rapid retreat was needed before she joined the souls that were already interred. And the moral of this story? There isn‘t one. But obvs wear warm clothes on a cold day, kids.

And there we go ... another couple of weeks closer to being vaccinated and the possibility of a more normal existence.

Be good chums.

Love & elbow-grease,

Mr H

x

PS My newest cookbook, Falastin (Palestinian food) continues to wow all of us. The cuisine is just soooooo good. Who would have imagined? This week’s Baked Koftas with Aubergine and Tomato got a solid 9/10 from GT, and that’s only because the Spicy Pasta Bake from the same book will never be beaten (or so she says).