melt water pools, hail stones and at least 4 guns in the woods above the
path - all between me and the next cup of tea.
I tried to look as little like a pheasant as possible, and made it to
the cottage in one piece.
I'm not sleeping here this week; my sister is in the last week of
pregnancy and I am on standby to babysit in case she needs to make a
dash through the snow to a maternity ward in the middle of the night.
Actually, I can't bring myself to be bored with this.
Perhaps I should relocate to Lapland.
The SolarVenti:
No mould. No weasels. No birds' nests. 'nuff said.
Crocs:
as ugly as sin, but over the past 3 years they have survived fire,
flood, burial in several inches of mud, squatters, attack by starving
mice - and, after a rinse, they came up as bright and and yellow and
obnoxious as ever. They are warm, non-slip, keep my feet toes and
practically glow in the dark.
LEDs:
Bright and white and tiny and cheap, and all the power they need can be
supplied in a few cranks of a handle. Who needs electricity?
The wind-up radio:
I just wish it would charge on sunlight while I was away; the old one
did, but this one is stubborn, and likes me to pay attention to its
handle if I want to hear some Handel.
Paper Towels:
I buy recycled and use it for *everything* before it goes into the fire.
Hand sanitiser:
The blow-poker!
This is a superb invention - a long hollow steel tube with a mouthpiece
at one end and two prongs on the other. Wedge it between the logs, blow
- and rouse the dampest fire into action in seconds...
An insulated travel mug:
Keeps tea warm for at least 40 minutes.
Whisky.
It's snowing again.
The SolarVenti solar dehumidifier has transformed the place - on the
opening the front door the air that rushes to greet you from the
darkness is as cold as ever - colder perhaps - but fresh and as sweet as
the air of an 800 year old building could ever be. The rugs and
blankets hanging from hooks (beyond the reach of mice) are chilly, but
crisply dry. The matches light first time. The pages of books curl
like dry leaves, not like a day old salad.
There is still moisture here - at least enough to frost the inside of
the windows; even now, at midday, the North facing window is white with
ice flowers.
It's pumping away in the sunlight right now - or would be if I hadn't
discovered how to switch off the fan (cold dry air being a good thing
when I'm out, not so good when I'm sitting 5 feet from the outlet in
thermal underwear, trying to get warm.
Best £500 investment I've made to date. I can now strongly recommend
one to anyone with a dank spot in the house, a cellar, or north facing
wall, or condensation plagued cupboards.
Moving back in was tricky - the ground has thawed enough to leave the
pasture as soft as chocolate mousse under the crust of snow, and the
landrover, stuffed with bedding and warm clothing was bogged down in the
slope within minutes. I had to reverse back, all the way to the farm
and abandon the attempt until this morning, at 8, when there was enough
frost to keep the wheels free.
Now the fire is hissing, as is the kettle, and I have a hot water bottle
stuffed under my fleece to keep the vitals from freezing. Ugg boots
look after one end, a cap the other, and my fingers are left to fend for
themselves while I type (fingerless mittens perhaps?).
I have chocolate, bread, cheese, chutney, beans, tea, cigars (it's
Christmas) and whisky. Oh, and oranges to see off scurvy.
Plenty of work to do (the laptop keeps my fingers a little warmer) and
plans for the next big project - conversion of the old defunct range
into a wood burning stove with cooking rings!
Imma gonna have to pull a copy of Pickwick off the bookshelf when I get
in and settle by the fireside!
The Solar de-humidifier.
Does it work?
I climbed the hill though ankle deep snow (crisp, even and dotted with
sheep poo) to discover if the few days of sunlight we've enjoyed in the
past 6 weeks have had any effect during one of the wettest autumns on
record. Rivers burst their banks, bridges collapsed, Dubai disappeared
under flood water (tru-fax, I saw it happen) - but would the Stone
Caravan remain mildew-free.
The first signs were not promising - the path was a slick of ice,
curling from beneath the front door where the ditch had overflowed and
run through the porch.
I unlocked the door, stepped in and sniffed.
Fresh, dry air.
For the first time in 3 years the Stone Caravan smelt of fresh, dry air.
No mould. Mo mildew. No clammy air.
Glory be. In months to come I can store matches, salt, sugar and
bedding in my home without the risk of finding only a pile of soggy
green refuse on my return.
Is this what living in the real North is like? Because if so, I'm moving!
You'd think writers had the shiniest kettles and best sorted socks in
the UNIVERSE.
(So why can I never find a matching pair when I need one?)
In other news
- I left bread dough rising in the Saucepan Drawer in the kitchen
overnight. Yummy yeasty smells all over the kitchen.
Will bake it tonight - and take pictures if at all possible.
- Leave for the Cottage at 6.15am tomorrow. Will probably need snow
shoes, Thermos and emergency rescue flares.
At least I'll have bread to keep me alive in the snow drift my train
will be lodged in for the next 36 hours....
I'm functioning - but slowly, and I know I'm going to hit "the wall" before the evening is over.
Let's just say - 48 hours after landing, I am still running on empty (or
rather, coffee)
Things keep appearing and disappearing. Today I managed to find my
missing power cable and lose all my business cards.
Oh, and walk into a plate glass door while holding a cup of coffee.
The only person who saw this humiliation was a charming Emirati producer
who swapped stories of similar mishaps with me.
So, it's possible I am hallucinating the whole festival.
Fragmentary impressions.
It's raining - the first rain here in 20 months. Go figure.
I saw "Un Prophete" by Jacques Audiard. It is a masterpiece. Even
after 36 hours without sleep every minute gripped me. Magical, gruesome
without being glum or grim.
Lovely laid back atmosphere - there are none of the scrums of papps,
herds of fans and packs of wannabes that make Cannes so frenetic and
unproductive. (No one is here pitching their trilogy of low-budget
torture porn).
Also, its hugely refreshing not to have the debate dominated by the US
market.
I like doing business in a culture that respects women for what they
have from the neck up rather than down, and is not obsessed with 18 year
olds. It's also wonderful to socialise without alcohol. This leads to
wonderful conversations with some very interesting people - and some
great opportunities to collaborate with writer/directors from the region.
I need a month's worth of sleep.
Squinting at the timetable, It's doable, but only if nothing goes off
schedule in the next 5 days, and I don't make any bread.
Oh, and I don't try to find time to eat this week.
Ok, back to the schedule now...
It *must* have been good.
I decided to take half the loaf into work to distribute at the breakfast
meeting (just showing off really) and flung it into a bag this morning.
Halfway across the park I look down - and there is a small crowd of grey
squirrels (I.e - 3) around my ankles, looking expectantly at the bag.
I half expected one to start tugging on my sock in supplication.
Today I went home at 6.15 because I had bread dough rising in the
kitchen, and realised that if I didn't get it punched down and shaped by
7 I would be pulling out of the oven at midnight.
I was shocked to get a seat.
The train wasn't empty by any means, but 2 years ago, at 6.15, I would
have been travelling on my hind legs, with my nose pressed against
someone else's back or armpit.
Anyway. The bread is punched down and rising again, and I am in my
local boozer, drinking a very nice red wine and hacking about at Act 3
AGAIN.
Who knows, one day I may be able to leave salt, sugar and matches on the
mantelpiece for use when I return, and not have to polish mildew from
shoes and chair legs.
This is bliss.
Thank you.
Because I can still hear you suck your teeth at this distance, and if I
want to smack you over the head within 5 minutes, it is clear that any
marriage would have ended in spousi-cide over the breakfast table a
decade or so ago.
Also, woman sitting opposite. If I can tell from the tinny thud from
your ear buds not only that you are listening to Maggie May by Rod
Stewart, but *also* recognise the exact recording....
a.) you are playing this much too loud.
b.) you will be deaf before you reach 25.
c.) if an irate commuter doesn't kill you first
This is what it was supposed to do, as long as the sun was shining on it.
What was more exciting - when I came back into the house after stacking
the woodpile, for the first time in my recollection, the stone caravan
smelt of...
... fresh air. (and a bit a smoke)
It's too early to break out the (elderflower) champagne, but not too
early to experiment with closing the window.
Down comes all the green plastic mesh (to start a new life as a mat for
muddy sections of the garden path).
Up go the sashes.
Bye bye owl pellets - you won't be missed, I have a fine collection now,
thank you.
Bye bye dessicated corpse of the swallow that couldn't.
Now I have to leave you for several weeks; little solar fan, please do
your thing, and keep my house dry-ish!
