It all depended on the weather. Storm Brendan was due, with implications for going to Bracknell to visit my Godmother's house on the Tuesday (strong winds, heavy rain, risk of falling trees and flooded roads).
The first change of plan was to reschedule the visit for another time, and the second change of plan was to get on with completing the Probate forms, and deliver them to the Probate Registry in Brighton on Monday. Which we did. The forms were nowhere near as complicated as I had feared, and once we had scanned them in, and assembled the necessary supporting paperwork, the job was just about done. The advantages of actually taking them into the office were
Firstly, I got to press the sort of counter bell that goes 'ping'
which is something I've always wanted to do in a real life situation
and secondly, someone answered the bell, went through all the paperwork, checked that everything was present and correct and gave me a receipt. Now we just have to wait.
Tuesday was teaching day. It dawned bright and clear, but Storm Brendan arrived over lunch time and by the end of the school day it was properly and wetly raining. When we went to bed we could hear the wind gusting against the front windows and blustering at the back.
I was unspeakably weary by the end of Tuesday - just waiting around to go to bed - but I did manage to finish knitting the first of a pair of slippers
I need to sew it up. And also, knit up another slipper! I haven't decided whether to make it identical, or use the grey for the sole and the speckly brown for the upper. Need to give it a bit more thought.
We woke up to find a fence panel and a bird feeder from next door (on the windward side) cluttering up the garden, and another panel propped up by a couple of shrubs.
I drove through flooded lanes to my Wednesday school, taught seven pupils (the first four had forgotten their books which would have been more irritating except I've long given up being irritated.) What was rather fun was giving an impromptu djembe lesson to the staff in the staff room - they have a class set of djembes and no-one to teach it anymore. The music curriculum that they are supposed to follow is (in my opinion) dull and (in my opinion) difficult to teach, especially to the older classes. I tried following it one year and abandoned it fairly quickly.
Off to my afternoon school, where I teach a whole class of 7-year-old children to play guitar (no, I'm not a guitar player or teacher... it's a long story, don't ask) was plagued by a faulty fire alarm system so, after two fire alarms in succession (the first happened just before I got there, the second just after the children had all been allowed back in), the head teacher stationed me beside the alarm panel with instructions to press the 'mute' button if it sounded again, and, clutching a hammer, disappeared round the back of the school to...
well, the alarm didn't go off again, and a message was sent round to say that if there was a fire, someone would Ring The Bell.
Amazingly the children settled quickly, and I was able to teach them a new chord.
Unfortunately I taught the new chord incorrectly, but had just enough time to admit my mistake and re-teach. What did I say about being a guitar teacher?
Home, to find N and next-door lifting manhole covers and trying to clear the drains. Again. The blockage from Christmas time hadn't actually Gone Away, just Moved On Down The Drain.
I shut the door to the kitchen to keep the heat on, and carried on teaching piano lessons through the chaos.
Dynarod came and eventually cleared it; they'd had a terrible day and the Dynarod man was ready to say that it was the Water Authority's turn, but N charmed him into one last effort which seemed to have done the trick.
|not our drain|
IN among all this, I dealt with a call from the home prescription deliver service, and N dealt with two requests for taxis. The taxi telephone calls don't bode well; there is a firm with almost the same telephone number as is, but their last digit is an 8. They used to have cards in fancy curly script, and everyone needing a taxi used to get the number wrong, especially late at night. We used to give them the number of a rival firm. Eventually I found out why we were getting the calls, rang the taxi firm and explained why we had been inadvertently sending their customers elsewhere. I think they must have hastily reprinted their cards, because the called stopped. Or else they went bust through lack of custom?
Is it still Wednesday? I think it may be - it feels as though we've had a week already.