We have a new bed – and it means there is an air of 1970s porn movie about our bedroom at the moment.

Oh, dear reader, please don’t tell me your’s is always like that….

So moving on, the bed we ordered was called an Eleanor, the mattress an Emma, and for the sake of symmetry, the thick mattress topper is called Evie.

My best beloved finds it rather amusing to head up to bed of an night, anticipating the delights of Eleanor, Emma and Evie.

And I have to say they do welcome you in  – but their welcome is more about an easing of aching joints, a comfortable way to lie and read your book whilst sipping your tea, space to turn over in the night……

Regular readers will know that the buying of this bed, mattress etc was an exercise in procrastination (and umbrellas ) – my BB has a way of not doing something today that could be half-done several months from now, and only the increasing discomfort of the bed we had, finally got him round to a bit of Googling.

(The bed we had was meant to be a treat when we moved here and was replacement for a very serviceable Ikea number. The mattress was hand-made by Egyptian children over 20 years, or something like that.

(But, beds are like walking boots, you can’t tell that they will work, however much you pay, until you have spent some time with them.

(We gave the bed to a friend and she got her son and another strapping young man, to take it away and assemble Eleanor – a result all round.)

Anyway, bed assembled, mattress on it, topper on the top, all is well.

Except.

My BB and I have different duvet needs – I am a hot person and he wants something nice and warm and tucked in around him.

Separate duvets are the norm in the rest of Europe but it took some persuading to get him to agree that this was a good idea and not the first step to me leaving him to the (imaginary) delights of Eleanor, Emma and Evie.

Whether he was ready or not, I bought a lovely light, minimal tog feather single duvet and a couple of single duvet covers.

When he came round to the idea, the internet search was on for an extra long single duvet for my extra long BB.

That is, surprisingly, not too difficult – but the duvet covers they offer to go with them are awful – two plain sheets sewn together would about cover the necessary description.

So, I am about to ‘extend’ the nice other single duvet cover. 

Because he has cold feet, I thought I might extend it with a fleece layered extension – complementary fabric of course so that Eleanor, Emma and Evie look nicely dressed up.

Now there is the action of a considerate Sussex housewife.

I may have mentioned that we had a lot of visitors and when they went, I slumped.

And then I recovered and thought ‘ Mmm, what do I do now.’

That should be a cue for something really interesting but, dear reader, don’t hold your breath. 

I have, for reasons which I won’t bore you with, been dealing with two designers for different reasons, and instead of giving them a proper brief, I have been saying,’ Oh that is lovely, but could you just….’

‘Does that blue really suggest food? I don’t think there is any blue food so could we go for a green…’

And, ‘It is great but because of the politics of the situation, could we move the bridge to the forefront?’

And, ‘Do you know anyone who can get this printed in two days rather than ten?’

All of this requires an eye for detail and regular reader you, as my friends and family will agree, that is not my forte.

So, meanwhile, I have done some stuff which is well within the comfort blanket.

Oxfam – when in doubt, go sort books.

Make a comfort meal – lentil dahl (with slow cooked lamb shanks.)

Dog walking.

And yes, the annual event – cleaning out the fridge.

So at the back I find three jars of fake caviar.

From Christmas, I am thinking, and they will be – probably – used up before next Christmas.

Or then again, they could come in handy on let’s just say for argument’s sake, a Christmas Eve drinks and tasty canapés party….

More jars of home-made jams etc than you can shake a stick at.

And we don’t eat jam etc – despite it being nicely homemade.

Sorry to say but most in the bin now – so, those of you who wanted some crab apple jelly, blackberry jelly, various chutneys etc etc, should have said so earlier.

And, as always, there was a leftover something which isn’t quite mouldy but then again I was not sure it could or should survive….

And then there was the washing out the fridge drawers, one slimey with the remains of a decomposing cucumber – just the one, before you get all sniffy.

It took pretty much all afternoon.

So, pleased with all I have done, I decide to work out how Dropbox works, to sort out the problems I have with NatWest online, chase an outstanding invoice, plan a Serve Food For Syria evening, do a TripAdvisor review for the very nice hotel we stayed in in Fayence, Provence ( for one night, I hasten to add), sort out someone to cut the high hedges, source soil for a raised bed, chase both those designers for different reasons – and book a walk with a good friend to sort out what to do with our lives……

There was me thinking that life without visitors would be all lying around watching telly and reading Nietzsche.

In June and July I was more than busy with the (unexpected) volume of paid work that came my way and was rather looking forward to a relaxed August.

The weather, as you will probably know, was glorious and I was planning on gardening, writing, dog walking, a bit of Oxfam here and a gentle bit of upholstery there.

But I had failed to concentrate on just what was in my diary and instead of the above, I found myself on an almost continuous carousel of visitors.

Indeed, we had a princely total of six days without some sort of lunch, supper, people staying, people coming, people going, in the whole month.

Oxfam duties fell into a state of sad disrepair and neglect.

The garden looked a bit sad and neglected too, though I have to say left largely to its own devices, it produced a triffid of a cosmos and rescued-off-a-bonfire-and-quickly-planted dahlias have beaten the odds and started popping up all over.

And we did have a nice crop of delicious plums from the espaliered tree planted next to the wall the best beloved built.

My 16-year-old niece came for a surprise visit and because she was here, the seven-year-old and three-year-old grandchildren also came over – and there was sun, a paddling pool, a hose and ball games – you can imagine the excitement.

When they had left, my neighbour reported that a huge quiet sigh fell over the house.

My niece said words to the effect of ‘blimey that was nice but rather full on.’

I reminded her of the times when she was at that age, with that energy and needed to have something to do all the time –  and stayed for a week.

( Mind you at that age she loved cleaning the kitchen and ‘sorting out’ and we had a very clean kitchen and an excel spreadsheet on what was on every shelf of the freezer.)

Some years ago, the day after our wedding celebration, when all the clearing up was done, a lunch for the clearing up helpers was over and the aftermath of a big celebration was pretty much sorted, we fell onto the sofa and put on the television.

We found and watched, in a mute but companionable way, The Railway Children. It was just what we needed.

This time, after the last of the August visitors were delivered to the station, we again slumped on the sofa and to my delight, there was Swallows and Amazons.

And what is more to the point, because we have treated ourselves to a new television – all 32 inches of it – we can now see what is happening without leaning forward and squinting.

And, even better, there is a green button you can press to allow you to go back to the beginning and see the whole movie.

Bliss.

On my list of things in sixes, was to learn six new things. 

(If you are a late arrival to this blog, the list is in ‘celebration’ of my next big birthday and instead of a party, I have opted for doing things in batches of six.)

So, this week, courtesy of my best beloved, I spent a day learning how to throw pots. 

I learned how to centre my clay on the wheel (essential, and not that easy), how to ease the clay into a (in my case, less than perfect) cylinder which is the basis for all vessels, how to make a (small) bowl and (small) plate.

And, I learned that the gentle art of creating or initiating or helping along, a conversation between a group of people who don’t know each other, seems to be on the wane.

So, there were six of us, eating a very delicious lunch at this pottery and my ‘training’ at many a diplomatic meal came in useful, even necessary.

No one seemed to be able to ask a question of their neighbour to get chat going, or even of the potter himself who, it turned out was as engaging as any well-informed, interesting expert/enthusiast.

But anyway, my slightly askew pots are, of course, not a delight to the stranger’s eye but from the ‘parental’ view, they are amazing.

Just waiting for them to be fired and glazed, and I can get them home.

(There is a three-day course I have my eye on and, as it includes Reiki firing, that would count as something new learned too.)

Another on my learning list to do is a Health and Safety course.

I can imagine you might think that a little eccentric, and not as creative an outlet as pottery, but it has to be done.

For some years now, I have been the H&S person for an event and not a small event either – I won’t name it because I don’t want to alert anyone to the fact that the H&S person is woefully ignorant of the rules, regulations, current advice, best practice etc etc.

Some of the car parking staff are better H&S qualified than I am. 

So, this year, after many years of flying by the seat of my pants, keeping fingers crossed and charming inspectors with the chance to shop whilst they check, I will have to do something about it.

And, finally for this list anyway, I am re-learning the art of real (as in paid) work.

So, let me give you a small taster:

Juggling two experts on the Orkneys – not literally of course, though that would be a skill – just their information.

Charming a European Commission official to break off from his day job to check through what I have written.

Understanding the three legal briefs for an activity – two on a Scottish planning issue and one, rather surprisingly as it is supposed to be in the same case study, on Belarusian politics.

Doing a run down of when coffee-producing countries do their harvest – yes the harvesting moves around the calendar. 

Creating a profile of the refugee influx into European islands and why Guernsey and Jersey are quite so complacent about everything.

And as anyone who knows me will tell you, I am not a woman for detail.

But now I find myself thinking ‘Ahh, yes there was that email a while back from X mentioning that 50% of the housing stock in the smaller Orkney islands dates back to 1914. And, yes I must check what the dress code is for the students for the formal dinner. Can we adapt the profile of Sardinia to meet a general archetype of Sunny and Sandy or do we need to use Corfu as an example…….’

The bonus today has been that I have the budget to check into a hotel haven to sit and do nothing but sort out and write this stuff.

I have not been distracted by demands from the garden, the dog, nor a conversation with anyone except hotel staff.

It is not the Premier Inn, which I tried but was useless – nowhere to plug in a laptop, room not available until 3.30, and then apparently a desk but no chair…

Given all that, on spec, I called a local, very nice hotel, and they said yes.

They found me a corner to sit quietly, with a plug, tea and regular checks that I was fine.

Despite the fact they had been fully booked the previous night, they sorted out a room for me by 12 and got me a good chair to sit on as I worked.

And there are very nice touches.

It was last minute, so I got a good deal and it was  only £30 more than the Premier Inn.

Do you know, I think I might get into this….

Over the years you get to know your strengths and weakness and though I made half-hearted attempts in my youth to work on my failings, I have long since given up on that.

(One of those failings being no self-discipline…) 

So, here I am in village life with a role for which I am deeply unsuited – the role needed an eye for detail, and that isn’t me.

The role was organising the more than 30 stalls for the village festivities and then fitting them into the (closed-off-for-the-day) village street, making sure all their many and varied requirements were dealt with, too-ing and fro-ing with emails and pro-formas beforehand so that they all knew when and where to be, and everyone was sorted, cars parked off site – and ready to go before the brass band and old men of the village paraded down the street.

Piece of cake, I hear you say – those of you with an eye for detail.

And indeed, I was frequently told by many and varied villagers, all will be fine on the day.

But my best beloved and people who have known me over the years, had furrowed brows and did sharp intakes of breath at the prospect of me organising it successfully.

However, I am also aware of my strengths, and one of those is getting lots of people to help me with any task.

I have a well-used habit of waving my hands in the air and asking all and sundry to help in any way I can think of.

And dear reader they did – and it was just as well. 

The man who was bringing the carousel, trampoline and hook-a-duck (don’t ask) was so fed up with me emailing him about the footprint of his stuff and whether I could get it in and still leave room for the necessary space to get a fire engine through, that he offered to come for a ‘site visit’.

He did, and it did fit, and he was very nice about it.

There is a woman on the festivities committee who has spent more than enough time on calming me down and telling me it has always worked, with a little chaos, and would work again this year.

And she told me that again, and again, and again, and at no time could I see her gritted teeth though I am sure they were there.

Then there was the nice neighbour who doesn’t much get involved in village stuff but who I spotted outside the shop and asked her if she would spare an hour on the day to help me get the stallholders in place, and if she could persuade her husband to do an hour or (maybe, at a push) two hours traffic marshalling.

She said yes, and they both turned up at 8am.

I was very proud that I had done a list of stalls and a map of where each was to go.

But because my (eye for detail, proof reader type) husband was ‘working’ in various European capitals, the map and list had not been thoroughly checked.

On the day my nice neighbour came running up the street on several occasions saying that some stallholders had arrived but weren’t on her list or map.

Ah yes, that lack of an eye for detail…..

But they slotted in, and we juggled, and people were nice and, thanks to the weather gods, the sun was shining and that always makes life easier.

I mentioned that I had asked them to work for ‘oh an hour or two at most’ and they were still there at the end of the day picking up litter, collecting traffic cones – and, amazingly, saying they had enjoyed it.

Other thanks must go to the friend who sat me down in her back garden and made me concentrate on the map and the list – if only I had gone back to her and asked whether everything was covered…

But despite her husband ‘languishing’ at the other end of the county with a newly-broken wrist, she turned up, did stuff, and told me (very nicely and very accurately), how to make sure it was as good, if not better, next year.

There was the young man – at least by my standards – who knows how events work because he learned it at his mother’s knee.

He knows you just do stuff – whatever needs doing.

That included walking an unsteady 95-year-old back from the car park, putting up his gazebo, finding  chairs, putting up other gazebos ( there are a surprising number of gazebos to put up) and, and, and.

My eye for detail will never happen, but thanks to all those people, it didn’t matter.