The Return of BGL

Although we'd tried to put him off on the grounds of not enough space, floors in a mess etc, Bill D of Big Green Lorry fame is on the way and timed to arrive at about 11 on Monday with all our stuff from the Kentish house. This time he really is using the big green lorry on the business card instead of the rinky dink little Bedford, so despite several attempts, he is not going to get round the turn from country lane onto the drive, so the only alternative is for him to park 100 yards down the lane in a layby and for Dad in the 2CV and trailer, and Sparks in the van with roof-rack, to run a shuttle service from the BGL to the house. No matter. Bill turns up with 2 extra bodies for humping and it's all accomplished amicably in a couple for hours, the stuff being stored in the Tigin, the 'milking shed' and the other end of the milking shed (calf house?). The boys stop for coffee and a slice of cake and an explore of the house and how we've got on, then they are on their way.

The rest of Monday is spent on the serious business of shovelling out clay and rubble. We need to get down to 17 inches below the original floor level, 8 for compacted down sub-base, 6 for foam insulation sheets, and 3 for ready-mix screed. That, across the ground floor, is a lot of digging, shovelling and barrowing, and the boys ache in places they din't know they had. One good thing is that the garden tools turned up with the 'stuff' so Dad now has his stainless steel spade and fork, which are a lot easier on the damp clay than traditional Irish pointy-end shovels.

We now have the generator on site, so the boys can work on after dark by electric light and are still at it at 17:30. Mum is doing "on-site catering", so we retreat to the caravan for stew, wine and Scrabble. (Yes, Scrabble lives again, as Sparks has brought his board up this week.

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Hastings Old Town

Autumn is definitely here and the Indian summer 100% gone. As I write this a-top the hill that backs Hastings, it is blowing a hooley and driving drizzle across the garden. It's not been that bad all day though and in the morning we did get a chance to repeat the walk round to Ochiltree Road and around the archery fields and, later, Dad continued re-acquainting himself with the old hunting grounds by taking us to Hastings Old Town.

Here we parked along the end of the Stade and went for a stroll among the beach-launched fishing boats to take a few pictures and fell in with one old boy who was happy to chat. It was still good fishing, he opined, but this year the weather had been a problem. He'd been a fisherman all his life and showed us his old boat, now laid up on the shore, RX73, the "young Flying Fish" (not the one in the picture here). Bought brand new when he came out of the Navy after the war, he'd used it right round till ten years ago. Now he only goes out with his son, though on a more modern boat. You spend less time on the sea, he says, but you seem to catch more fish. His family had always been Hastings fishermen and they'd had boats called Flying Fish in their family since the Middle Ages, he said.

Back home, Pud Lady and Tom were sharing the cooking today, cheese or mushroom omelette and a selection of vegetables. Dad has bought the house a Scrabble set and Pud Lady is enjoying taking on Dad at regular intervals for some hotly contested games. So far honour is even. Dad also showed Pud Lady all the photos, warts and all, of the Project Erroll house. She is quite excited about it and prefers it to the other options Dad showed her (including the one we got outbid on). Says it will be more fun and has more potential. Go Pud Lady! You've made Dad very happy. He was worried you'd think he'd lost his mind.

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