Astronomy

I got a phone call from a friend:
"Do you like astronomy?"
"Well it's interesting but I'm not really bothered really, why?"
"I'm doing this night school course and they need a couple of extra people to be sure it'll run and I wondered if you fancied it."
"I don't have anything else on on a Wednesday so why the hell not".

And thus began my introduction to Astronomy, which, for the record is really bloody fascinating.
I MUST buy myself a Planisphere - which is quite honestly the best invention, and not since sliced bread, just simply the best invention. Ever.
Any argument against this statement is invalid.

However, there is one problem with astronomy. I will admit I am now a 35 year old woman. I'm a grown up. With the sense of humour of an adolescent boy.
On my very first night the tutor said Uranus. Seven times.
Seven times I had to control my desire to burst into uproarious laughter.
"I'm sorry it's cloudy tonight or we would have had a clear view of Uranus".
It doesn't help that he pronounces it 'your-anus'.
Seriously. How is that ever not funny?

I'm not sure a week has gone by that he hasn't said it. And every damn week do I have to fight to control my snigger.
It's one of those laughs that is in your nose, you know what I mean? It starts to come out as a snorting noise that you can't control. Or you get the silent shoulder shake kind of laugh, either way, when there's only a dozen of you, you single yourself out as the immature one. Which is pretty fair and accurate.
I have a puerile sense of humour. It is out of my control.
I might have to search out who said it but they were wise: "Growing old is compulsory, growing up is optional."
I'm opting out.

Anyway, tonight is astronomy, it's cloudy out there so the observatory will be shut and the telescope locked away. Classroom studies it is then, so I can come away and for the next week go on about the size of Venus' moons, or the size of the red spot on Mars' surface, or what they believe Venus to be made of, etc., etc., etc.

On a final, puerile note, I don't recollect where I first saw this and I don't have a source to who created it but by crikey it makes me snigger:

Motivation

I told myself I was going to set myself a blog challenge and blog every day but I am terrible at motivating myself.
I should really work on that I suppose, although I was the same in school so I am beginning to wonder if all hope is lost, which is leading me to question my decision to do an Open University degree.
I mean I started a night school class in Astronomy and they've only set homework once and I didn't do it. I suck. Hey, at least I know this. Maybe I should do the first course and see how I go. Maybe I'll surprise myself. Stranger things have happened.
Although I'm trying to remember the last time I was surprised and I can't remember when that was.
No wait! I was properly surprised by the dream I had last night.
I dreamt that I was pulling into my Dad's driveway, except that he was living in the house I grew up in, where he never actually lived. Anyway, there were all these random cars in the driveway and I was really confused.
When I got out of the car there were women waiting to hug me, they were women I knew but through other people, friends of friends and friends of family.
They were hugging me and telling me congratulations, but I had no idea why until I suddenly said "Oh wait! Is this a surprise hen night?" They all nodded.
Now this was a definite surprise, what with me being single and all.

Although, a couple of weeks ago I was sitting on a date in a coffee shop and went to order another couple of drinks and was openly chatted up - by a different dude!
That was rather a surprise too.

I need more surprises in my life. Only the good ones though thank you very much.
Feel free to surprise me with bouquets of flowers. Regularly.

Random Rounding Up

Last year I contemplated hacking my fringe off. I neglected to update and say I had done just that, look see:

So here's the thing. I decided I would just go for a just-above-eyebrow length fringe, to start with and work up to a super short one.
So, I concentrated hard to make a straight line.
Then I relaxed my face to see how it looked.
Apparently I'd massively raised my eyebrows in concentration and my fringe? Much shorter than I'd intended.
I spent the rest of the week flattening it down and unconsciously pulling on it.
I'm not sure I'd have cut it so short if not by accident, but I've come to like it. It's makes my face squarer and I just don't care. We care a jot too much about what we should and shouldn't wear, what does and doesn't suit us. What the hell, I'm going to cut my hair any way I jolly well like.

What I didn't foresee was the amount of people stopping me to talk about my hair, some physically grabbing me to say how they liked it. And what surprised me more than anything was the age of the complimenter, the vast percentage being well past retirement age.
I'd wondered if my new, visible, tattoos combined with my bright hair would make people quick to judge me, but that hasn't been the case at all.
Not that I have any idea what people are saying behind my back of course!
But then, I'd have to care about what was being said!

I spent the entirety of August unwell. I got Croup. My younger sister refers to it as my baby disease. There was no recommended treatment for adults, because adults don't get it. Hmph.
Let me tell you, it's a horrible thing. It's like flu, with a cough that is antagonised by every single thing you do. Want to talk? That'll make you cough. Want to sit upright? Why that'll make you cough too. Want to buy milk in the shop? Yup, that'll make you cough. Not just any kind of cough, the one that makes people threaten to call the Sea Lion rescue centre. The kind that makes your ribs feel like they'll explode. Couple that with the extreme fatigue and it's just wonderful. I kept saying that I was sure I'd be fine, whilst all the time thinking it was the most unwell I could remember feeling for years and years.

Prior to the miserable croup I was at Cambridge Folk Festival, which was super this year. I had a wonderful time, the croup made its appearance on the Sunday evening, I was aware I was starting to feel unwell but made it to the end and dutifully sang along with Show of Hands as the closing act. Actually, I would like to thank the croup for waiting until after the festival to put in an appearance.
Anyway, despite a little rain, I really had a fabulous festival indeed, come along next year, all of you, I'll befriend you!

In other news, I'm getting an allotment. Oh yes. I rang the lady, I should have my plot of land in a matter of months.
She told me the plot is approximately 40m by 10m.
Well put me down for half a plot says I!
Then I go away and think about it, suddenly 20m by 10m starts to sound smaller and smaller.
If I had a full plot I could have a dedicated asparagus bed, and a globe artichoke bed, room for masses of my beloved peas, a polytunnel!
I rang back, please make it a full plot dear lady!
Because I have OCD I have created a scale plan of the area.
Holy hell 40m by 10m is a big space. What the hell was I thinking?
Digging anyone?

I have decided to do an Open University Degree, with Honours no less.
It came about after reading a lot different blogs online, reading peoples ideas, their opinions and realising that I really needed to go back to learning, that I needed something extra in my life and that maybe, for the first time I can ever remember, I really wanted to study.
I wanted to learn more about Feminism.
My attitude towards myself and my environment has altered so dramatically over the past couple of years that I wanted to add more fuel to that, to the discovery.
After some trawling through prospectus after prospectus, I'm going to do an Open Degree, I like the freedom that gives me. I can study some Social Sciences, some Criminology and Psychology, do some Environmental Studies and also try to take on some of the History courses over the years.
I wonder if my long held love of folk music and my growing interest in the English tradition has led to my desire to learn more about England and our/my heritage.
It's exciting and it's nerve racking.
I hated school. With the exception of seeing my friends, there was nothing about it I enjoyed.
I had this overwhelming feeling of not fitting in. I knew there was something a bit weird about me, I knew I had desires veering towards the eccentric, but I didn't know anyone else like that and I caved to peer pressure. I did my GCSEs, and despite zero revision, I did pretty well. Then, as all my friends were doing it, I progressed to A Levels. I didn't want to, but my paralysing terror of the big wide world was worse. I didn't revise for my A Levels either and fluffed one of them totally. My friends were heading to University. I really didn't want to go to Uni but what the hell was I supposed to do? I didn't want to work either. Not through laziness, but through fear of all those new people to meet.
I look back now and see the social anxiety but back then I just knew I had to do everything I could to avoid actually getting out there.

So I went to night school to get a different A Level, and after that, then I would go to Uni.
It goes without saying I fluffed the night school A Level too. I hated the topic.
Suddenly, all choices were gone. Work was looming. I had to get a job.
I did. And you know what? It wasn't nearly as bad as I'd imagined, not only that, I made new friends and whilst the job was crappy, I had fun!
I'm never studying again I thought to myself.
I've always said I'm just not academic. I'm just not made that way. I'm not good at essays. I can't write that way.

But now? I just think that nothing piqued my curiosity, I wasn't actually interested in learning. I couldn't find subjects that I was passionate about. It's taken almost 2 decades but I've found the things that pique my curiosity. I've found the passion for learning.

I think it all started with my discovery of the Body/Size/Fat Acceptance movement. Reading what those ladies had to say was inspiring. It challenged my beliefs, it made me challenge things generally. As an intelligent woman I'm almost surprised at how willing I was to just believe everything I heard & read as the truth.
Then the feminism started to creep in and my desire to read more grew and grew. I feel like my eyes are opening wider and wider day after day. I feel like there are people out there with whom I share a common ground. That maybe they didn't fit in either all this time.

It feels like a time of discovery is on my horizon.

Gardening

I was never much of a gardener, really didn't like getting my hands dirty, couldn't really care less what the names were and whether they were annual, biennial, blah blah blah.
And yet, somehow it happened, without my knowledge, I love being out there. I wonder if, as the child of a gardener the love of it will somehow kick in.
I don't like to wear gloves, I want to get my hands buried deep in the dirt. I've read that it's supposed to be good for mental health and I second that study. Watching something grow, getting the jolt of excitement when something you planted finally sticks those first leaves through the soil it just makes you feel....good.
I only have a small garden, so as time goes by it becomes more and more planned. It has to be functional. It has to be pretty. It has to feed me.
With my newly purchased fire pit, bench, swing seat and picnic bench it serves as an entertaining space, somewhere to relax, somewhere to read, somewhere to just be.
The lupins, paeony, poppies, tulips, lavender, lillies, pansies, daisies, day lillies, gladioli and all their friends make it a colourful place to be, it makes me smile to see all those colours. And, interspersed in the flower borders are the leaves of the beetroot, kohlrabi, the fronds of the asparagus which are voraciously proving me wrong when I said they'd never grow.
The Jerusalem (f)artichokes are moving ever skywards looking more and more like their cousins the sunflower.

I always put off watering the garden, it's a chore, trailing back & forth from butt to pots but every time I start watering I get lost in it. I stand for that short time, studying each plant as the water pours forth.

How many more little red flower buds there are on the runner beans today, the very first, tiny flowers have appeared on my asparagus pea, how the lettuces are starting to bolt in the hot summer that has blessed us this year.
In my small space I've managed to fit a surprising amount of vegetables, without it looking like an allotment.

I love lists, even though they're boring to everyone else, but check this out:
Alpine Strawberries
Angelica
Asparagus
Asparagus Pea
Beetroot - 4 varieties, 1 specifically for harvest as a salad leaf
Broad Beans
Butternut Squash
Carrots - 3 varieties
Courgettes
Fennel
Globe Artichoke
Gooseberry
Jerusalem Artichoke
Kohlrabi
Lettuce - hearting varieties, cut and come again, oriental.....
Peas - 2 varieties
Pea Tips - to harvest for use in salads
Potatoes - 1st & 2nd earlies
Pot Marigolds - to harvest the petals for use in salad
Radish - 3 varieties
Red Perilla
Rhubarb
Runner Beans
Spinach
Strawberries
Swiss Chard - 2 varieties
Tomatillo

Outside my front door, along the drive there's mint, rosemary, sorrel, thyme, tarragon, sage, lemon balm, applemint, oregano, chives, fennel, dill, red orach and parsley. In the conservatory my cucumbers and tomatoes, yet I still find myself wondering how I can fit more harvestable produce in the garden! I'm adding more and more edible flowers. From the day lily to the lavender to the pot marigold. This year will bring raspberries and blackcurrants.

All of this is fitted into a pretty small space, as made obvious by the duck squatter photos below, and yet through the summer it is enough to give me a salad at least once a day.
Above all, it's easy, it takes almost no time to maintain, and in truth took very little time to get it planted, it gives me so much pleasure that I can't even begin to take it for granted.

Get out there, dig in the soil, relish it getting under your fingernails!

Duck Squatters

Sometime last week, seven of the village ducks decided to pop by for a visit, the following day they were back again, and the day after that and after that. You get the idea. So, somewhere between 4 and 5pm every day they'd show up, quacking away and I'd try and find some remaining bird seed to feed them with.

This morning I was out relatively early getting everything watered before another hot day set in and the ducks arrived, before 8am. Definitely ahead of schedule!
It is now almost 1.30pm and they're still here.
I just popped down the garden and there they are, a couple hiding in the shade under the picnic bench.

And the others were hiding in the shade of the swing seat, until they saw me and assumed grub was coming their way. Alas, they were wrong.
However, I had just tweeted that I felt guilty for not having a pond, so I decided to improvise. Plus I figured, they had to be thirsty by now. It's a hot day out there people!

The seven ducks are Mum and her six ducklings, it's getting harder and harder to tell them apart, but Mum is a little more slow to get involved, she likes to keep her beady eye on me.

Anyway, they don't seem to mind that it's a poor excuse for a pond, they jumped on in, although it's strictly only 2 ducks at a time in the pool.

They have made attempts to disobey this rule, but attempts are usually scuppered when one falls out head first into the grass. Which, it has to be said, has yet to fail to entertain me!

Song of The Week LXV

Whilst listening to last.fm a few weeks ago this song was played and it just struck me as incredibly beautiful. I'm sure that it strikes chords with more than a few of us.
It feels like an incredibly brave song to me, I have no idea if it's autobiographical or not, but either way it's fabulous.

Maria Mena - Sorry:

Laughter

I was discussing with someone the kinds of laugh we all have, from the polite chuckle to the full belly laugh that you can't hold back until it takes on a life of its own and which you are powerless to stop.
In discussing that I was reminded of a couple of incidents and as I'm getting back to my blog world I had to come back with a chuckle or two.

A few weeks ago my niece, Chloe, and I decided to have a picnic. We couldn't decide where to go but eventually opted to chill out by the river at Newark Castle which also meant a quick trip for delicious goods from Waitrose. So we picked up some goodies, laid down a blanket and munched.
After a while, upon realising I was the second oldest person in the entire park I thought about jumping into the river to end it all but my fear of water saved me. Then Chloe realised that made her the third oldest.
At this point the snort of laughter was released.
After a couple of hours of lounging we got ready to head home, gathered up our food remnants and started to pick up the blanket. That was when we noticed it.
A piece of chocolate cake, or rather the mousse part of a very delicious slice of chocolate & raspberry cake.
But this piece. It didn't look like cake.
It looked like someone had taken a tiny, perfectly formed poo in the corner of our blanket.
Chloe and I made eye contact, looking from each other to the chocolate poo.
We knew it had to be moved.
Laughter ensued.
The blanket could not be folded with chocopoo in the corner.
I started to head towards what can only be described as the donkey laugh.
I found a tissue and reached for the chocopoo.
I didn't get it all, now it looked like a really sticky chocopoo.
At this point the laughter had reached hysterical.
There were tears.
There was pain.
There was a serious inability to breathe.
And a serious concern about bladder control.
And the donkey laugh was full blown. Eeyore on ecstasy.
Snorting. Squeaking. Squealing.
Desperately trying not to draw even more attention to ourselves. Although it might have been too late for that.

I cannot even begin to think of chocopoo without the giggles setting right back in.