The sun has got his hat on (because it's snowing again)

No wonder the English have a reputation for talking about the weather. Ten minutes ago I was planting out primroses under a blue sky and now there’s a flurry of snow. And don’t get me started on weather forecasters. I am almost inclined to rely on the gizmo that belongs to my husband and sits on the kitchen windowsill … only when I looked down after spotting the snow I saw it was predicting sun.

snow joke

Enough snow already. Although some things have been fun

Right said Fred

I am writing this post to escape from the activity downstairs. The son and the husband are moving large sofas from one room to another. The decorators are coming on Monday.
When we moved in to this house almost 28 years ago (or at least, when the husband moved in – I was still on the post-natal ward) we slowly painted and papered until we got the house the way we wanted.
Some of the rooms have had several make-overs since then. The room I am typing in (now known as my study) was once wallpapered with racing cars and motorbikes.
The room we planned to have made over this time was what we call the dining room. We used to hold dinner parties there but over the years we seem to have gravitated to the kitchen table when we have friends round.
I suppose we could refer to it as the music room, since there is a piano in there. But only the son plays it – and only at Christmas. I suppose what it is now is a spare sitting/tv/games room, mostly used by young people when they would rather not talk to us or watch whatever it is we are watching elsewhere.
Anyway, my husband decorated this room at least 25 years ago, lovingly picking out the cornices in a contrasting colour and carefully matching the very large repeat Chinese style wall paper.
This was so long ago that the wallpaper has come back into fashion, I think, but there’s no denying that it has got rather tatty and it’s time to start all over again. The husband has got a little too long in the tooth for all that kind of thing now (his relationship with ladders has always been a bit up and down) so that is why we booked the decorators.
Only now I have been persuaded that the room we spend far more time should be the one to receive their care and attention. Hence the sofa removal.
I’d like to say sofa so good, but from what I can hear it’s not going well….

Hat and Feathers

The invitation on the mantelpiece isn’t to a wedding but a 60th birthday party. The venue is the Hat and Feathers – and so is the theme. I have no idea what to wear but I doubt it will be a hat. I didn’t even wear a hat to the daughter’s wedding.
And speaking of hats and weddings ….

The last book club meeting was hosted by one of the two soon-to-be mothers of a bride. So soon, in fact, that the wedding was taking place a mere three days after we met to pull Dave Boling’s novel Guernica apart.
Those of us whose heads weren’t full of timetables, manicures, providing lunch for the bridesmaids (it’s a late afternoon affair) and so on were astounded that anyone whose head was could still a) entertain and b) think about books.
But the most astounding thing of all – to me, at any rate – was to learn that as the mother of bride was, in a very short space of time, to fly halfway round the world to become a mother of a groom, she was planning to Fedex her very expensive wedding hat to Australia.

Love Ewe

Loved the story about Louise the sheep breeder who used the wool from one of Lincoln Longwools to make her wedding dress. She also carried a Bo-Peep crook rather than a bouquet and found sheep-shaped chocolate favours for her guests. You can read the full details on the Mail or Telegraph websites.

Rain, rain go away

Back from a week in Wales. Now I remember why those first package holidays were so wonderful. Sunshine. And paella.
In Wales we had a meal in one of the ubiquitous Farmers' Arms pubs that was memorable for all the wrong reasons - the chef had decided to serve the (burnt) crab cakes with a dollop of coleslaw and some very vinegary beetroot, on top of two old large lettuce leaves. Then s/he added a slice of orange and a slice of kiwi fruit. In my head I could hear Gordon Ramsey shouting four letter words.
The new potatoes were fine but I think that was enough staycationing for a while. Did I mention we had five and a half days of rain?

The long haul wedding

If you’re a MOTB – past or present – then you’ll be no stranger to the way in which weddings have changed since the days when your generation tied the knot.
As Imogen Edward-Jones (co-author of a book* I keep meaning to read) observes in the Times today: ‘What used to be a nice glass of champagne and a slice of cake in the village hall, with all the guests getting home at 6pm has morphed into an epic event.’
Or, as psychologist Oliver James puts it: ‘It’s like going on some long-haul flight. It starts at lunch and finishes somewhere after midnight.’
A former uni classmate of mine, Bel Mooney, is also writing about weddings today – this time in the Mail.
Her daughter is getting married and – unlike her mum who toddled off to the register office virtually between lectures with the minimum of fuss and bother – Kitty wants the big white deal.
Looking back I realise we were lucky that while our only daughter wanted a special day, she wanted one that was special for reasons that had nothing to do with extravagance or showiness. And we were probably lucky, too, that she didn’t have months and months to plan and dream and read all those wedding magazines.
So why do so many young women get carried away with planning their marathon weddings?
Edward-Jomes suggests it’s because a generation of women has grown up with the I’m Worth It syndrome, in a society that celebrates the cult of celebrity where we all want our five minutes of stardom.
James says its because ‘little girls have been infected with a pink princess culture’.
Either way, I can’t help feeling it’s all got out of hand.

*Wedding Babylon