|Five things make a weekend
||[Oct. 2nd, 2017|02:55 pm]
- The thing - whether a good thing or a bad thing, definitely a thing - about doing a big supermarket shop on Friday and then being out for much of Saturday is that the fridge remains more full of food than you would expect. Also the vegetable rack. I have been eyeing 'best before' dates nervously, but mostly they are fine, and there is bonus foodstuffs, and all is well.
- I had meant to take my camera when we went out on Saturday to meet S. for lunch, and replace the photographs of the strange floral displays that I lost when my camera card died. But I forgot. As it happens, the bishop's mitre which had adorned the Market Place had been removed, and although we hadn't ventured up to Palace Green to check on the trio of St Cuthbert's crosses there, I'm guessing they'd gone tooETA:Apparently not. Ah, well. Anyway, the point of the excursion was not photography, but lunch with S., and that was good, though I think we owe her a better meal next time: that's twice we've suggested eating somewhere that we wanted to try, but weren't, when we had tried it, very impressed.
- I got out of bed on Friday with a stiff and slightly painful arm, and assumed I had been lying awkwardly in my sleep. It didn't give me any trouble while I was swimming - apart from one twinge when I twisted my arm back - but nor did it clear up during the day. By the evening, I had to be helped on with my coat. It was the sort of pain I get when I've spent too long at the keyboard, but higher up the arm, and it seemed likely that what I was dealing with was a trapped nerve. Yesterday morning it was worse, and not just first thing in the morning, when any ailment involving stiffness is at its worst. I contemplated taking it to the doctor when they reopen for the week. But today, of course, it is very much better. So this is just for the record, to remind myself what it was, and when.
- Saturday evening was intersectional, in that F had gathered the pubquiz team together for a rerun of a session he had previously conducted with the wine club he and C belong to. Although this is the first time we have done anything purely social with this particular group of people, the quiz itself is sufficiently sociable that it didn't feel very different (and although it had been on the cards that the occasional wife, child or previous attender might turn up, this didn't happen). We did focus to quite a surprising extent on the wines, though, all of which were Austrian, all of which came from the same supplier, and none of which was less than enjoyable. And that includes three reds, though it's no surprise that the stars of the evening were white. One was the first we tasted, a Gelber Muskateller from Heidi Schröck, luscious and floral: the seller's notes say "2011 Vintage: The 2009 had that intense 'wow, what was that?' quality when you first encounter it and the 2011 is similarly fascinating. It is a medieval herb and rose garden in a glass. What sitting on a warm day in the rose garden of Castle Howard, or in Vienna, would be like if you could bottle it." I'll take their word for that. Even better was the Pinot Gris from Josef Lentsch, with the sweetness and edge of dried apricots, and a distinct smoky edge (ah, I see that although our notes didn't mention it, it is very discreetly oaked). The smoker in the party had to go out for a cigarette while drinking this.
- Last night, we watched a BBC documentary about Charles Causley: a curious mixture of clips and talking heads. I'd have liked to know more about his mother: they make a big fuss about how he lived all his life in his mother's house ("He devoted his life to teaching, poetry and his mum") but then don't mention her until her death. Likewise, although he didn't uproot himself, he certainly travelled ('to Israel, France and East Anglia', I think it was, at one point). But the talking heads were well leavened with poetry. I don't know why some of them were felt to need subtitles, and some weren't. And although Jim Causley was never actually visible, his settings were liberally provided (and he got to speak as well).
Monday morning comes down to earth with a bump, with the news that Tom Paley has died. Not a surprise: every time we saw him he was older, and frailer, and I did notice his absence from Whitby. But I'm sad that we won't see him again. It's the end of an era. Have a random Guardian article asking why he isn't a folk celebrity - oh, Guardian, this is what folk celebrity is!
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