Travels with sisters

Hill Close Gardens, July 2026

Lola II arrived at Maternal Manor at the end of my stay so that we could travel north together, and she marvelled at the empty shelves in the garage, delighted in not having to step over a trench in the kitchen, and was also very complimentary about my cooking. Mum has been enjoying a slightly more varied diet - she loved the macaroni cheese I rustled up on a whim, and I love making food that people like.

On the way back north we visited a friend of Lola II's who has steadily been engulfed in dementia and has now had to relocate to a residential home near Milton Keynes. She was having a good day and gave us a really warm welcome when we arrived. Like Lola II she is a flute player, so Lola II brought her flute and I volunteered to play the piano, so we had a go at a couple of tunes, then they went for a walk and I sat in the garden. It seems like a lovely place, although very isolated.

Lola II and I continued on to lunch in the nearby town of Olney, and wandered around to see what there was to see. A small rug shop with more rugs that I thought possible - it could conceivably have held more than a thousand rugs - and then the Cowper and Newton Museum, which is a house where the co-author of the song Amazing Grace used to live. 

The exhibition included both Mr Cowper (pronounced 'Cooper') and Mr Newton, who wrote the song together. One was a poet and the other a curate, and the rooms held the usual mix of ephemera from the olden days - furniture and pictures and clothes and personal belongings, but also a room with information about the slave trade, another about lacemaking, and in the attic there was a dressing-up room. Well, you can't expect Lola II and me to pass up this sort of opportunity. We struggled a little because the clothes were clearly for children, but we don't give up easily.

Sister D joined us the next day for a trip to The Garden of Heroes and Villains, which I had discovered thanks to my U3A walking group. It's only open on four days a year, so we'd been planning this for a while. It's an odd place that used to belong to publisher and poet Felix Dennis, who enjoyed planting trees, and who set up the Heart of England Forest which took over the garden when he died. He bought the land that became this garden in 1989, and started filling it with bronze statues of heroes and villains (mainly heroes, hardly any villains). There are animals as well as people, both real and from literature and myth. There's also a yew maze, and woods, and an Arboretum.

Sister D enjoyed the guided walk around one of the woods, and I enjoyed sitting with Mark Twain and particularly liked the Minotaur who indicates the way into the maze. At the centre of the maze there is a statue of Felix Dennis, Richard Neville and Jim Anderson, who were the defendants in the famous 'Oz trial' in 1971 (look it up if you're interested). When we got to the middle, a young girl (about 11 years old?) offered to lead us out again. She told us she's done this about 30 times, and when she left us at the exit she headed back to the centre, presumably to do it again. Odd, but helpful.

When we reached the end of a long avenue containing about 25 statues, there was a table set up with volunteers from the Heart of England Forest, which we approached with some questions about the garden. The chap we met there looked familiar, and turned out to be someone who I played badminton with in Leamington, probably 20 years ago.

Lola II went home that evening, but Sister D stayed and next day we visited Hill Close Gardens together. I'd been there for the first time in February as the snowdrops ended, and this time the display was very different, containing a lot of fruit as well as flowers. Sister D also helped me enormously by preparing listings for eBay. There's not a huge number of things I want to sell, but having two people working on it makes a big difference.

Second week at Maternal Manor

Valentine's Park, July 2026

This is starting to feel like when I was at uni and I was blogging multiple times a week because there was so much going on. This account starts more than a week ago...

The heatwave continues albeit slightly less intensely with the occasional breeze, and I haven't yet needed to wear socks while I've been at Maternal Manor. I've been working quite hard at tidying, rearranging and organising while trying hard not to leave mum behind. So far I think she still knows where everything is. (Wait until I get started on the kitchen...)

I took myself off to Valentine's Park, which is a 30-minute bus ride away, to do a bit of sightseeing. The Park itself has been tidied up a lot since my day (which was the early 1980's), and they have also renovated the Mansion that the park was named after - a house on an ancient map was named Valentine, presumably after its owner. The current house was built in around 1696 probably on the site of that house, for Elizabeth Tillotson and her family after the death of her husband, the Archbishop of Canterbury.

The house and its garden and the park have changed hands and been redeveloped many times since then, being enlarged and then having bits knocked down as it fell into disrepair, but was finally restored by the Friends of Valentine Mansion who offer guided tours. So I joined one, and found out lots of interesting stuff, and in an ideal world I would have gone round again after the tour to read some of the labels and look more closely at some of the contents. But it was really hot and I was tired by then, so I'll save a second trip for another time.

Then the day finally arrived for filling the trench in the kitchen now that it has dried out after the leaks in the pipes were fixed. Two men arrived (neither of them JC or his previous sidekick), and one proceeded to do all the work while the other just passed things to him. At one point the worker was chiselling adhesive off the floor while the other watched, and when I asked about this they said that they only had one chisel. So I loaned them another.

They managed to save four whole tiles of the original colour, and we had three that mum had bought some time ago that were only slightly different, and I had bought twenty-two contrasting tiles - nine loose and thirteen in a box - on the understanding that we could return the box but not the loose ones. I spent some time trying to work out the best pattern for using them and in the end we only needed to use nine of the the contrasting tiles, but when I tried to return the box I found that the wretched workers had cracked one, probably by sitting on the box. So now we've got thirteen spare tiles including a broken one. 

When they tried to put the sink back, we discovered that the plumbing had been constructed while the sink unit had been pulled away from the wall (to allow the wall to dry). Moving it back into place meant the sink drain wouldn't line up with the outlet pipe, and the pipes prevented the whole unit from reaching the wall anyway. This means we'll have to go back to the original plumber and try and get him to come and do the job properly. Apart from that, the floor looks all right. Next step - fixing the rest of the water damage to the skirting and walls. And another job for JC, replacing the decaying garden fence.

One of my own jobs I'd been waiting to get to was to go through all the old letters I'd kept, and when the workers were filling the trench and tiling I sat and read all of 1990. This was the year that I was in Australia and corresponding with family and friends in Denmark, Manchester, Israel, London, Spain, China and France. I learned quite a lot about the younger me through these letters, and not all of it very comfortable - there was one whole batch that I left unread.

The letters contained some great passages though, which when read entirely without context suggest a whole untold back story. I present a few extracts here for your entertainment.

Letter to family: "Mario [a fellow kibbutz volunteer] shared a room with the psychopathic triple murderer and was suitably shaken by the newspaper clipping ... Rica [the kibbutz volunteer manager] wrote among other things that the mass murderer isn't the one who was at Ein Gev so I don't know a psychopath after all."

In digs in Sydney: "I love living here ... Even the cockroaches have lessened and now the place has dried out the mouldy smell has gone too."

In Australia's Northern Territory: "It's not like home where if you sit absolutely still for 36 hours with an infra red camera you stand a 1 in 50 chance of seeing a badger - here if you stand still for 30 minutes with a dog you stand a 9 in 10 chance of being attacked by a crocodile."

On a motorbike touring down the west coast of Australia: "Lots of birds of prey everywhere, and I get to watch them for ages when the bike breaks down."

Other things I've been doing while I'm here - obviously there's badminton. I joined the Oldsters for one evening, and they were very nice but the standard was not quite as high as I would like although that did mean I did a lot of winning (which I like). Still more research to be done on the badminton front.

Before I end of course I must provide an update on the house: my solicitor has written to say they have sent the draft contract and all the information in the forms I filled in to the buyers' solicitor. I sent Mr Celery a list of things I'd leave in the house if the buyers want them, and he passed it on to the buyers who have now contacted me directly and we've arranged to meet later in the month. 

Their solicitor cheekily told my solicitor that I'd agreed to complete by the date they were completing on their house; I'd done no such thing so I put them right about that. So it continues, and worries about 'what if' arise in my dreams and wake me early in the morning. But I reassure myself that all will be well, and if it isn't, it soon will be.

GRUHI in a heatwave

Adhisthana, May 2026

After the retreat I spent 10 days at Lola Towers, walking with and meeting and phoning friends and generally getting my head together over the situation with the house sale. Nothing else to report on that score until either the estate agent or the solicitor tells me I'm supposed to do something. 

Of course I continued with the GRUHI project at Lola Towers, paying particular attention to the loft and the garage this time, which resulted in another fruitful trip to the tip and a couple of donations to the Library of Things (a garden spade and a rake). I took a full car of Stuff to Maternal Manor, including bedding, winter clothes and a bedside cabinet that will stay there. 

We had booked a council Bulky Waste collection for Wednesday, and the large sofa, sofabed and dismantled wardrobe had to be out on the drive by Tuesday evening. Mum had made arrangements with a neighbour to help, but we were scratching our heads about how to manoeuvre the large sofa through the hall and out of the front door when our handyman JC arrived with his sidekick to look at the trench in the kitchen floor. The two of them easily managed what the neighbour and I had failed to achieve.

JC the handyman had come to finalise the plan for filling in the trench in the kitchen floor, but we took advantage of the fact that the neighbour was also there to discuss arrangement for fixing the broken garden fence. Then JC and I talked about how to complete the refurbishment of the kitchen floor once the trench was filled, and this required me to visit various tiling establishments where I discovered that 330mm square tiles are not actually very common. It won't be possible to match the colour so we went for contrast instead. 

Lola II came and joined in the work for an evening, and helpfully took away some more Stuff. I ferried mum out on trips for shopping and to the optician. We marked two years since dad's death by getting stuck into the many accumulated storage containers that remained on the garage shelves, separating the contents into metal and non-metal ahead of a trip to the tip. Mum was particularly taken aback by the amount there was; I am no longer surprised by what dad 'collected'. This clearing of the garage shelves continued over several days and we got rid of quite a lot.

My efforts to find a suitable badminton club continue. I don't intend to return to the one I went to last time, but found another club on a Monday. The organisation is again complicated, made worse by the poor directions which meant I couldn't find them within the Sports Centre. Once I finally arrived they were quite friendly and the standard nearer mine, but while asking directions I had come across a set of oldsters who have been playing together for ages and are now suffering from depleted numbers due to age. Next week I'll have a go with them.

I went to one of the Buddhist centres I'm trying out while I'm at Maternal Manor, and they had air conditioning and were lovely (this is the centre that I'm favouring at the moment). In contrast, I went to Lola II's concert, or at least I tried, and in the time it took me to get to Paddington by tube and train I could have driven to Leamington. At that point no more trains were travelling west, so I gave up and came back. I claimed points for trying, though, which were awarded with good grace, and we all know what points mean.*

In between all of this, during the third heatwave of the year, I was liaising with J+J over our 2027 ski trip. Having been to the same place in France for many years we were attempting to find somewhere else to go that we might conceivably reach by train, that has a high probability of having snow cover and plenty of intermediate slopes, and the right sort of accommodation. It looks as though a couple of resorts in Austria might fit the bill.

* Prizes.

What I've been reading

Kidnapped
by Robert Louis Stevenson

narrated by B. J. Harrison

"Orphaned and penniless, young David Balfour sets out to find his last living relative. But in doing so he will become caught up in the greatest and most frightening adventure of his life, involving kidnap, shipwreck, murder and a dramatic flight across the Scottish highlands with the fiery, sword-fighting fugitive, Alan Breck Stuart."

This reminded me of The 39 Steps (in a good way) with a rattling narrative and a satisfactory outcome. My only reservation is that it relies a good deal on knowledge of Scottish history and geography, which are not among my strengths.

The Reason I Jump
by Naoki Higashida

narrated by David Mitchell

"This remarkable book provides a rare insight into the behaviour of autistic children. Using a question and answer format, Naoki explains why he talks loudly or repeats the same questions, and why he likes to jump."

This short book is written by a 13 year-old autistic Japanese boy in the form of questions and answers. He often speaks for all people with autism, and sometimes doesn't have answers to his own questions, but it's a remarkable book given his age and the fact that he is barely able to communicate by speaking. (N.B. the narrator is the author not the comedian of the same name).

Precious Teachers: Indian Memoirs of an English Buddhist
by Sangharakshita

"It is 1950, and Tibetan Buddhism has begun its exodus into India, with Kalimpong as a gateway. Urgyen Sangharakshita shares his recollections of those Tibetan gurus and traveling academics who lived in and passed through Kalimpong, a hill station at the foot of the Himalayas."

On the reading list for my retreat but not one of the primary texts, this is a memoir covering the period that the author lived in Kalimpong, India, within sight of Mount Kachenjunga in the Eastern Himalayas. There, at the junction of India, Nepal and Tibet, he met many spiritual Buddhist teachers who influenced his thinking, writing and teaching in the years to come. I've read his three other memoirs and not sure how I missed this one. It's not a beginner's book but I've now got enough of the basics to make sense of all the characters involved, and their place in the subsequent story of Western Buddhism.

The Mandibles: A Family, 2029-2047
by Lionel Shriver

"It is 2029. The Mandibles have been counting on a sizable fortune filtering down when their 97-year-old patriarch dies, but now their inheritance is turned to ash. Each family member must contend with disappointment, but also — as the effects of the downturn start to hit — the challenge of sheer survival."

This author wrote a (different) book that was made into a film that sounded much too challenging for me to watch or read. But a friend loaned me this book so I though it was worth a try. Some parts were simply boring (a dinner party where they talked about economic policy for a whole chapter), some traumatic (the description of a society breaking down into anarchy) but by the end I was glad I read it. I really won't try any more of her books though.

Middlesex
by Jeffrey Eugenides

"The story of Calliope Stephanides and her truly unique family secret, born on the slopes of Mount Olympus and passed on through three generations. Growing up in 70s Michigan, Calliope’s special inheritance will turn her into Cal, the narrator of this intersex, inter-generational epic of immigrant life in 20th century America."

I love a good family saga, and this tells the story of three generations of a Greek immigrant family, culminating in the birth of a baby with a chromosomal disorder that results in genital characteristics of both sexes. And that's it really, but the story of her progress to manhood is told alongside that of her parents and aunt and grandparents. I enjoyed it more than most of the other books I've read from the Classics list.

Living Together
by Sanghadevi

"For many of us, living with others offers both the greatest challenge and the greatest joy. We would all like to have a harmonious life, feeling connected to those with whom we live. Here we can discover how friendliness, co-operation, simplicity, meaningful communication and mutual vision can build fulfilling relationships."

With four days left on retreat I started to worry that the worst may happen and I might finish all the books I brought, or would be left only with a dry textbook, or even start a book from the Centre library and not have time to finish it. So I took a break from my own books and found a couple of suitable ones in the library. This one was so small I finished it in less than a day. The idea of living in communally in a Buddhist context has occurred to me as an option so it was interesting to read about what this author sees as important in making such an enterprise a success. This would be worth returning to if community living becomes a more solid ambition.

Ordination
by Moksananda

"Ordination: a spiritual journey, a noble quest, a lived myth, a rite of passage. Finding something of true value that evokes our faith and commitment is rare indeed, especially in a time when positive myths are in danger of disappearing."

Another short book that attracted me in the retreat centre library - I've asked for ordination, so might this book tell me about it? Luckily, nothing that was unexpected but a deepening of my understanding of what all this might mean. What it will actually mean will have to wait until it happens.

The Covenant of Water
by Abraham Verghese

"At the turn of the twentieth century a twelve-year-old girl is sent by boat to her wedding, where she will meet her forty-year-old husband for the first time. From this poignant beginning, the young girl and future matriarch will witness unthinkable changes of the span of her extraordinary life, full of joy and triumph as well as hardship and loss."

Another family saga which also happens to include a hereditary transmissible chromosomal disorder, but one which results in fear of water and deafness. It's set in southern India rather than America so there's a very different tone to the story, but it's well written and I was always hoping that the threads running through the book would be brought together satisfactorily at the end. And they were.

It starts to become real

Maybe rhubarb? Or chard? February 2026

It's been a busy few days on the house front. 'Best and final' offers came in, and Mr Celery sent me the emails that each buyer sent with their final offer. One bidder stated their financial position and ended with "Our offer is unchanged" but the other bidder's message was just what was needed: "[the] house and garden are lovely. It’s in a great position, near to the park, river, and town facilities as well as being very private. For central Leamington it is pretty unique and we felt as soon as we saw it that it’s a house we could be happy in." As well as that message they actually increased their offer to the asking price so I've happily accepted it.

I spent a day with mum, and we did some more purging of possessions along with planning which furniture to keep and what to let go, and what colour I might choose for painting 'my' rooms. I took a couple of things up into the loft, and was reminded how much more difficult it is to get things up there compared with my roomy loft and comfortable ladder in Leamington.

The house move is now permeating every thought and action. I had a routine dental appointment, and the dentist happens to be friends with the people who sold me the house 25 years ago, so he was interested in the whole business. The hygienist used to live down the road from Maternal Manor and still has a rental flat there, and the dental assistant is looking for a house in Leamington and brought my listing up on RightMove while I was lying there with my mouth open.

At short notice I booked to go to Birmingham Symphony Hall to see David Sedaris, an American diarist, writer and raconteur who, as well as writing books, reads out his work to an audience (he's been on podcasts and even Radio 4 now). While I was on my way there I tried to instruct the conveyancing solicitor, because I'd managed to complete and send them the stupid form about where I got the money to buy Lola Towers 25 years ago. This didn't work because the two initial forms were just a taster of the horror to come.

There is an app. It requires photos of my passport and utility bills and bank statements to verify my credibility and identity (some of which I've already provided in person at their office). The app also demands every detail of my personal finances over the last 12 months, and I have no choice and it feels horribly intrusive without being softened by a hint of human interaction. 

Then it wants everything else that has been done within the house in the last 25 years, with evidence of planning permission, compliance with building regulation, guarantees, safety certificates, and specification of which carpets, curtain poles, garden furniture, fitted units, kitchen equipment and light fittings I'm taking or leaving in situ. Am I leaving the roof insulation, the boiler, the radiators, the electric sockets? Will I be taking with me the doorbell, door handles, the taps, the bath? Inputting and scanning and uploading all the information required took four solid hours.

The buyer couple is very keen to get a move on because their house sale is further advanced than mine. So they are a) not getting a survey done, b) asking if they can store stuff in the garage in advance of completion (the answer is no) and c) asking if they might move in on a rental basis ahead of completion. I've said I'll think about this last request - if I allow it, it will almost guarantee that the sale will go ahead, but if anything goes wrong then I'm left with sitting tenants. Just writing that down makes me very nervous so I think the answer is no.

So now I need to get a move on in a more focused way - first with mum, carrying on making space for everything, hopefully decorating Maternal Manor sooner rather than after everything is moved in, and here in Leamington shifting all my unnecessary belongings a bit quicker than I have been. No more "I'll have a think about that and deal with it later", now it's "Do I absolutely need it, and if not, out it goes straight away". The loft is already nearly empty except for all my camping gear, old university files (still!) and one or two boxes of stuff I'm not sure what to do with. I need to deal with the contents of the rest of the house much more ruthlessly.

Bites, a photograph, and more bites

Adhisthana, May 2026

I've been on retreat again, hence the long blog silence. It was one of the more intense types of retreat that's for people who've asked for ordination, but I found it a little easier than previously except for the temperature. The building is a bit too small for the number of retreatants (a new, larger centre is being constructed) so it's always useful to be able to go outside, and this can be a little dismal in the normal Welsh weather. So hot weather should have been very welcome, except it brought horseflies which have the most painful and itchiest bite I've ever experienced. After six of those I didn't want to go outside any more. There was insect repellent which I used liberally on the couple of long walks I did, but on one particular day I needed three cold showers and didn't want to keep putting on the repellent in between. None of us packed clothes for two weeks of stifling humid heat, and I dreamed of coming home to pick up cooler shirts.

I came home via Adhisthana, the retreat centre where I do my volunteering; it's on the way, and there were a couple of people I'd arranged to meet there. As an added bonus - and I can't tell you how exciting this is - I had my photo taken. I'd been asked to write a couple of sentences about my experience of volunteering that could go in next year's programme, and they wanted a photo to go with it. One of the community there does all the graphic design and his photographs of people are amazing, so it was thrilling to join that elite group! And he didn't seem to mind that I was a sweaty mess wearing a dirty T-shirt.

Coming home I was looking forward to my cooler house and no horseflies, but the house wasn't that cool and I was immediately devoured by mosquitos. I've been taking my time catching up on what's been going on while I've been away, and there's been another offer on my house. I've had a chat with Mr Celery and we're going to ask both the potential buyers for 'best and final' offers, after which I'll accept one of the two and take it from there.

An offer

Wales, September 2025

Nameless Man fixed the plug socket; I managed to clean all the downstairs windows (which I thought would be the best thing to do to improve the look of the place) and there have been five house viewings. Mr Celery, as I suspected, is very prone to error but so far I have corrected the mistakes that I have noticed, none of which have been particularly egregious, but he managed to sneak one into the printed brochure by adding the excited statement "NO ONWWARD CHAIN." 

One offer came in at £75k below the guide price, and now a much more realistic offer has materialised along with one further request for a viewing. I filled in a form and went to the office of a solicitor just in case I needed conveyancing sooner rather than later. They say I must complete a second form stating the source of the funds I used to purchase my house 25 years ago - it's the Law. I continue to range around the house picking out things to get rid of that escaped previous purges.

One such find is a trove of letters hiding under past family calendars that I'd kept, and some more letters in a box in the loft that had travelled with me, unopened, through all house moves since, it turns out, 1975. That was when I seemingly started keeping every single letter I received, initially birthday greetings from faraway relatives and letters from family when I was on school trips and holidays abroad. In later years it included letters from school friends and then university friends when we all dispersed to our various jobs and travel. I'm scanning or reading most of them before putting them into recycling - it's difficult to prioritise this job over more pressing matters but it's intriguing.

In other news - there isn't anything interesting. I went to the funeral of the mother of my longest-standing friend from junior school - two years ago I was there for his father's funeral, and one year ago it was dad's. I went to Maternal Manor where we applied for mum's Blue Badge to be renewed, booked a Bulky Waste Collection with the Council for the sofabed and dismantled wardrobe, and I took lots of measurements of rooms and furniture. I took my new collaborative games to the U3A board games group, and as expected they didn't take to them especially well. I have officially handed over the finances of my Buddhist group, so now I think I'm free of any official responsibility there.

And there has been badminton and Buddhism and cinema and Muscles the Personal Trainer, who is aware of my plans to move away and says that before I leave he is aiming for me to be able to dead-lift my own weight. I started eighteen months ago at 20kg (just the bar without any weights on it) and I'm up to 50kg, so nearly there. And my core strength and balance are great. It's astonishing.

What I've been reading

Lessons in Chemistry
by Bonnie Garmus

narrated by Miranda Raison

"Chemist Elizabeth Zott is not your average woman. In fact, Elizabeth Zott would be the first to point out that there is no such thing. But it's the early 1960s and her all-male team at Hastings Research Institute take a very unscientific view of equality."

This is what I'm looking for, a well written story with believable characters who aren't stupid and follow a realistic trajectory through the book. And, as a delightful bonus, I hadn't anticipated the ending and it was wonderful.

Teachers of Enlightenment
by Kulananda

"Out of the depths of a clear blue sky emerges a beautiful tree of white lotus flowers. On it appear many teachers of Enlightenment - historical, mythical and transcendental. Here are explained the significance of the figures on the Refuge Tree of the Triratna Buddhist Order."

This is the required reading for my next big retreat in June, and it's actually a book I've been meaning to read for a while now. In easily digestible form it contains all the background that I need (at the moment) about some of the most important mythical and historical figures within all branches of ancient Buddhism (Indian, Japanese, Tibetan and Chinese), as well as more recent teachers.

Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy
by John Le Carré

narrated by Michael Jayston

"The man he knew as Control is dead, and the young Turks who forced him out now run the Circus. But George Smiley isn't quite ready for retirement - especially when a pretty, would-be defector surfaces with a shocking accusation: a Soviet mole has penetrated the highest level of British Intelligence."

I don't get on with John Le Carré's spy novels. I knew this before I borrowed this one, but I thought with time maybe things have changed. No, they haven't. I don't understand his plots or characters, and when the reveal of the spy came at the end I didn't have any particular thrill of recognition or interest in how it had come about. He's just not for me.

Everything I Never Told You
by Celeste Ng

narrated by Cassandra Campbell

"When Lydia's body is found in a lake, her father is consumed by guilt and sets out on a reckless path. Her mother, devastated and vengeful, is determined to make someone accountable. Lydia's brother, Nathan, is convinced that local bad boy Jack is involved. But it's the youngest in the family - Hannah - who may be the only one who knows what really happened."

This was a beautifully constructed story, with the death of sixteen year old Lydia as the central point while we find out piecemeal what led up to her death and the subsequent consequences. The relationships within the family felt so real, and despite the sadness inherent in almost every chapter, somehow it wasn't depressing. Not uplifting either, maybe poignant is the right word.

A jolly hot weekend

Kew Gardens, May 2026

After the slight trauma of the broadband and landline difficulties at mum's, I went on to stay with Lola II and Mr M for a London minibreak. Lola II had helpfully planned our activities, starting with an outdoor film in their garden on Friday evening, complete with projector, screen and three-way headphone splitter. The film was much more gory than any of us usually choose - I was watching through my fingers for some of the time.

On Saturday Lola II and Mr M occupied themselves elsewhere for the day and I treated myself to a badminton event (spectating not playing). It was in Alexandra Palace Theatre, which turned out to be an excellent venue, and it was a new competition for young players who are at a higher standard than county leagues but not quite national team level. I had a great time, not least because I happened to be sitting next to a couple of enthusiastic and interesting men, but also because some of the people I volunteer with at the international event in Birmingham were also there, and it was lovely to see them.

In the evening I rejoined Lola II and Mr M to see a play at the local theatre in Ealing about some elderly residents in a home. It was a comedy, although it portrayed some uncomfortable bullying. There were a few delightful performances as well as a very talented singer, but someone in the audience laughed so loudly that it was intrusive. Despite this, whenever I go to the theatre I always come away thinking that I don't go to the theatre often enough.

I had volunteered to provide a 3-course picnic for the following day, so on Sunday morning I did some of the preparation and cooking for that, before Lola II and I headed out to the National Gallery to see an exhibition by a Spanish painter called Zurbarán. I'm no expert on art but I particularly liked the way he painted the textures of cloth and fabric. Saturday had been quite a hot day and Sunday was the same, but it was relatively cool inside the gallery. Mr M joined us for supper at a Sri Lankan restaurant which we ate outside accompanied by live blues music from the venue next door.

Monday was the hottest day so far and we had decided to go to Kew Gardens. The following day we read that the temperature that day at Kew broke all records (and it was even hotter on Tuesday), but we set off early and were even allowed in before the general public because Mr M has a civil service benefit that got him and Lola II in for free, and half price for me. We saved £80! Mr M heroically carried all the picnic, which we ate as an early lunch. 

After a quick climb and walk around the Treetop Walk, Lola II and I set off to book places on a tour of the sculpture installation by Henry Moore. We arrived one minute after booking started to find that all places had already been snapped up. This was no bad thing, because standing in the sun looking at sculptures would have been pretty uncomfortable. Instead, on the advice of a lady at the tour booking desk, Lola II and I visited a building where they were exhibiting some of his smaller sculptures alongside some lovely botanical drawings. We agreed that we didn't really like Henry Moore all that much, so we counted ourselves lucky to have missed the tour. And that building was air conditioned - very welcome indeed at this point.

Kew was lovely, but overwhelmingly hot and mostly green - there didn't seem to be many flowers except in the glasshouses, and roses. Is there any time of year when there aren't roses? The redwoods were beautiful too. We had a break for afternoon cakes sitting in the shade, we played one of the new games I was given by a man who lives and works at the retreat centre where I volunteer. He suggested that I try collaborative (rather than competitive) games, and this one was very unusual. I won't try to describe it, but I'm not sure how it would go down with my U3A group. We played the other collaborative game that evening, and it was much easier to understand and play but again I'm not sure if it would be enjoyed by the U3A people.

I have omitted some of the many happenings that occur when I spend time with Lola II and Mr M, including the substitution of Kenneth, Roger, Demi and Ilkley for Henry Moore, the subsequent misunderstanding of "varieties of trees in Kew Gardens" as "varieties of cheeses on Ilkley Moor", the Horror of the Permanent Marker, the falling asleep during the bedtime story and probably many more stories. But it was a great way to spend the hottest days of the year so far, and a nice break from all the issues connected with selling a house.

Going live

Maternal Manor, May 2026

My estate agent's representative, whom I'm going to call Mr Celery (because he's tall, thin, and very Seller-y) told me that he appreciates that I am not in a tearing hurry, that I now need a solicitor, and that I won't regret placing the sale with his company. The sales board is up outside the house and we went through the brochure together to eliminate the spelling mistakes, so we were ready for going live on Friday. People keep asking how I feel. At the moment it's still just a project I'm working on, and I'm not looking forward to the time when it sinks in and I become very sad indeed to be leaving.

One issue that still needs addressing is a broken electrical socket in the bedroom. "I can deal with this," I thought, as I identified the fuse in the fuse box, turned off the power to the sockets, unscrewed the wires from the front plate and took the broken back box off the wall. After trips to B&Q, Wickes and the wonderful Action 21 I could only find replacement boxes that had screws in a different place, and I hate it when I experience this sort of helpless incompetence. Luckily, Nameless Man is happy to help out, although our combined busy timetables mean he can't get started until later this week.

My last session with the Diabetes Prevention Programme coach has taken place, although she says I can ask my GP to be re-referred if I think it will help. I may just do that. Due to some relaxation of my willpower during the volunteering in the retreat kitchen I now have to take my eating habits a bit more seriously, and have laid down a couple of new intentions for the next few weeks. I can safely say that this will be No Fun At All.

Mr Celery has already found me two people who want an early viewing before the date that we had set for the main house viewing event. I finished all the weeding, mowed the lawn again, and the main thing remaining is to clean a few windows to make it look that bit more attractive. That was the last day before the massive heatwave that we're experiencing arrived, so I'm glad I managed to get nearly everything done before we all melted.

Then I headed south to see mum and to supervise the transition from copper wire internet and POTS (plain old telephone system) to fibre broadband. There was an engineer who came into the house and another who climbed the telephone pole and strung the new wire to the house. But my suspicions were raised when the engineer said he couldn't set up two wired phones on the new router. He left an extra telephone box and advised me to contact the company to activate the second phone, and told me many things that turned out not to be true. So I had a very difficult conversation with the company which has left me regretting my choice of supplier despite the very competitive price, because we can't have two wired phones on the new system after all, despite having been assured that we could.

Mum has been very flexible and adaptable, and has accepted stoically the loss of her usual phone number for about two weeks (I really hope that the company hasn't misled me about this too). She has one landline phone with a new (hopefully temporary) number and is carrying her mobile phone around with her. Lola II and I are working on getting her a couple of digital cordless phones that are relatively easy to use, and we'll see how things go.