Started early with googling into increased air traffic over Derbyshire, and that made an hour disappear. Lots of people on the same and similar topic threads – conspiracy theories, preparation for war, foreign aircraft; and it’s a little of them all in some way. We’re on a training corridor to Wales among other things. But there’s definitely more flying – and at night – than there was when we moved in.
When we moved in I did a lot of research into the history of the house (I consistently mis-type research as reaserch, as I do with beacsue. Many years ago I used to manage a fabulous beer innovation brand/technology boondoggle called ARC, and one of my peculiarities was to insist on its capitalisation, thus: ARC. One lady once amended an entire report to auto-replace Arc with ARC – which unfortunately led to research becoming reseARCh a hundred times across the piece. This was not the greatest technical calamity the innovation experienced, but it happened on a Monday morning, and it comes to mind.)
I’m clearing my throat a lot, I think the painkillers give me a dry throat. It’s okay as there’s no-one here to hear me, but I worry that too much throat-clearing will lead to hiccups, and I’m a disaster when it comes to the hiccups. There’s a neighbour lives up the back row of houses here and he comes out of his house a few times, day and night, to have massive throat-clearing sessions that drown out the aircraft, and to do big dribbled spits over his fence. Then he smokes, aggressively.
A daffodil is bent and laying face down at the edge of the lawn, probably where a cat has gone through the back hedge.
The houses on the back row weren’t there when this house was built – some time between (bewteen) 1760 and 1790. There were – hang on, notes – ‘the Butcher’s Shop Yard and Orchard’ (1841 record), and somewhere close by the unwed tenant of our home, Agnes Winson – household head, butcher, farmer, mother to four at least, with servants residing, a coachman (Sam Knight), a railway clerk, a dairy maid (Rebecca) visiting, and ‘uncle’ Sam Taylor ever present – managed thirty acres. Before the mysterious planes.
© Steve Mitchell, Fisher Lane, 2013