Mostly musical

I've had my last extended break in London - from now on it's weekends only, and I will have to actively book days off rather than gadding about as and when I like. Instead, I will have a job, which I hope will offset the disadvantage of seeing rather less of friends and family than over the past five years.

I have mentioned that Lola II encouraged the idea of us signing up for an orchestral woodwind day in London, and she and I plus another friend, K, all went for it. Then K let me know that two days before the woodwind event, she and her sister and brother were holding a memorial service for their mother, who died in November last year. I combined this with a visit to mum and dad and the obligatory fun at Lola II's house.

It was a very informal memorial event, with readings and music and pictures and some time to chat afterwards. K and I were at secondary school together, and another of our peers is now a vicar, so she led the whole affair including her own memories of K's mum. I met up with several others from that period of my life, and we all wished we could see each other more, and not just at this type of event.

I stayed that evening at mum and dad's, tried to help with computer issues and climbed ladders to change light bulbs, and the next morning mum and I headed off to Kew where there is a Musical Museum. It specifically deals with 'automatic' self-playing instruments such as music boxes, pianolas and organs, and is extremely interesting, especially as we joined a tour, so many of the instruments were demonstrated for us.

The most interesting one had an automatically-played violin as well as piano strings, all running off a punched paper roll. The strings were kept taut by weights hanging off the scroll end, vibrato was added by wobbling the bridge, and each string had a little motorised cellulose roller above it. The strings were raised against the rollers when bowing was required, while the fingering was done by many pads being raised and lowered along the neck. Unlike with a human player, each string could be played independently and simultaneously, so really it had the capacity of four violins and a piano.

On to Lola II's house, and the woodwind event on Saturday. I was slightly apprehensive, not having played in a large group since I was 18, and having played my clarinet only a handful of times since then. I shouldn't have worried, as it was a very large group with a very personable man in charge who positively encouraged people to take a break if they needed to. The chap sitting on my left should have taken this advice - he never seemed to know what part he was playing or where we were; in one break I saw him take his glasses out of a jacket pocket, clean them, put them on, peer at the music for a few seconds, and then put them away again. He was the exception, though; most players seemed to be at a decent standard.

There were five conductors and six sessions of 45 minutes through the day, and in each session we were introduced to a new piece (or two in one session). By the end of the 45 minutes, we were able to run through from start to finish. Three of the pieces were composed by their conductors, and they were all very different - orchestral, 'swing', challenging time signatures, both classical and modern styles. I enjoyed it a lot, especially the main organising conductor who had a wonderful manner and reminded me of the best conductors from music school days, maintaining discipline and control as well as being amusing and sympathetic. So now I'm thinking of trying to find somewhere at home to play regularly, and wondering how I will fit it in with the badminton, and deciding to wait until I've got to grips with the routine of going to work every day.

I was looking forward to a bit of a rest on Sunday, but was persuaded in the morning to help Lola II with a piece of music written by one of her friends for her own wedding in two weeks' time. The bride is a professional pianist, and Lola II's idea was that I would record the piano part so she could practise the flute part over the next two weeks. Unfortunately, the piece is in 6/4 time with a few randomly included bars in 3/4, the piano starts with sextuplets where I had to count the ledger lines to work out what the notes were, and the majority of the piece is groups of 14 notes to fit into a bar of 6 crotchets. Not only was I utterly unable to play it, it would be completely impossible for Lola II to work out where the bars start and finish.

In the end, I recorded the vocal part on the piano against Lola II's flute part, and even then we had to try and accommodate groups of 2 and/or 4 notes against 3 beats, sometimes within a bar and sometimes across a bar line. This is flippin' difficult. And don't forget there will be 14 notes to the bar on the piano going on at the same time, and they're having, oh, two rehearsals altogether, except that one is not even a rehearsal, it's a 'run through'. I'm sure it will be fine, although I'm glad it's not me. Lola II says that some brides torture their best friends by making them dress up in ridiculous unflattering bridesmaids' dresses. This bride has been altogether more imaginative.

After all this I was looking forward to the slightly special lunch to celebrate my new job that I'd been promised, and then the bit of a rest that I was looking forward to. The slightly special lunch became very much more special when the guests that Lola II had invited arrived, as a lovely surprise. [With hindsight, this clarified why Lola II was so keen that we practise the wedding piece in the morning.] It was lovely. To top it off, Mr M produced a complicated dessert constructed from chocolate and sculptured Curly Wurlies filled with home made orange and lemon sorbet. And we went for a walk, and played on some grown-up exercise equipment that's in a nearby park, which you can see in the photo above.

So that was the penultimate proper weekend before my initiation as a working Dietitian with a real job that I have to do every weekday, and there's nowhere else I'd rather have spent it.

Party, and Occupational Health

Mr A and I have been to a party. In London. Where it is busy, and expensive, and alive, and where I find myself feeling a little lost, and foreign, and a bit old (although nowhere near as old as on New Year's Eve). It was a good party, though, aside from the fact that we were expecting dinner to start at 8.15 and dancing at 10, but by 11 o'clock we'd only been served two courses. We did squeeze in a bit of dancing, so Mr A is still suffering a little from his knees, and from staying up past his bedtime, and from spending all of Sunday wandering around the London Transport Museum in Covent Garden.

We stayed with Lola II of course, who also came to the party, and even complimented me on my recent shopping achievement in the shape of a coat and a necklace. I took me a whole day to buy that coat, and two days for the necklace, but it was worth it. I won't have to do any more shopping for new clothes for ages. Sister D was also there, so we had a good old photo-fest, and took loads of pictures, some of which came out well enough to be suitable for the family calendar we produce every year.

On the work front, I have survived the encounter with Occupational Health. The nurse explained the current policy is to test everyone for overt and latent tuberculosis, whether they have evidence of BCG inoculation or not, and for measles, which is now classed as a threat (presumably because of the reluctance to immunise children following the MMR vaccine fiasco). Other than that, we discussed hand care, and confirmed that the soap used is paraben- and tocopherol-free, but now I am suspicious of the alcohol rub, having examined the ingredients of a small bottle the nurse had on her desk and found tocopheryl acetate. I will have to follow this one up.

Weekend events

The weekend brought a visit from mum and dad, which was really enjoyable. On Friday afternoon we drove to the Barber Institute of Fine Arts, which I have visited before, but was new to the parents. It's not a huge gallery, but there was plenty there to look at, and we all found something we liked. After supper we all watched 'From Here to Eternity' with Burt Lancaster, Deborah Kerr, Montgomery Clift, Frank Sinatra and Donna Reed, which also went down very well.

Breakfast for dad was a treat of bacon and tomatoes cooked by Mr A, which he doesn't get at home.  Then mum and I went into town and completed all our jobs while dad stayed at home and read his new book on the history of the biblical world. I took them to the station with a packed lunch and a warm fleecy jacket that's too big for me but suits mum very well - I don't think I've ever managed to pass any clothing in that direction before! A successful visit, but unfortunately when they got home they found that their house had been broken into while they were away. Luckily nothing was stolen, and there was very little damage apart from the window that was used to gain access. I hope it doesn't put them off visiting again.

The only other news of note was that my future employer left a message on my mobile phone suggesting that more hours may be available after all. Leaving such a message on a Friday afternoon has been tantalising in the extreme, leaving me no way of clarifying what she means until today. I haven't yet managed to get an answer, but I'll let you know.

New Year's Eve

New Year's Eve was a very big day. The lovely neighbours across the road had kindly offered their services for interview practice, so on Saturday morning I dressed up in all my proper interview clothes (including Lady Shoes) and knocked on their door at the appointed time. The next two hours were spent in honing my interview skills to such a point that I could have cut myself on them. I don't think I have ever spent two hours more usefully, and if I don't get the job this time it will only be that I fail to apply the lessons I have learned from them.

Then the new washing machine was delivered, and while we scrabbled round trying to turn off the mains water and disconnecting the old machine, the delivery men stood about wondering why we didn't anticipate that it would save time if we'd done this before they came. Buoyed up by the joy and wonder of having a new (and effectively free) kitchen appliance, we extracted the dead freezer from its built-in state to the middle of the kitchen, so we could measure it. It remains there, getting in the way, until we can be bothered to take the door off and put it in the garden out of the way.

It became clear that we would have to stop messing about with white goods if we were to get away and to the New Year's Eve venue as planned, so then there was a bit of packing and an attempt at fancy dress. The theme was 'Apocalypse', and I'd hoped to be able to get to town and charity shops, but ran out of time. So my best effort had to be limited to choosing all my black clothes (also advisable since we hadn't had a working washing machine for about two weeks) and my black leather bike jacket. Mr A couldn't do much better either, so it would have to do.

We checked into the hotel then went out for something to eat, followed by a drink at a random pub we found. It would actually have been very entertaining to have stayed there - they had a little dance floor and a DJ, and just before we left they had started some sort of game involving horse-related music (we didn't quite understand it fully) and everyone was very friendly and wished us a Happy New Year when we went.

We were on the guest list at the door of the gig, and were greeted warmly: "Oh! you're The Boy's dad, aren't you! I've been looking forward to meeting you!" The venue was an old warehouse, and in the yard outside they'd set up various tents, portaloos and stalls with some shelter, because it was raining quite a lot at this point. There weren't many people there when we arrived, but it filled up nicely. Luckily for us, The Boy's DJ slot had been moved forward to only 1.15 a.m. - it had previously been scheduled at 2.45, and we weren't sure we'd be able to stay awake that long.

We were the oldest people there, probably by about 20 years on average, and although there was very little light, we really stood out. As the night progressed, it became clear how obvious we were, and it was a little like being a celebrity - we were greeted by people as if they knew us, they took our photo or asked to have their photo taken with us. We did a little bit of dancing (most of the music wasn't really suitable for dancing), and that really seemed to impress the crowd - one lad actually asked Mr A how old we were, and others just said things like 'well done'. It was weird. But fun. We sat down for a lot of the time, just watching what the Young People were getting up to and all the costumes - the best by far was a proper Dalek outfit, including a hood, which must have been extraordinarily hot.

We did manage to stay awake for the start of The Boy's set, then wandered back to the hotel, where I fell asleep and was woken only occasionally by the other hotel occupants running up and down the corridor, shouting and banging on doors. Unfortunately Mr A remained awake throughout, so I drove us home as soon as possible.

2011 has been an interesting year. Half the time I was a student, doing very well, getting a great degree, and then spending the other half of the year mostly unemployed. I have done a few small dietetic-related jobs - the Communication Skills lecture in September, contributing a chapter to a book about dietetics as a career, and trying to set up Store Tours for people with coeliac disease, and then the turkey farm job. If my interview goes well today then 2012 may be the start of a 'real' dietetic job, and if not, there will be other interviews. Mr A and I are pretty happy together, we make each other laugh quite a lot, and that certainly makes all the other stuff easier to manage.

Christmas and its aftermath

Everything went very well over Christmas - presents were opened, The Boy's dinner was superb, and Mr A and I could sit on the sofa reading while he did all the work. The fare included my turkey farm freebie, which turned out to be a Three Bird Roast - a hunk of meat as thick as your arm comprising a (boned) guinea fowl within a duck within a turkey, with stuffing down the middle. The three of us got through about a third of it, and a week later Mr A and I still have some left. Very tasty, although I wouldn't be able to distinguish the three bird flavours; it might as well have been all turkey.

Now New Year is approaching, and we had to decide where to be. Smurf was offering quite an extravaganza at Pub Next Door, with a 'Stars in your Eyes' event, dancing at The Assembly after midnight, and an inclusive price for the whole evening. This caused some difficulties for us, as there were two types of tickets: either drinking or non-drinking, and the difference between them was £30. If I were to drink 30 quids-worth of alcohol I'd probably end up in hospital, and neither of us likes champagne, but I wouldn't mind having a few half pints through the evening.

Our choices were expanded by The Boy inviting us to the gig he'd be performing at in Bristol. While intended for young people, we quite like the music he produces (Dubstep, in case you were interested) and he would put us on the guest list. So that's what we're going to do.

Meanwhile I have recovered enough from the turkey farm experience to spend another day there, helping with accounts queries and writing my 'Guide to an Insane Month' for the next gullible idiot who chooses to help out with the Christmas turkeys. Actually, if I were unemployed again in a year's time I'd consider it, although Mr A would definitely try to talk me out of it.

We've also visited Mr A's parents, and his dad and I managed to scrape our way through the slow second movement of the Mozart Clarinet Concerto a few times. Neither of us had practised a great deal, so there were many stoppages and "take it from bar 48 again" moments, but he really enjoyed it and expressed the view that it was a shame we live so far away. I think we'll have to work up to the first and third movements over a longer period, because those have a lot more notes to squeeze into a bar.

So the year is ending well, and it's the first in six years when I don't have exams in January to look forward to, although I do have one last interview on Tuesday. If you're still reading, thanks!

Work and play

I've done a few more days at the turkey farm, and things are going well, except that I get very cold indeed. I should be seeing some of the slaughtering that starts next week, although I did downplay the idea that I take part in some plucking activity. Mostly because I am so cold all the time.

The office is a standard brick farm building heated by a single convector heater. This makes it significantly warmer than outdoors, but not so warm that I don't start to lose the feeling in my fingers after a few hours - next week I plan to take in a hot water bottle and fingerless gloves, which should help. I have a cubby hole next door with a kettle, although the nearest tap is in the nearby building where they pack the dressed turkeys. The workers' tea room is in another shed, where they will have unlimited soup and bread as well as tea and coffee. There are regular seasonal workers from Poland as well as local troops, and I should be meeting them for the first time tomorrow. All being well, the killing should have started today.

Apart from that there has been an evening trip to catch up with ex-colleagues in Birmingham as well as a weekend away in Wales, which was blessed by unusually dry weather. There was even some sunshine. We met up with some of Mr A's mates, stayed in a 'camping barn' near Abergavenny, and did a bit of walking as well as communal cooking. Highlights included the enormous cooked breakfasts, and a masterpiece of dessert construction which comprised four layers of chocolate cake sandwiched with cream and cherries. Given that we had all foregone lunch because of the size of the breakfast, and had then been presented with an enormous turkey dinner, takers for a 'sliver' of this monstrosity were few and most of it had to go back with its owners.

Now there's another job application to do before going back to work again tomorrow. I must say, this 'five days a week' mode of employment is highly over-rated.

First time karaoke

My goodness, last night was fun. My first ever attempt at karaoke, and I was very unsure whether I would like it or not. Lola II set it up at a place she had been before, so that was a good sign, and it was in a very private establishment rather than a bar with loads of strangers or anything, and with just two other friends. Actually, there was one of Lola II's school friends (but I'd met her lots of times) and the other was one of sister D's friends whom I'd met only once, but who is Karaoke King. And it was brilliant, and for two hours we all sang and danced our hearts out, and I loved it. Very unexpectedly wonderful.

This was obviously in London, where I am having a 'holiday'. On Thursday, I travelled down and met dad and we went to an event at the Wellcome Collection, called 'A Cook's Tour', advertised as an exploration of 'the role of food, remedies and global interchange in our medical and cultural lives from the 17th century onwards'. It started with a short tour of relevant artifacts in the collection, and then a couple of lectures with some of the ancient books and manuscripts. It was no better than OK, and the final speaker wasn't very good, but some of it was interesting. The blurring of the distinction between culinary and medicinal use for many exotic spices, and the idea a few centuries back that local remedies rather than exotic imports were best for a local population.

Then I had dinner with sister D, and lunch next day with another old friend from school, who is going to join us on the planned Woodwind Orchestra day in January. I had a quick look at the Private Eye retrospective at the Victoria and Albert museum, and then on to the karaoke, followed by sushi.

The only other event of note up to this point on the trip has been the replacement of the smoke alarm battery at mum and dad's house, which, after being ignored for nine years, started to beep every 20 seconds. It hasn't bothered them too much up to now because a) they can't really hear it that well, and b) it's in the kitchen, a long way from their bedroom. I arrived on Thursday night, however, and realised within minutes that the job could not be put off until next day because a) I can hear it rather well and b) I was going to be sleeping in the room next to the kitchen. It proved to be a rather difficult job, but the alternative was unthinkable, and I managed it in the end. And I unscrambled dad's email, where somehow a filter had been applied that hid any email in his Inbox that he had read, goodness knows how.

Now I am supervising Lola II's admin, which she won't do unless extreme measures are applied (in this case a force field preventing her from leaving the room). Then we will have moderate fun in some as yet unspecified manner until we drive back over to mum and dad's with Mr M, a new computer for mum, a tent in the boot, anticipation of another family gathering tomorrow, joy in our hearts and a song in our souls. Because that appears to be the impact that karaoke has on a Lola.

Adventures in Norfolk

Well, we had a few small adventures, which is unusual for us. My adventures usually happen with Lola II, not Mr A. We did a fair bit of sitting and reading in nice places too.

It is a surprisingly long journey to the Norfolk coast, but we arrived at the campsite in good time, put the tent up, got in a few extra provisions (milk for both of us, beer for Mr A, chocolate for me, and crisps for Mr A but we were on holiday so I had some too). The tent pole repair stood up beautifully and Mr A found a useful rug for the porch to protect the built-in groundsheet. It was unseasonably warm in the late afternoon as we sat in the tent porch and read, but the light fades early at this time of year, and the temperature dropped like a stone. So we went to the pub.

Lola II and I had walked to this pub so I knew how far it was, but we had done it in July while there was still daylight, and Mr A and I were walking there as night fell, and it was pitch black on the way back, with minimal verges at the side of the road and a surprising number of fast-moving vehicles. Never mind, we didn't get knocked over, it was a fine pub, but there was something strange going on. The dining area was set with white cloths and glassware; there seemed to be an awful lot of people crammed into the bar area, and then small snacks on cocktail sticks started appearing on platters from the kitchen.

When almost everyone was ushered into the dining rooms, we were left with three local drinkers in the bar.  Despite our natural British reserve we struck up a conversation, and this is how we found out the details of what was going on. A special gourmet night was being hosted by a local chef, Richard Bainbridge (from Michelin-starred Morston Hall down the road). They told us he's been on the telly and normally wears a flat cap, which obviously we didn't know. More importantly, the locals managed to intercept the next dish from the kitchen, so we even tasted the spelt bread and the 'Juniper foam' starter/amuse-bouche, courtesy of our new-found friends. We left before the main courses, but the trip was a great success, and was classed as our first adventure.

Rather than using proper camping sleeping bags, what we usually do is manufacture a replacement double bed with pillows and duvet. This time, Mr A was in charge of planning and assembling all the gear, and he had brought two old-style rectangular sleeping bags, three proper mummy-style sleeping bags, but no duvet. He'd brought his skiing thermals, but I hadn't. That first night was colder than either of us expected, and our cobbled-together sleeping arrangements were wholly inadequate. The second night I had three nested sleeping bags and Mr A had two; neither of us could move any of our limbs but we were both warm as toast.

Breakfast on Saturday was going to be tomato sandwiches, since that's what we'd brought at random from home. After such a cold night, Mr A was keen to abandon this plan, and we had a very satisfactory hot breakfast in the local town. The next adventure was seal-watching: common seals and grey seals are to be found on Blakeney Point, and various local enterprises will take you out by boat to see them. We got a good view of a decent number of seals, but it did feel very voyeuristic with three boats full of camera-wielding tourists plying back and forth in front of the basking seals. Slightly underwhelming as an experience, but enjoyable enough. A small marine adventure.

Because of the early nightfall, and also because there were some fairly noisy family parties at the campsite, we decided to spend Saturday evening at the cinema, and went to see 'Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy' at the Cromer Mulitplex. A good night out and a good night's sleep thanks to our amended sleeping arrangements, then the postponed tomato sandwiches for breakfast and a trip to Norwich before heading home.

Norwich on Sunday morning was disappointing. It seemed to have nothing but the usual mainstream shops; the market was deserted and the only activity was in the big malls - even the 'cultural' attractions like the castle and museums were only open in the afternoon. Looking for a suitable spot for lunch was also a challenge, as there didn't even seem to be any suitable cafes or pubs other than the standard fast food emporia. We managed to find a newly-opened noodle bar in the end, but I'm not sure if it will survive - Norwich doesn't seem ready for a noodle bar.

The advertised attraction of the Colman's Mustard Museum did not live up to its billing either, as it turned out to be a mustard shop with a few artifacts and informational posters on the wall. The arcade where it was located was lovely - actually, the architecture of Norwich is rather wonderful, even if its contents had little to offer these two fussy tourists. The journey home was uneventful, and I've spent an enjoyable morning looking through the photos and writing this. Now I need to get on.

A trip north

I took a whole day off decorating duties yesterday to travel north to visit H and B, which was a great trip (apart from the M6 around Birmingham). They were kind enough to allow me to sit in on B's appointment with a dietitian, which made me think "Yes, I really can do that, and maybe I can even do it better." Good timing, what with tomorrow's interview. Then we took off to the Italian restaurant round the corner for lunch. I helped H to move a desk, and even assisted him in emptying the apartment in a small way by relieving him of one litre of Damp Seal paint, a lint-removing roller, a can of polish and several bedsheets. It all helps, he says.

On the way back I detoured to Ikea, ostensibly to look at their bathroom lighting and mirrors, but ended up buying a pepper grinder and two light bulbs. It's been a long time since I've been to Ikea, and I was impressed all over again at the great ideas that can be found there. Mostly in the kitchenware department, since that's what I'm most interested in - I would like to rip out my entire kitchen and replace everything using some of the ideas that Ikea comes up with. Even the storage jars, graters and chopping boards are lovely, and often have some feature that makes them so much more usable and useful.

The shower room decorating activity is therefore progressing slowly (especially as today's priority is interview preparation). Two coats of primer and a coat of matt white on the ceiling took a few days, interrupted not only by the trip north but also by the visit from Lola II and another job application. I have made a decision about the main colour, but I have yet to buy the paint or start applying it to the walls. Mr A has had his first exam, which he reported as 'OK', with the second one in a week's time. Revision continues.

Today is heavy duty interview preparation, and I have also learned a bit about the history of the destination town, its hospital and a little about the county's population demographic. And whether there are any badminton clubs there. All essential information prior to showing immense enthusiasm for the job, the department, the location and everything associated with it.

Nothing much

I am in need of another guest blogger. Mr A says he will write something, but can't seem to get started, and he has a lot of more important things to do. This time, then, just another brief account of mundane Lola life.

• The loft insulation went well at mum and dad's house, and with its new load of insulation, the loft now has a peculiar smell which I don’t like very much. The fibreglass also bit me on the arm when I switched the light on and off without sleeves. The man who installed it all was very nice, helped me take down some of the larger boards that weren’t needed, and did the whole job on his own in not much more than an hour.

• Two of my job applications are still viable, although the closing dates were 25 and 31 August and I haven't heard anything about an interview from either.

• I have been fiddling about with my email, contacts and calendar, because many of my messages were routinely not reaching Lola II. So I've transferred from Outlook and am now completely in thrall to Google, and am in trouble if for any reason Google dies or takes a dislike to me.

I think it is time to get back into the garden - that ivy won't trim itself.

Our camping holiday - in pictures

Our friends J and C have a new tent, and are keen to go camping with us. We agree on dates, but, for various reasons, the designated campsite is only about an hour's drive from their home.

We arrive at their house on Friday, ready for our camping weekend, to find J and C less than enthusiastic about camping after all. The weather looks threatening, and Mr A and I have had to make plans to see Mr A's family on Saturday which would leave J and C a little high and dry.

So we pitch our tent in their back garden. We are used to this kind of thing. I find that the new tent is pretty easy to erect, with a similar footprint to the old tent, but is absolutely enormous inside. It is a Tent Tardis.

As J and C have never erected their new tent, we decide that they might as well put it up in their garden as well. That way they get to see how difficult it is and whether there are any missing pieces. Mr A and J also get to compare the size, shape, facilities and features of their respective tents in the way that men seem to like to do.

J inspects the instructions in anticipation of the work ahead. Mr A has never read any instructions in his life and is not about to start now. His body language says, "Come on, just unroll the thing and we'll work it out." J has watched a demonstration of how the tent is erected on YouTube, but can't really remember the details.

They unroll the thing. It is enormous, and seems complicated.

They start to insert the poles. I am sitting with C drinking tea inside a gazebo, which is why the work of J and Mr A is framed by curtains. We taunt the gentlemen gently yet fruitily, using the words 'erection' and 'poles' a great deal.

The poles are inserted into their mountings, constructing the tunnel shape of the tent. All appears to be going well.

The tent starts to take shape and its configuration becomes clearer. What is not clear is how to support it while the pegs are inserted into the ground. [On this point, J is particularly proud of his repair to a rubber mallet. We are impressed, and inspect the mallet closely. Mr A generously allows J exclusive use of the mallet - I suspect that Mr A is not convinced that the repair will hold and doesn't want the head of a rubber mallet flying off and hitting him in the face.]

Oh, dear. This didn't happen in the YouTube clip. But it is a minor hiccup in a successful operation; the tent is soon erect and securely pegged out.

The final touches are made to the inside of the tent, which has two bedrooms, a storage system, large windows all around the porch, and is about a third bigger than ours. Mr A is very envious of the windows, which he compares to those in our tent - ours are too small and high to see out of when sitting down. However, Mr A 'wins' on the matter of the awning, which is included in our package but not in J's - his tent has an awning, but no poles to hold it up.

J and C decide that they won't be sleeping in their tent, given that they have very comfortable beds in their house, so the tent is taken down again. Mr A and I are very keen on sleeping in tents, even in people's back gardens, so after a very pleasant evening and dinner, we retire to our accommodation. In the morning, as is customary, Mr A takes care of breakfast. As is also customary, breakfast consists of spicy noodle soup. The packet of noodles and stock is supplemented by courgette, mushroom, radish and Polish ham.

After breakfast, we pack up the tent because we are committed to going to the campsite whether we are accompanied or not. However, we return to J and C's place after the family visit to find the weather clement and J and C with renewed enthusiasm for camping after all. We will meet them at the campsite, since we are ready to go and they are still hunting for all the necessary bits and pieces.

We erect our tent at the campsite. Of course, we are experts by now. But disaster strikes. As I stretch the 'canvas' to fit one of the steel side poles, it bends in my hand like putty. Mr A attempts to bend it straight again, but with limited success.

Luckily, a man who doesn't read instructions usually has enough inventiveness to come up with some bodge, and a solution is found in the shape of a tyre lever out of the car, the strap that holds the spare wheel down, and some micropore plaster tape out of my first aid kit. For the first time in all the years I have known him, Mr A did not pack gaffer tape for our trip. Unbelievable.

The rest of the weekend passed without photographic documentation. J and C arrived and put up their tent, Mr A set up the fire basket he'd brought from our house together with a supply of logs, and other friends even turned up later to sit around the campfire with us. On Sunday it rained quite a bit in the morning, but we went for a walk in the afternoon when it was sunny, and then came back and sat around drinking tea and chatting some more in the late afternoon sunshine.

Down south

Not much to say except that my trip to London and The South was very enjoyable. By the end of Thursday I had reached saturation point with the badminton, something I didn't think was possible, so it was lucky that I hadn't bought any more tickets. Although it was a shame in some ways that I wasn't there, because an unseeded British pair actually made it into the finals. China won all five events in the end: men's and women's singles and doubles plus mixed doubles.

After contributing no correct answers at all in the pub quiz on Thursday with Mr M, I went on to mum and dad's on Friday, and emptied their loft in anticipation of a visit from the insulation installers. Then on to friends in Surrey, where I concerned myself with chickens, Wisley RHS gardens (lots of good pictures from there), and the London Surrey Cycle Classic.

This last was the test event for the 2012 Olympics in a year's time, and my hosts are keen cyclists. I have to report that in comparison to badminton, this Olympic sport is not very exciting for the onlookers. After we'd stood waiting on the side of the course for half an hour, the hundreds of riders came and went in less than 30 seconds - the motorcycle outriders ahead and behind the pack were much more interesting, and the AA rescue van got just as big a cheer. In fact, the biggest cheer was for a gent in red T-shirt and saggy grey shorts who cycled by just after the cars, bikes, vans and motorcycles had all gone through, with a newspaper on his back rack.

So off we went for a cup of tea, and then I went back to Lola II's to pick up my coat and top up on Japanese food before coming home again. Mr A was pleased to see me, and I'll be doing some badminton playing of my own tonight, after a whole week off. I hope some of the talent of the last week has rubbed off on me.

World class badminton

I've been in London this week, watching the World Badminton Championships at Wembley. Inside the Arena, there's nothing but badminton. It's as if the riots and vandalism in the rest of the country were in another world. But on the bus to and from Lola II's house, I pass burnt out buildings, boarded up shops, police cordons, broken windows.

On Monday evening, Lola II was coming back from dinner with a friend in central London, and I was on my way back from Wembley when our tube and bus drivers announced that there was trouble at our destination and the journey would be disrupted. The bus that I was on did an huge detour and I ended up where I needed to be without much trouble. Lola II was kicked out of the tube quite a long way from home. Luckily, Mr M and I were able to drive out to where she was and pick her up.

As I say, while I'm watching the badminton, there's nothing else that intrudes. Outside of those times, what's going on in this country is shameful. It's particularly hard to deal with because there's nothing I can do or say to fix anything. All I have is a single vote every now and then. Spending any time considering the future either of the world economy or our society in general is supremely depressing, so I will spend another day at the badminton and forget about it all for a little while longer.

There aren't the huge crowds that might accompany events for a more mainstream sport. In fact, the arena was half empty on Monday, and yesterday there were still significant numbers of empty seats. The players and games are outstanding though, and it's the same venue and the same players as for the Olympics in a year's time, except that nobody I know has 'won' any tickets of any sort for the Olympics, and these cost me less than a tenner a day. Monday's ticket was free - given away by Badminton England to encourage attendance.

The sport is particularly popular and well-supported in the East: top players are from China, Malaysia, Indonesia, Korea, Thailand and Japan. In Europe, the only players that are in the running for top prizes come from Denmark. Some of the early games are spectacularly mismatched, in size and shape as well as ability and competitiveness. The tiny, ginger Scots kids against the hulking, blonde Austrians was one; the Irish pair looked positively grey in comparison with the other competitors. The east Asians are generally tiny, but they make up for it in fitness and springiness, bouncing high in the air for the smash. The French are most definitely the best turned out.

So now it's stopped raining and I'll get on down to the bus stop for another day of enthralling entertainment. Watch the final rounds on Sky TV, or better skill, get out there and play. It's truly the best sport there is.

Another camping holiday

I have been away, with Lola II, camping in Norfolk. But before that, I was with Lola II and Mr M at a comedy gig. And before that, someone came to service our boiler.

The comedy was very good, including great handling of a heckler by Milton Jones, and slapstick from another comedian that I laughed at despite myself (why is a red nose and a false beard funny? I don't know). We set off for Norfolk on Friday, but the route took us within half a mile of mum and dad's house, so by lunchtime we'd only got that far. Eventually we reached the very large campsite, pitched the tent (Mr A's very old tent-with-a-porch that we can cook inside), and went off to the local pub for dinner.

While everywhere else in the country was scorching hot, our weekend was freezing. Lola II thinks it's her fault - every time she goes away, home has great weather while wherever she is ends up cold and/or wet. The first night, it was very windy, the tent flapped like nobody's business, and it rained. Luckily we had pitched the tent properly and stayed dry, then spent the day at a cold and windy nature reserve with mostly ducks. But also red squirrels, except they were taking the sensible option and staying indoors. There was also a Little Owl, which I particularly liked, and a world-leading collection of cranes. It was quite good, but cold.

When we got back to the campsite, we discovered that some of the tent had fallen down in the wind, and a large hole in the side of the porch area had been made by the upturned table. Mr A wasn't too disappointed by the news, and has in fact embraced the need for a new tent, spending a large amount of time researching what we might get, ranging from 30 quid on ebay to 300 quid including an internal wall-mounted storage system. I'm only sorry I didn't make his day by ruining his tent years ago.

Lola II took on cooking duties, and produced turkey stew and rice noodles for supper, and our traditional camp breakfast next morning: noodles with courgettes and prawns. I know, not your usual breakfast, but we like it. It was windy and rained overnight again, but it had stopped by morning and we drove to the coast, and Cromer. Having been lured by the potential of a seaside town, at the pay and display car park we anticipated a visit of many hours, before finding it was really windy, very cold indeed, and not much was going on in Cromer. The town museum didn't open until 1 p.m. and there wasn't much else to do, although we visited the lifeboat museum and then had lunch in a very pleasant cafe looking out over the grey, cold, windswept sea.

After Cromer we headed off up the coast to Sheringham, the sun nearly came out a couple of times, and we found a bustling little town that would have been much more interesting to visit for longer. As it was, we got 15 minutes looking at a display about offshore wind power and a look out at the sea from the tower before the museum closed and we were out in the cold again and back to the car before the traffic wardens found us.

It was warm enough to sit outside the tent reading the paper for about an hour before I retired inside the tent and Lola II cooked up frankfurter wraps with creme fraiche, sugar-snap peas, olives, and the beans we couldn't open for the stew the night before because I'd neglected to bring a tin opener. That night was still, so at least the tent didn't flap, but I was still wearing a fleece, tracksuit bottoms and thick socks over my pyjamas.

On the bright side, the campsite was fine, and we had a lovely time really. After breakfast and a look around a local town we had a long drive along the coast road before I dropped Lola II off to catch the train at Kings Lynn and drove myself home. I almost got heatstroke on the three hour journey. The weather was beautiful once I'd left Norfolk.

Camping and bees

A double whammy of a weekend, with a camping phase and then an educational phase! First of all was another reunion of the group rallying from Plymouth to Banjul that Mr A took part in more than five years ago. We met down in the Cotswolds where the youngest of the party lives - she was only 19 when she went on the trip, the baby of the group. She is currently living near her parents, who kindly hosted our weekend in their fabulous house with its extensive garden and bijou summer house.

Mr A had a bit of a bad time earlier in the week and managed to get behind with his university work, so he had to go home on Saturday. But we both camped on Friday night, throwing up the tent rather casually, relying on the weather forecast of 'light rain showers'. When we woke up in the morning, there had been a lot more than light rain, it was still raining heavily, and we noticed a certain amount of wetness around the edges of the sleeping bags. Luckily we were pretty much dry and hadn't been woken early, but then we noticed a large water-filled blister in the middle of the roof. Mr A managed to get dressed and out without incident, but of course I brushed against it and the water flooded in.

The option of sleeping in the summer house was available for Saturday night, so I wasn't too worried, and the sleeping bags, mats and tent dried out in the sunshine on Saturday afternoon anyway. After Mr A had gone, we walked along the canal to the pub, then walked back again, had a barbeque and then sat in the summer house, toasty warm from the wood-burning stove, telling stories.

On Sunday I went on to visit Bee Lady and Landrover Man, two of my potential guest bloggers. Instead of producing a blog post themselves, I was given the Bee Experience, so now I have to write the post instead of them. A canny strategy.

Bee fact #1: the honey bee is the only insect that produces a human food.

Togged up in the full beekeeper protective jumpsuit, I followed BL to the hives. We were going to check over two hives, one of which had swarmed three times in the space of a fortnight. This means a queen takes off with her retinue to find somewhere else to live, leaving the hive with whatever of the rest of the colony is left, and needing a new queen, which they rear from special 'queen cells'. Doing this three times has consequences: the remaining colony can be quite small and may not survive the winter, and (more importantly in this case) the beekeeper either needs to find three new hives and all the hardware this entails, or lose the bees and potentially annoy the neighbours when the swarm takes up residence in their chimney.

The first swarm happened when BL was away, and LM had to deal with it - following the swarm, knocking it into a basket ensuring that he got the queen, providing a new hive and tempting the colony into it. If the swarm is very high up a tree, or very dispersed, this can be quite a procedure.

So now, BL was left with more hives than she really wanted, but she thought that the hive left after the three swarms was without a queen. This offered the opportunity to combine this colony with another, thus reducing the number of hives. The surprise came when, on inspection, there were cells containing eggs - and not just eggs, but larvae and sealed cells too. This meant that not only was there a queen, but she'd been there quite a while, and BL hadn't spotted her on previous surveys.

Quite honestly, it doesn't surprise me a bit. The queen is slightly longer than the worker bees, with different legs. On a frame with many hundreds of bees, possibly thousands, spotting one bee that is slightly longer with different legs underneath it would defeat me every time, although by the end of my Bee Experience I could just about spot the drones, which are quite significantly bigger than the workers and have different eyes.

BL obviously wanted to mark the queen so she would be easier to find, and tried to use a 'crown of thorns' device which was supposed to keep her in one place. The frame was so busy that it was more practical in the end to just follow her around and dab her with a marker when she stopped running. Then replace everything - frames filled with brood, pollen and honey, the 'queen excluder' which keeps the queen in a specific part of the hive, the lid and weatherproofing, all very carefully so as not to annoy the bees. They'd been given a puff or two of smoke before we started disturbing them, and they buzzed around quite a lot, but not so much that I was worried about being stung, and I was wearing a bee-resistant outfit anyway.

Bee fact #2: you can die from the venom of 10 bee stings per pound of body weight, which isn't that many if you're a child, and quite possible as an adult if you're not wearing protection and you annoy a large colony, for example.

The other hive was one of the colonies that had swarmed, and so was quite new and small with not much honey and equipment cobbled together from what BL could find. We were looking for the queen in this one too, and BL found it, but on a rather fragile frame. So she decided to pack it in, and mark the queen another time.

Two things particularly impressed me. One was the sheer depth of knowledge that is needed to look after bees. Of course, bees in the wild pretty much look after themselves, but if you want them to stay healthy in your hives, multiply (but not too much) and produce a decent amount of honey, you need to know quite a lot of things, some of them quite technical. The other is the record keeping - without recording everything you do, how would you remember which hive is which, how recently you checked, what stages the brood was at, whether they have enough honey stored to keep them over the winter, and everything else about them?

I don't think I'm about to take up beekeeping, but it was a very interesting visit and insight into the art and science of apiculture. And as ever, BL produced a very tasty lunch!

Dietetics, gardens and art

It turns out that there is a tiny bit of dietetics-related stuff to write about in between guest posts. I had an interview on Friday, and have been invited for another interview somewhere else next week, which has been a great boost to morale. I've also been asked to provide some teaching input for a post-graduate module at the university! And I went to a meeting of the West Midlands branch of the British Dietetic Association, which was held at a hospital in Birmingham.

I did some research into the location of the meeting, and found a couple of other places that I fancied visiting: the Barber Institute of Fine Arts, and Winterbourne House and Garden. I like a nice garden, and Winterbourne has one, but the house is rather splendid too, and I took a load of the photos that adorn this post with enough left over for several more to come. If I were to visit Winterbourne House again I would probably take advantage of the delightful tea room, which has an outside terrace if the weather is good. As it was, I brought a packed lunch which I ate in the garden, and thought I'd get myself a cup of tea at the Barber Institute. There, the 'café' consists of a hot drinks machine, plastic-wrapped biscuits, and a chiller cabinet with soft drinks and chocolate. Bad choice.

The Fine Arts in question consist of a permanent collection and the current temporary exhibition which is all about tennis. A bit of history of the game: it turns out that the first lawn tennis club in England was in Leamington Spa; the first game of lawn tennis was played in Birmingham. Whatever. It was rather nice, looking at paintings and photos all featuring tennis or tennis players. They even had the famous Athena poster of the lady with the bottom, and some newspaper clippings of the model in the present day talking about the photo, which was taken (in Birmingham) by her boyfriend at the time. And the famous sculpture of the Prince of Wales (later Edward VIII) dressed for tennis, except the caption says the sculptor worked from photos and he was actually dressed for squash. But those two are just the most well-known; I actually liked many of the paintings a lot more.

After all this nature and culture, the BDA meeting was quite good too - three talks, about nutrition and HIV, research into views of tube-fed cancer patients, and burns. I was particularly interested in the description of the research. The objective of the study was to try and find out more about why the nutritional status of people who have a feeding tube placed before their cancer treatment still declines, despite all efforts to ensure that they receive their full nutritional requirements. The researcher didn't really find an answer to this, but what I found surprisingly interesting was the description of the research process she used. Now I'm wondering if I should be a bit more proactive in following up my research options.

Aside from work-related activity, I've obviously had quite a bit of spare time. Looking at my diary, I was amazed that it has only been two weeks since my degree result came through - it seems an awful lot longer. The badminton club has benefitted to the tune of a prototype website and email account, the acquired trousers have been successfully shortened, the kitchen remains clean, but the garden has not received any attention so far.