Today we had a scheduled power cut, to allow trees growing near the power lines to be safely cut back. It was originally scheduled for last Wednesday, two days after the great storm, and we weren't entirely surprised when a letter dropped through the door shortly before it was due to start, telling us that it had been deferred. Half an hour later a second pick-up truck swooshed round the turning circle, bringing the new date, and I did feel a twinge of irritation that UK Power Networks couldn't have organised themselves slightly better and made one journey instead of two, doing their tiny bit towards efficiency savings to help keep electricity prices down.
The Helpful Information on the back of the letter warned us to 'turn off and unplug any sensitive equipment such TVs, satellite receivers, machinery, computers and other office equipment'. Given that they all have to take their chances in the frequent unscheduled power blips that occur here, it seemed rather late to start worrying about that. There is no need to leave one light on to let us know when the power returns: the cacophony of bleeps and flashing lights from gadgets whose timers have been thrown out by the interruption to the power supply does that more than adequately.
I continued weeding and mulching the rose bed behind the house. I was about to write that my progress is like the advancing tide, but that would not be true, since there are no little rushing waves and retreats. It is more like a lock filling, very slowly. You can't see the water level changing, but after a while you realise that a layer of bricks that was visible is now covered. I pick up the fallen rose leaves, destined for the dump to avoid recirculating the black-spot, pull up weeds, pluck horsetail, and dibble the soil surface around with a trowel to destroy any small weed seedlings. I cover the soil with compost, dust with blood, fish and bone, and sprinkle with Strulch. By mid afternoon I'd run out of compost, again, and was down to my last bucket of Strulch. I don't like to even try and calculate how much compost I'd need to do every bed I want to do, or how much it would cost. Better to keep buying it, eight or ten bags at a time, until I run out of energy, or the weather brings proceedings to a halt.
The Systems Administrator could not chop up any logs for the fire without power for the electric chainsaw, and proposed going for a walk. I said hopefully that an alternative would be to take the anti-chicken netting off the front of the dahlia bed, and chop the dahlias down, a project I have mentioned before, more than once. I don't really expect the SA to help with the ornamental gardening. It is my hobby, after all, and the SA chops logs, does any tree work requiring power tools, mows the lawns (but doesn't cut the edges), builds things, has bonfires, and drives the tractor to cart debris around the place. But there is lots to do at this stage of the great winter clear-up, and always the awful possibility that by the first week of December it could be snowing, and not let up properly until late March, so I thought I'd try my luck and ask. The SA obligingly cleared the bed. The left hand compost bin is filling up nicely.
The power came on again at four on the dot. You get so used to having electricity, you forget how many things in the house need it. Scrambled eggs on toast for lunch, or omelette? Er, no toaster. And the garage up-and-over door is electrically driven. It has an emergency manual over-ride, but I didn't like to use that when it wasn't an emergency, in case I messed up the automated system, so had to search for my tools in the dark garage by torchlight, and carry them out through the laundry.
Our Ginger hid in the laundry, which he doesn't normally do, and later on invented a new and quite imaginative (for a cat) game with the black cat, in which they batted at each other through the vents in the louvre door. The SA heard the scrabbling noise, and came to let the trapped cat out, but Our Ginger didn't want to come out, and once the door was closed again they resumed their paw fight.
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