… that’s definitely the way to go on a Sunday morning, right enough. And I thought that Isabelle the Nurse was joking yesterday.
So even though it was a late night last night, I prepared the coffee machine before going to bed. And I put a note in the medicine drawer where Isabelle the Nurse would see it. The note said “I wasn’t really sure if you were serious yesterday. If you were, I’ve prepared the coffee machine. If you weren’t, no problem. Just leave it”.
Once in bed, I dozed off fairly quickly, and although I awoke two or three times during the night, I was soon back asleep again.
The final time that I awoke, it was already daylight, so I imagined Isabelle the Nurse turning up very shortly. And I wasn’t wrong either. About five minutes later, I heard the bell on the front door ring and then my apartment door open.
Next was the drawer opening, and then I heard the coffee machine start up, with Isabelle the Nurse bounding in here with her usual cheerful entrance and “I’ve switched the coffee machine on!”. When she came in here, she replied “of course, I was always serious about the coffee”. So I made a note to remind myself to prepare things for coffee on every Sunday whenever she will be on duty.
Of course, she wanted a coffee too, so I told her where the mugs are, and she joined me in a mug of coffee – all frightfully sociable it was. She then mentioned something about croissants, so I reminded myself to lay on the croissants too whenever she’s on her travels around here on a Sunday.
After she’d finished with my legs and feet, she cleared off, and I couldn’t help wondering what whoever it was with whom she had spoken on leaving my apartment yesterday would have made of her saying “thanks for the coffee” on leaving my apartment. My street cred will go up another huge slice.
After she had left, I noticed that she had left behind her certain amounts of rubbish that I had to clear away in case anyone else comes. Not that I’m complaining, of course. I think that it was wonderful.
The coffee gave me a marvellous boost, and I was standing up in the bedroom in a matter of seconds. It may well be coffee in the early mornings for the rest of my life if it does me this much good. Does anyone have a good recommendation for a small bedside coffee machine?
Isabelle the Nurse had left the front door unlocked, so I went straight into the bathroom to organise myself, and then back into the kitchen to make breakfast – porridge, home-made apricot jam croissants, fruit juice for the medication and more coffee. And while I was eating, I was reading some more of THE REPORT OF THE WOOLHOPE NATURALISTS CLUB 1867.
We’re back on talking about fungi again today, and to give you some idea of the morals of the aristocracy and the upper classes, we have had plenty of "they are generally sufficiently abundant during the autumn months to increase the food of the working classes, to vary it, and to add a great relish to the usual dishes of the humblest cottager.", "The poor are apt to judge of the worth of anything simply by its money value.", "Let gentlemen learn themselves what Funguses are edible, teach their poorer neighbours to know them." and "The peasantry would then learn practically that the objects of their aversion had a money value—and were bought as palatable and wholesome. In a short time they would copy the taste of their superiors." It’s all terribly superior and class-ridden, and also very patronising, typical of the Victorian age.
The biggest irony in all of this is that just fifteen years later, the fortunes of the Chandos Hoskyns family, one of whom was president of the Woolhope Naturalists in the year that we are discussing, failed completely, and their beloved Harewood Park was sold. It’s now owned by the Duchy of Cornwall, and there has been talk (certainly in 2014) of demolishing the house.
Back in here, I finished off the notes from yesterday, and now they are on line. But I forgot to add in something very important. I forgot to mention that at the football over the last few weeks, I am pretty certain that I have been hearing over one of the microphones situated next to one of the dugouts, presumably, commands being shouted in French to the players. One command that I’ve regularly been hearing is fais gaffe – or “look out” but last night, I heard, as well as the usual commands fais gaffe, I heard on est seul – “you’re on your own” and ecartez – “spread out” – as clear as anything.
So what’s happening here?
Once the notes were on line, I had a few things to do, and that led to a very happy foot fest this morning.
The first match that I came across was Greenock Morton v Stenhousemuir. Earlier in the season, during Ian Murray’s spell in charge, Morton had collapsed to lose 4-0, and believe me – they were lucky to get 0.
Yesterday, though, they roared into a 2-0 lead, only for them to have a defender sent off and for them to collapse 3-2. “Here we go again” I thought to myself. However, several of the Morton players had other ideas, and in a most remarkable turn-round, the ten men of second-bottom Morton ran out 4-3 winners against a club that was leading the league a few weeks ago.
And hats off to Dylan Borso, a young American from Chicago who, at just twenty years of age, scored all four Morton goals.
The next match was Stranraer v Stirling Albion, and Stranraer made short work of Stirling Albion, winning 3-0 at a canter to cement their position at the top.
This meant that a late lunch was on the cards – well, late disgusting drink and midday medication. And after that, I was sorting out some files and then doing my Welsh homework. But I was also busy chatting to a friend, and that slowed down my output in the later part of the day.
There was no baking this afternoon, as the bread part of the freezer in the bathroom was totally full. In fact, I didn’t make anything at all. I’ve been too busy working. But at teatime, I made myself some tea – pasta and veg in a nice cheese sauce, followed by an orange and a caramel soya yoghurt.
So now, I’ve finished off my notes, and I’ll be going to bed when I’ve done everything else. No coffee au lit for me tomorrow, unless someone comes up with a good small bedside coffee machine.
But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about the upper classes … "well, one of us has" – ed … two Lords at their club in Mayfair are talking. One says "we haven’t heard much of Sir William since he was elevated to the peerage after the death of his father."
"I know" replied the other. "He’s become such a snob since then. Do you know, these days he refuses to travel in the same car as his chauffeur?"
