We're getting there!

It is a beautiful sunny day. J is up the scaffolding painting our new window frames, we have first fix electrics and plumbing completed, the roof is on and the floorboards are due to arrive on Monday. It is happening. But not quite quickly enough now, for my liking! We won’t be done for Christmas, but all our workmen have promised to try and get the kitchen in so that we can at least make a turkey sandwich from the doggy-bag mum and dad will, no doubt, provide.

We sit at night and look, not at our lovely open fire, but at our lovely new slipper bath instead (another eBay bargain!). We can see the TV (just) not that we watch it much anyway. We can also see cardboard boxes of extractor fans, light switches (antique dolly switches also stockpiled from eBay), taps and heat/smoke detectors (all part of building regs!). We can make tea. And toast. Oh! And we can warm soup on top of the log burner in the dining room – it is our only form of heating in the whole cottage and lit 24hrs a day.

I’ve finally killed the Dyson – it battled bravely trying to suck up dust and debris, but keeled over with a groan on Thursday. I’m posting on Freecycle for another one – it’s doomed before it gets here!

And next week I am 40! How on earth did THAT happen? I’ve an awful feeling that my birthday will coincide with the day the builders “do” the knock-through for the new staircase and I will have scuttled back to mum and dad’s out of the way. I’ve only been home a couple of weeks and my bag is already lurking in the corner, waiting to be re-packed!

Has it been worth it? Mmmmm. There’s a question! Truthfully? Yes. Absolutely. Are we broke? Totally. But our dream is taking shape and in the New Year, we will have such fun putting the icing on the cake of this wonderful job our builders are doing for us.

I can’t see out of the landing window as well but still manage to catch glimpses of our Jays, long-tailed tits and glorious bejeweled frosty mornings. We have had to relocate the bird feeders and this has caused a bit of a furore and the blue tits perch on the scaffolding and look in to tell us when they are running low! The wrens also use the scaffolding to peer in at us and the dunnocks tap at their reflections in the glass (although how they can see anything through the brick dust is beyond me).

I miss dabbling into all your lives but, to be honest, at the moment am too scared to even click on one of your blogs or visit the common room in fear of being side-tracked. I do think of you all the time and can’t wait for this all to be over so life can get back to normal. It is taking a marathon of self control to keep off the site, but I just wanted to say hello (yet again), please don’t forget me and I SOOOOO want to come back. And soon.

And next year, I hope the Welsh/Marches lot will come to me for a visit and see the end result in the flesh……………. In the meantime, if there’s a trip to Ludlow on the cards – I do still have Christmas shopping to do, girls!!xx

Two bloggers' days and the roof starts to go on!

I started off with good intentions……… I really did. We would live in the house as the builders ripped it apart and then proceeded to put it back together, even better than before. (Note the “I’s” and “we’s”). And then the caravan came.

And now I am at my mum and dad’s. Wimp? You betcha. They are only around 15 minutes away so I can shower, eat and sleep in comfort and then return fully charged to spend the day “on site”. Note this phrase – “on site”. No longer, “at home”. I found myself saying to mum the other day that we’d be “home” for dinner at 6pm. Dad looked at me aghast over his glasses, eyebrows raised so far that they were almost on the back of his head and said “er…….. home?” total panic on his face. I grinned sheepishly.

So the bloggers’ day at Elizabeth’s was a wonderful reprieve. I was able to wear clean jeans and put some mascara on, jump into my car and spend a day in delightful company, eat lovely food and gaze at views to die for. Heaven. Jimmy, meanwhile, is in his element shinning up and down the scaffolding and camping in the house like a boy-scout. There is a definite divide in what “I can” and “we can” cope with at the moment!!

But Thursday morning took my breath away as I drove “to site” before heading off to Elizabeth’s. The sun was low and watery, with the promise of a beautiful day to come. The early morning mist floated above the ground and gently rolled up the hills so that the trees just poked out at the very tops and they looked like they were floating in cotton wool. I startled a buzzard as I drove along the lane and he flew from the farm gate up and away, silhouetted against the misty sunshine.

It was 7.30am and already I was smiling. I love days like this when nature makes Herself so…….. I guess “in your face” is the expression that leaps to mind. Everywhere I looked was gentle, rural beauty and the wildlife was there, especially if you knew where to look: rabbits jumping into verges; pheasants running along in front of the car, jumping neither left nor right, but just doing that funny run straight ahead; buzzards and kestrels out hunting for breakfast; squirrels foraging and all supported by a chorus of birdsong. Thursday was definitely one of those days that remind me how wonderful it is to be alive and to rise up above the problems we can all face in our daily lives and that, sometimes, can make us fail to see the beauty all around. Corny to say my heart felt full to bursting? I hope not.

Then, before I knew it, the sun was going down and I was heading back. This time, the night came quickly and on the last leg of the journey, my eyes felt gritty with tiredness. The day was playing over in my head and I smiled at the familiar ease we already seem to have found in one another’s company. An amazing community we have formed here on these purple pages.

It was only just after 8pm when I got back to mum’s and I ran a bath, made tea and was in bed with my book before 9pm. I battled with dry, heavy eyes and gave up trying to finish my book. My call to wish J goodnight wasn’t as long as usual and soon I was away with the fairies.

Friday was spent coordinating deliveries, paying bills and negotiating deals. It was a day attached to the phone, making builder tea and gazing at pages of Kingspan, coach bolts, battens, galvanized nails and breathable roofing membranes. By 4pm we had part of the roof trusses in place and we were skipping around like kids.

Saturday was a day for skiving off the build. No bricklayers this weekend as they have only got the 3 gable ends to finish and they have to wait for the roof to be in situ. So, with nothing to organize, choose, order or buy I leapt at the chance of meeting up with Bodran again (yep, twice in a week!).

We met at the Hop Pocket – a local craft centre with tea room and garden section selling cottage garden plants (we each bought a cranberry plant and have high hopes of home made cranberry sauce!). Nell went off to look around while we drank coffee and talked……… again. I know we have all been attracted to this site and this means we have things in common, but actually meeting up with fellow bloggers never fails to remind me just how much we really do have in common. Especially for those of us that were (dare I say it?) on t’other side before. That living in the country element and the whole lifestyle thing, ties us together and means we never run out of things to talk about.

I didn’t want to gate crash or hog Bodran’s day with Nell, so we parted company after a while but knew we’d probably bump into each other a bit later on in Ledbury. And, of course, we did. Phil Rickman, our local author, was signing his latest book (The Fabric of Sin) in the bookshop by the market house and I had my copy ready and waiting for his signature, in the back of the car. When I walked in, Bodran was already there and it was really nice, if a bit surreal, to see her smiling face 102 miles (she told me) from her home and twice in one day!

We clutched our signed copies and were chuffed to receive a free calendar too, with pictures of locations from the books. When I left, I thought of all the questions I had wanted to ask him about the locations which, of course, had flown out of my head. Next time……. He told us he has just started the 10th book……..

And now, I am back at home (yes, it IS home really – I’ve got the fire lit today and am snuggled on the sofa) waiting for our carpenter to come and measure up properly for the windows and the new staircase. The roof should be finished in 2 weeks at the latest and first fix electrics and plumbing will start straight after that. The quotes are coming in from the plasterers and we can now see the shape of things to come.

The budget has taken a hammering and the pounds are sliding out of our build account at a rate of knots. But right here and right now we don’t care because we can now see our vision starting to become reality. And we love it.

Getting above ground

Our poor little cottage is sulking. We are living in chaos, rubble and dust. All of our possessions have been boxed up and stacked in every available square inch of space. Making tea demands the skills of a contortionist as we lean over boxes and crates and we are permanently breathless from running up the stairs to fill kettles and wash mugs in a bowl in the bath.

The dogs have been remarkable. Three pairs of brown reproachful eyes follow us around as their bed has been moved and food/water bowls are carefully placed away from dust and bits of brick and mortar. They have soon adapted to the comings and goings of tradesmen and apart from a cursory sniff now, they largely ignore proceedings. Tilly, the cat, is far nosier and inspects everything with her tail high in the air and left her foot prints in the concrete outside the kitchen door.

We got up on Monday morning to 6 inches of water on the kitchen floor as our make-shift tarpaulin roof was no match for the heavy wind and rain. The water had seeped under the door into the dining room and we squelched as we stepped from the stairs.

I am writing this, huddled on the sofa. There are inches of dust everywhere, the carpets are ruined and now I am ready to cry. I gaze around, completely unable to see beyond the here and now. I gave up vacuuming and dusting every two days, at the weekend. It was a pointless waste of energy and I was becoming more and more disillusioned as the dust settled before I had turned my back.

The initial excitement and flurry of activity now seems a lifetime ago as the cold, stark reality of the can of worms we have unearthed stares at us full in the face.
“Never again!” and “Are you moving out?”
Oh how we laughed as our friends shared their past experiences – confident that we were made of sterner stuff and that it would be a breeze. Our laugh faltered slightly, only once, when our plumber asked where the caravan was going.

But things are looking brighter. We now have said caravan: a tiny, old touring caravan from a neighbour who has taken pity on us. This is why we are doing it. Apart from being totally and utterly in love with our home, this wonderful community that we live in is pulling ranks to support us in our hour of need. We have offers of cooking on M’s Aga (we go to mum’s, though, but lovely offer anyway), doing our washing at next door’s house (ditto mum), parking our cars on another’s drive, storing all our building materials on the farm yard opposite – the list goes on. We couldn’t think of living anywhere else and so we battle on with the disruption, trying to focus on the end result.

Yesterday afternoon, the rain returned and halted our joist work. We swept rain water out through the kitchen door into our longed-for “new hall”. The blue tarpaulin flapped above our heads and our wonderful chimney man was up a ladder trying to work out where to re-route the Rayburn flue pipe. After several cups of tea (no sugar, Milla and Jane!) the final verdict was we CAN’T move it. It joins the upstairs chimney and enters the wall at the lowest possible place. The flue can be boxed in and will just fit under our iron bed, but the joists will have to be spaced around it to meet fire regulations and insulated to protect the new floor boards. Technical facts and figures whiz back and forth between him and the builders, as I slink off to do some internet research to find out how hot the flue pipe gets.

And so, here I am, nursing my laptop. Another crisis sorted. But as sure as God made little apples, there’ll be another one on the way until the day finally arrives when Mr Building Inspector signs the build off and we open a bottle of champagne. I hope we don’t lose the box of glasses in the meantime……..

Homework

Headmistress, I did debate pretending that I'd missed the deadline for handing it in, but I have managed it in between making tea and taking delivery of another skip!

WOOZLE1967

W is for warmth. I love the permeating warmth from the Rayburn. It gently wraps its arms around you and draws you in, enticing you to lean against its shiny chrome bar. The steam gently swirls from the spout of the kettle and crumpets sizzle on the hot plates. The heart and soul of our home.

O is for outside. Living in the countryside, being able to gaze from the window at undulating fields and listen to the uninterrupted sounds of nature. Whatever the weather, there is something beautiful and ever changing as the landscape moves through the seasons, bringing new delights to marvel at. From the first glimpses of Spring poking through the dark soil; the sound of birdsong; lengthening days with the promise of things to come: next is the full-on greenness and colour of Summer; casting off our heavy winter clothes and feeling the sun kissing our skin; the sound of buzzards calling in the thermals above the garden; the scents of cottage garden flowers; dining al fresco well into the lighter evenings: and then my favourite time of year – Autumn. Autumn sneaks up on you but then who can mind that when it brings presents of reds and golds to adorn our trees, followed by the crunching and swooshing of tramping through fallen leaves; the smell of log smoke curling up from the chimney and early morning mists. Then last, but not least, Winter – spiders’ webs glimmering in the frost or early morning dew, looking like they have been decorated with tiny diamonds; the stark silhouette of branches against the sky; crunching through newly fallen snow; being able to peep through lamp lit cottage windows at scenes of cosy country living and picturing the roaring fire, glass of red wine on the side and piles of throws, blankets and cushions. I am a terrible nosey parker and can’t help but glance in through such windows – they tease me and call to me to look in at the hidden domestic delights that only weave their magic at this time of year.

O again and back to outside. Oak trees. I know others have mentioned these trees for all the same reasons as me. These majestic trees epitomize everything English countryside. Living on the Herefordshire/Gloucestershire borders, many of the local houses here are timber framed and we live fairly near to the “Black and White Trail” which joins many Herefordian villages together, such as Weobley, Pembridge, Eardisley, Dilwyn to name but a few. We are using green oak to construct two porches as part of our extension works and I have been stock-piling clippings and down loading pictures of oak porches for our carpenter to get his chisel into!

Z. Oh, blimey. I guess it has to be zeal. I am often accused of being like an over-zealous puppy. I talk too much, wave my arms around and have a terrible habit of interrupting. Or Zester as I couldn’t live without mine and it gets plenty of use in our kitchen. We love to cook and whether it is on the Rayburn, electric cooker or barbeque, this little device has seen its way through a plethora of limes, lemons and oranges.

L is for lavender. I adore this plant and it is my signature scent in my Home Scents cleaning products. If you haven’t heard of this company, visit their website as it is full of wonderful products that do not contain ANY chemicals at all. Their bathroom cleaner is amazing and I can still smell it hours after cleaning.

E is for earth. I love my garden and one of the simplest pleasures is to feel the earth running through my fingers. It never ceases to amaze me that putting a seed or bulb into the earth and then, with the right conditions, it can yield a crop of wonderful flowers, cereals or fruits and vegetables. The earth can nurture and produce our food or, in complete reverse, you can bury something and it will rot away. How amazing is that?

And finally - 1967. No prizes for guessing it’s the year of my birth!

Yes, I'm still here!

Well, it’s finally happening. Our long awaited extension is under way and our feet haven’t touched the ground.

The floods in July caused chaos in our surrounding area and postponed our build as those suffering from the effects of the flood water were, quite rightly, prioritized for help. However, soon, it was our turn and our builders have not let us down. They have worked like Trojans and we are now above ground level and waiting for the brick layers to come to get us up to first lift: a builder term, I have recently learnt and am bandying around like a seasoned professional! To the rest of us, that’s up to bottom of first floor level for the joists and scaffolding to be fitted.

Our supplies of tea and sugar are vastly depleted; there are crumbs in the bottom of the biscuit barrel; our home looks like a bomb site and I am in my element (for the moment!). Today (Friday) we are having the kitchen lights taken out of the ceiling so that it can be pulled down next week. We are already in semi-gloom as the window has been taken out and a shroud of blue tarpaulin is flapping in the breeze. My beloved Rayburn is lying cold and silent, decommissioned until further notice. The Rayburn really is the heart of our home but the buzz and excitement is, surprisingly, filling the gap that appeared when it was turned off.

Next week, all of our hot water will be gone and the electrics in the kitchen will be disconnected as the roof is taken off in preparation for the new floor above. We will be using the camping stove for tea and coffee and to boil water for washing mugs, spoons and cereal bowls in a bowl in the bath. Oh joy!

My mum and dad only live 10 minutes away and have been feeding us for the last 2 weeks. We go for showers, food and clothes to be washed, and they have been absolutely golden to us. Without their calm and organized back-up, things would be so different and they are helping to keep this an enjoyable experience, rather than the nightmare it could so easily be.

We have had family traumas in J’s family during the last couple of weeks and this has threatened to bring us down. I won’t go into it too much right now – it is raw and hurtful for J, but one of his brothers is seriously ill and the effects are still rippling through the family. We have a long journey ahead but J is throwing himself into our build, although I see the pain in his eyes when he thinks I’m not looking.

I’m keeping this short but posting pictures of our wonderful chaos so that you can get a glimpse of the reason for my brief dipping in and out of the site at the moment. I think of you all lots and miss the rapport but my time on the computer is strictly limited now to keeping the spread sheet of costs up-to-date and pouring over delivery notes and cross referencing invoices. Please keep my desk free at skool and I’ll keep my coat on the peg as it doesn’t go with my overalls at the moment. I hope you are all keeping well and I would love to attend the get-together with the Welsh/Shropshire lot – thanks to Angel for keeping me in the loop. Much love.x

Bakewell Show

The annual Bakewell Show held in the first week of August is my favourite show. There is something for everyone and I love to see the livestock, heavy horse displays, poultry collection and, of course, the horticultural area. There is a wide variety of stalls with sellers displaying their wares, offering services or just providing information, the atmosphere is relaxed and friendly and all surrounded by the heavenly Derbyshire countryside.

The sun shone, and occasionally the breeze picked up; spirits where high and, despite the glorious weather, we managed to sell a fair few brollies! The only down-side for me was this “robot” that came round twice a day to perform a street act. Even as a grownup (well, I like to think I am!) I found it very intimidating and felt my stomach lurch as it got up off the back of the cart it had been driven around in and started to move in the crowd. It was enormous and looked like something from a Terminator movie. Several young children started to cry and we even had a young teenage girl come and hide on our stall on the second day. I have to admit that it was very clever but I didn’t like it!

On the first day, Grouse came to say hello, along with her husband. She was sporting some very stylish sunglasses that she had just bought and I liked her immediately. Of course, she was nothing like I imagined but as soon as she came up to me, I knew it was her. And no, Headmistress, I’m ashamed to say that neither of us was wearing our skool uniforms! Please don’t give us too many lines! So, we gossiped a bit and giggled (that was me, as ever) and Mr Grouse stood patiently chatting to Jimmy while we girls didn’t come up for air (or was that me, again?). A lovely couple – but what else would you expect from our community? They were on their one day off a year and so they left us to get round the showground and catch all the events going on, but they came back later, on their way home, to say goodbye. (Confession to Snail Beach Shepherdess – forgot the flippin’ camera again as I didn’t get your message ‘til I got home!)

Thursday evening soon came round and we were packing up the stall ready for the journey home. We’d had a busy time at the show and I surprisingly managed to finish my Harry Potter book (I hid in the van, Grouse!) but my niece beat me to it, as I knew she would. Eventually, we were reversing on the drive and the dogs were going ballistic and then the tiredness hit me like a tonne of lead. Working these shows means that you have to be on the showground for 7.30am, as vans aren’t allowed to come in after that. And as I’m not an early morning person, by the end of the show I’m usually shattered. You’re on your feet all day and don’t pack up until 6pm, before driving back to the B&B, grabbing a shower and then going to the pub for dinner. On the last day, you also have to dismantle the stall and load that onto the van too, then drive 3 hours home. Cup of tea, bath and bed and the deep sleep of exhaustion.

Now that we are at home, sort-of-recovered, we have agreed that we would love to go back as “proper” tourists and explore the area. We only ever seem to go there for the show and don’t have time to take in the sights and make detours down tempting looking, dry stone wall edged lanes. We usually stay up at Monsal Head, which has amazing views and has whetted our appetite for this lovely county. Oh! and the natives are friendly too – what more could you want?

And the rain came.

And the rain came. I watched the news whenever I could and my heart ached in sympathy for those that had lost their homes to the water, and in one case that I saw, a lady had lost her two cats and her grief made me cry.

Tewkesbury and Gloucester aren’t that far away from me and I watched as the water levels rose, from the safety of my own home. Jimmy had to go down to London on the Friday (20 July) and as I was going away the next day, I spent the afternoon doing my housework and getting packed. The sky was leaden grey and I lit the fire when I had finished and sat staring into the flames, hoping that Jimmy was ok. He’d left at 5.30am and I hadn’t heard from him for a while and I felt the butterflies in the base of my stomach that I always do when he is on the road. The flames curled around the logs and I just sat and stared, willing him to phone me.

The sharp ringing jolted through me and I leapt up for the phone and felt the relief coursing through me at his voice saying “Hello, honey. I’m on my way home but it will be late. Probably around 11pm – traffic is hell and so are the roads.” I always say the same thing – it’s a bit of a ritual with me: “Drive carefully, love, please. Watch out for the nutters and stay off your phone!” He’s got hands free but I still think you’re not concentrating if your yacking to someone, and he hates been alone on long journeys as he is such a chatty person, by nature.

I knew I wouldn’t settle properly until he came home, so had a bath and put my dressing gown on. Dinner was an “open the fridge door and gaze inside” kind of affair, as I’d meant to be going to see Jess in her school play and having dinner at mum’s. The weather had seen the play cancelled and I didn’t fancy the fifteen minute journey in torrential downpours and mum had said to stay at home and keep safe. Little did I know how good that advice would be.

There was no letting up in the rain, and I could hear it running through the drain from the guttering into the soak-away at the front, praying that it could take that volume of water. We’re lucky that our cottage is on the brow of a hill and raised up from the lane. I stood at the bedroom window and watched the river of water flowing down the lane and knowing exactly where it would pool into a reservoir at the bottom. Time ticked on slowly and 11pm came and went. There was no way I could go to bed until he was in. I drank more tea and fed another log to the fire.

Quarter past midnight and he rang. He’d started off on the M4 (he usually gets off at Swindon and drives the rest of the way on the A419/417) but the traffic had come to a standstill. He’d found out there’d been a land-slide and managed to get off and go on the M40 to Oxford. More grid-lock. He’d grabbed a kebab (don’t go there!!) and then got on the A40 towards Cheltenham. He had no idea how fast the water was rising around him, and I told him the roads that I knew were closed from the internet and Ceefax. We plotted his journey home and I rang him with regular updates. Sod the “no phone” rule – this was serious.

Eventually, he got to Gloucester but, of course, this was flooded and he had to negotiate the back-doubles to get in the right direction for home. By the time he had arrived at Corse/Staunton he was faced with a sea of water and abandoned cars loomed out of the darkness at him. He turned around and tried to get across country but was faced with a pond of grey, swirling water wherever he looked. There was no choice but to go back to Gloucester and try another way – via Newent.

By the time he had reached Dymock it was gone 2am and I couldn’t face another cup of tea. The fire was holding on by its teeth and I refused to add more wood. He’d be home soon and all he’d want was a shower and bed.

2.15am and he rang again. The Leadon had burst its banks and taken the little hump-backed bridge with it. He’d tried to get into Ledbury to come around from the other angle but everywhere was closed. He’d come all that way and was stranded five minutes from home.

The wonderful landlords at the Beauchamp Arms had got the pub open all night and were serving hot drinks, sausage/bacon baps and offering the floor to anyone who needed it. It was packed with stranded travellers and locals alike, who just couldn’t get round the broken River Leadon. “I’m okay, love, try and get some sleep. Somehow I’ll get home in the morning – even if I have to swim.” Sleep? Yeah, right! But at least he was safe – in the warm and dry.

I was up early and rang mum. How on earth were we going to go to Devon today, with all this going on? I couldn’t leave without Jimmy being home. We couldn’t get out of the village last night, but I had no idea what the local roads were like this morning. Mum, being mum, got her beast of a Discovery out and said she would come out and see for herself. There’s no telling her. She’s ex-army and thinks she can take on the world, even if she is 60!

I was amazed when I heard her pulling on the drive. She told me the top road was clear now but that there were loads of abandoned cars. It was spooky – like the end of the world or some sci-fi film where vehicles littered the empty roads as if some great plague had befallen man-kind. The bottom of our lane was still like a reservoir, but passable with care in a 4x4. She’d spoken to a bus driver on the Gloucester route, and he’d said the A38 was clear so, if we went to Devon, that was the way to go. But there was no way we were going until Jimmy was safe and sound at home. If we could get out to go at all, that is.

Alfie barked and I shushed him, but then nearly fell over when Jimmy walked in. He was ashen but smiling his twinkly smile and we hugged. He’d set off on foot – trousers rolled up to his knees and tried to walk home. The Leadon was running far too fast and he knew he’d get swept away so turned back again towards Dymock. Then, he set off towards Ledbury, wading along the road past the golf club which was completely under water. A huge Somerfield lorry appeared from nowhere (well, Gloucester actually) and offered him a lift into Ledbury. This sized vehicle was probably all that could get through so he thought he’d go to my mum’s but once in Ledbury, he saw a farmer he knew out with his pick-up. To cut a long story short, he got a lift back to the village hall and was home.

We’ve been lucky. So many have lost their homes and some have lost their lives. But the community spirit that has come out from this leaves you feeling warm and fuzzy – a bit like in the war, I’d guess. People pulling together, working towards the same thing and offering shelter and help where they can. How it should be.

The job of cleaning up and rebuilding looms ahead. It won’t happen overnight and the scars will show for a long time. When I was in Devon, we went to Boscastle and saw the rejuvenated village, still being worked on but bustling once more. Jimmy had to go on his bike to collect the van as it was the only way round 2 days later, once the water had subsided enough to cross the broken bridge, with extreme care. The road is closed to motor vehicles so he had to go round to Ledbury to bring it home along the top road. By the time I came back from Devon, a week later, I still couldn’t use the bridge, but was able to get across at the next little hamlet. The bottom of our lane is scarred with silt and debris, but is passable once more.

The sun shone yesterday and is shining today. A simple thing, sunshine, as is the rain. Simple but powerful – too much or too little and countries can be brought to their knees. Whether you agree with climate change or not, one thing is for sure: Mother Nature demands respect and I hope that the “powers that be” take note of this latest reprimand and pull together to look after this wonderful planet.