Searching for Autumn's Hope

Autumn is my favourite time of year, I'm so glad it's here.

Sweltering temperatures and lack of sleep rob me of initiative and proactivity - things I have really needed over the summer. All that oppressive heat and humidity of five hotter- than-hell heatwaves has been only one reason making the season so difficult to struggle through.

My brother, David, has had complex health problems for decades. He was hospitalised with throat cancer for two months. He'd already beaten it last year with a six week course of radiotherapy. When the cancer returned, he was out of treatment options. The family were called in three times because doctors thought the end was near. Twice he bravely rallied but on the third time, the cancer won. My heart feels torn into pieces. 

Simply not giving in was a very Dave thing to do. David was a keen card player, he knew he had been dealt a poor hand, but he was determined not to show it and lose the game. He was a bit of an anarchist, especially when it came to dealing with the minor bureaucrats and jobsworths we all have to endure in our daily lives.

David would relish in winning arguments with these people. In the end this anti-authority attitude helped him beat the medical odds for a long, long time. Without being overtly rude to the clinicians telling him he’d already lost out, beating the system was one of the things that made David tick and he was always being told his days were numbered.

We were with David 10 years ago when a hospital consultant told him he was “on his last legs” and a mere bout of flu would finish him off, two doses of covid later and he was still with us; David HAD to prove him wrong and walk back into that room grinning and smiling.

Deep down David must have known the odds were finally against him, but he was still determined to beat them, go home and drive his X1 over the Millau Viaduct in France, a dream he never got to fulfil. We lost him aged 73. 

In the midst of all the hospital visits and running around doing errands he couldn't do himself, we had an offer on our house for the full asking price. Ostensibly, this was good news. The buyer wanted us out in six to eight weeks as they had already exchanged on their own sale and were staying with friends until the move. All three houses on our own shortlist had no upward chain, neither party needed a mortgage so it looked do-able. We accepted the offer, and put solicitors and removals in place. 

We were well on course to exchange in 6 and complete in 8 weeks. Just as we were at the point of agreeing dates for exchange and completion, our buyer unexpectedly pulled out and ghosted all communication. "Ongoing costs of maintenance of an older house" was the only explanation we were given. Goodness knows what their level three surveyor told them. We're mystified why our house should cost any more than any other characterful property to maintain. We had to pay £2k in abortive costs and our retirement dream was in tatters.

In retrospect, we wonder if we were unknowingly in a contract race with another property and the other one was quicker to get there. Our buyer didn't even attempt to renegotiate the price.

Our home has been put back on the market. A £10k price reduction has yielded only one new viewing. We notice another similarly priced property in our village has also had its sale fall through and is back on the market. Our immediate next door neighbours tell us they had three sales fall through before they moved! The prospect of this happening multiple times is a dismal prospect.

Whilst David was in hospital, my mother was also admitted after a fall which broke her leg. She'd been suffering from heart failure for some time and quite frail (96). Poor mum was bounced back and forth from the hospital to a rehabilitation centre. When David died at the end of July, we think she gave up and only thirteen days later, we lost her as well.

I haven't been able to work on pattern creating since late Spring. Whilst there are multiple things to be sorted and obstacles to overcome, I've found it impossible to concentrate on the more creative aspects of my life.

My two sisters have been invaluable support and we've shared alot of the work out, making decisions after careful thought and exchanging views on our sisters only Messenger group; stepping in to help when one of us gets overwhelmed.

I can't work creatively when I'm upset or stressed; when both occur at the same time, there's no chance. Compartmentalisation has never been one of my strengths. I have become increasingly desperate as summer wore on to get back some control over how I spend my time, and also for there to be something positive to smile and be happy about.

The Autumn equinox tomorrow feels like the perfect time to recalibrate my emotions. There's been very little opportunity for the three remaining members of our family to properly grieve. For the past few months we've been concentrating on what needs doing, putting the feelings somewhere out of sight just to get through the practicalities.

There are undoubtedly difficult days to come but with the arrival of a new season, I'm hoping there will be more of the things that help me feel like myself again.

Clearing Out and Moving On to Not-Quite-Retirement

My crochet business has been neglected lately and I'm getting more than a little cross about it as I have so many ideas I want to progress. I have managed to launch my latest blanket design. Smiling faces have been plastered all over it to spread a little joy and happiness. It's available in my Ravelry and Etsy shops. 

At the back end of last year, MTM’s employer decided to close the local office he works from (only 4 miles up the road). They tried to persuade him to relocate to their main base further away, but he wasn’t keen on a longer commute so, by mutual consent, he has now left their employ. 

We’ve resurrected our old limited company, Rauxa, and MTM is doing odd bits and pieces freelancing on a strictly part-time basis, picking and choosing projects that interest him. We always promised ourselves in NQR (Not-Quite-Retirement) that we would live closer to the sea, so we’ve been planning our escape to the coast. We want a smaller home, preferably all on one level for when (or if) mobility becomes an issue in the later part of life. 

Downsizing has meant a significant amount of our accumulated “stuff” has had to go. Our previous moves were always to similar-sized homes, so we’ve never had to do this quite so drastically before. 

The last four months have been something of a whirlwind of clearing out and getting the house and garden ready for sale. We’ve been living in a kind of messy, half-finished jobs chaos: the smell of paint, dust everywhere, and I’ve looked a right sight more than once—dead leaves in my hair, dirt under my fingernails, permanently in either gardening or decorating clothes. 

Shrubs have been pruned, old fern fronds cut back, borders weeded and mulched, the jetty cleared of winter debris, and steps, paths and lawn edging wire-brushed free of moss and algae. 

Pergola, decking and shed all repainted. 

The greenhouse is currently full of cuttings, pricked out seedlings and other tender plants, waiting patiently to go out into window boxes and pots when the frost risk has passed. That still needs a grand tidy up after they've been put out. 

Some of the jobs have been stressful and—if I’m honest—stressful and a little upsetting. 

My old lampwork studio has been dismantled, the contents sold, and the space converted into an insulated home office. I haven't made any beads for at least a couple of years, so it had been gently fading into disuse ... reclaiming the space was well overdue.

I spent so many happy years in that shed, turning glass, frit, and old bottles into beads—days spent listening to the radio or audiobooks, pausing to watch birds at the feeders or the river winding past with its wildlife: ducks, little egrets, moorhens, and the occasional flash of a kingfisher, each sighting is still such a thrill. Every spring, sheep and lambs would appear in the field across the water. Our dog Missy—and later Bongo—would lie in the sun outside the door on warm days. It was an idyllic way to live and it didn't have to stop during Covid.

Carefully labelling everything and packing it away for its new home was a melancholic task, but also therapeutic - it enabled a slow goodbye to a previous tranquil chapter of my life. I’m comforted by the thought that the jeweller who collected everything will put it to good use. 

My indoor craft room (the other one! the loft we converted ourselves), packed with supplies, has also had to be radically rationalised. I freely admit I am a hoarder when it comes to craft materials, and I wanted to keep it all—but realistically, there won't be room for everything. Plus it needed to look like a calm, less cluttered creative space for the estate agent photos in a few days time. Not everyone works in the rather disorganised chaos I do. 

I had a huge box of old wine corks I’d been saving for years—one day, I told myself, I’d turn them into a cork artwork or wrap them in crochet, fabric, or paint for a necklace. They went onto a local Facebook group as “free to collect”, and a gentleman arrived in a car to take them away. I have no idea what he’ll do with them. 

Some of my yarn stash has also been let go, sold off - again, Facebook to the rescue - at bargain prices. I still have plenty, but it’s now at least more organised—separating what I genuinely plan to use from my ongoing design projects (of which there are many… and one day I will finish them). 

My jewellery-making tools are mostly staying—I still make pieces for myself—but I had a mountain of empty boxes from my years selling at All Saints Art & Craft Market in Cambridge. As I’m not planning to sell again, those went via another Facebook group and found new homes, freeing up a huge amount of space. The multitudinous beads and crystals in their numerous tins are still under review… for now, they remain.

Three floor-to-ceiling bookshelves have already been rehomed via the local community page, collected by a woman who sent her husband with a van. The books they contained - so many books - were difficult to sort through, but I’m pleased to say the ones we could bear to part with have been donated to Coningsby Dog Rescue’s charity shop, where they’ll help support rescue dogs. 

We've changed the carpeting in the ensuite bathroom (very dated we're told), that's been replaced with vinyl. A brand new carpet was fitted in the lounge three days ago. Our estate agent—who describes the house as a “lifestyle property”—is taking photographs on Thursday. 

And it is a lifestyle house. I’ve lived an artisan's life here for thirteen years: first making jewellery with my lampwork beads, then focusing purely on bead-making, and more recently selling crochet designs online. 

Everything we’ve done to the house has been for us. We’ve loved it here - we still do - but through the process of letting go of possessions, the emotional detachment has begun. 

I feel exhausted, but also excited, by the prospect of a new chapter beginning. 

I’m (nearly) ready. 

A Vengeance Prayer to the Tech Gods

Is it me or have the Tech Gods taken to hiding the things we need to use their stuff in not-so-plain-sight? For example 

1. Apple thought it a good idea - after an upgrade - to make the lock screen clock display on my iPhone and iPad virtually invisible with their new liquid bubble unreadable display and then move all the settings that enable me to make it solid and readable again 

2. Paypal changed the menu choices I am presented with depending on my entry point, browser or device so I keep getting lost on their site

3. Microsoft made it very difficult for me to download their software onto a new computer without buying a new subscription - I have a family subscription already, I don't want to have to get another, there were no options for existing subscription holders 

4. Blogger made me clear my cookies yet again before photos would upload. 

5. Apple (yes, you again) have changed the place to clear cookies in Safari and the way you do that now. In fact I still have no idea how to delete individual cookies, I had erase all my web data to get rid of them. And whilst I'm on an Apple rant, I thought my camera icon had disappeared until it dawned on me that the black round thing is not a new on-line pool or snooker game, it is supposed to be a camera lens .... thanks very much, it's all so much clearer now (not!)

6. Messenger's blue "Send" button appearing and disappearing randomly. Several times recently, the button hasn't appeared. I select a photograph in a message and ... poof! It's gone, how the heck do I send this? I try again, still not there ... on the third go, it re-appears, sitting there as smug as a cat that's just been fed, making out it's always been there. Meta gaslighting its users - this happens far too frequently and don't try to tell me I must've missed it - I am not imaging this! 

7. BBC's i-Player's sound settings are so much louder than the normal TV, we're always having to adjust it down 

8. LG's black buttons on black devices - I can go along with the black buttons that have white numbers on them but note the Volume + and - slider has raised black symbols, I can't feel them and I can't see them in anything except extremely bright daylight, why couldn't they also be white? We mostly watch TV in the evenings - in low light conditions - we have to turn the big light on in order to alter the volume!

9. When MTM exchanged his Samsung phone for a newer model, it looked virtually identical to his old one so he had high hopes it would operate similarly. But no, the Volume and On/Off buttons on the side of it have been transposed for some reason. Out of sheer habit, he is forever accidentally turning it off when he just wanted to alter the volume. Why-oh-why change this? It just seems to be change for change's sake, someone justifying their huge design fee? 

10. Scroll bars have been sacrificed for the sake of a "clean look" on virtually all the Tech interfaces I have been using recently. I have lost count of the times I have assumed there are no more settings because a dialogue box hasn't got a scroll bar. Scroll bars are sometimes still there, they're just incognito now; you have to intuit that there may be one and click in an ever-narrowing area to get to see the rest of a box or page that might - or might not - exist. I now call them Schrödinger's scroll bars 

The way I find the setting I need seems to involve me putting myself in their shoes "Now, if I were a programmer looking to put this in the hardest possible place to find it, where should it be?" 

This then - my Vengeance Prayer - is for all the errant Tech Gods who have inconvenienced me and robbed me of hours of my time whilst I try to figure out their impenetrable thought processes: 

• May their phone unlock with Face ID only after the third try ... every. single. time. 
• May their AirPods connect instantly ... to the wrong device. 
• May their bin collection be missed, but only when the bin is absolutely full. 
• May every USB plug require three attempts despite being symmetrical. 
• May their screen brightness auto-adjust just after they’ve got it just right. 
• May passwords that “definitely worked yesterday” suddenly … not. 
• May all their loading spinners pause at 99% long enough to raise hope, then despair. 
• May their tea go cold whilst scrabbling about in drawers trying to find a teaspoon 
• May their on-line shopping packages be delivered to the one neighbour who has gone away for the weekend 
• May the batteries in their remote give out just when they've settled down to watch the finale of a series they've been looking forward to seeing all week. 
• May their one working biro disappear when there's a vital document to sign
• May they be forever trapped in the state of thinking "I'm sure this used to be easier"

We could be giants

We don’t ask for much ... just a dry winter’s day and a stretch of beach to stomp across like giants. 

Last December the low sun turned us into towering figures on the sand - taller, braver, and at least three feet more impressive than usual. 

On yet another grey, rainy day of 2026, we’re eyeing Saturday’s forecast … could we be giants again?

Clearer vision, cloudy logistics

MTM’s appointment finally came through for cataract surgery on his first eye. As I’d be driving him home afterwards, we sensibly decided to do a trial run to the hospital the Sunday before, just to familiarise me with the route. 

I don’t enjoy driving on the A1 (those slip roads feel alarmingly short), so we took the A15 instead. We got to Peterborough absolutely fine, turned round in the hospital car park ... and congratulated ourselves on being very organised. 

On the way back, steam started pouring out of the back of the MGf. I hadn’t noticed the temperature gauge climbing because I was concentrating on unfamiliar roads, but a kindly MX-5 driver alerted us to the dramatic plume behind us. 

I pulled into a supermarket car park and called the AA. They arrived in about an hour, during which time we bought sandwiches from the supermarket - not quite the Sunday lunch we’d planned, but needs must. 

The AA man suspected a faulty coolant cap. He topped us up with water, did a pressure test, and said we should be OK to drive home, provided we got the cap replaced ASAP. It was a good job we stopped when we did; much further and we’d have been looking at a very expensive engine problem. We're very grateful to the fellow roadster driver who went out of his way (literally) to help us avoid disaster. 

We bought five litres of water (just in case) and I drove home watching the temperature gauge like a hawk. Mercifully, we made it back without further drama. What we didn’t do was trust the MG to get us to the hospital on surgery day. 

There was nothing for it but for me to drive MTM’s extremely reliable Lexus. Just one small problem: it’s an automatic. I have never driven an automatic car, but needs must when the devil drives — and on the Monday before the operation I embarked on an intensive course in how to forget my left leg. It all went remarkably well. I now don’t know why I was ever nervous about automatics; they’re much easier than manuals. 

The last time MTM coached a manual driver through the transition (one of his mates), there were a couple of unexpected emergency stops as muscle memory kicked in and he tried to change gear by stamping on the brake. I’m pleased to report no such incidents with me. MTM’s former life as a driving instructor came in very handy. I took to it like a duck to water, though it did take me a while to get used to slowing down without using the gears — I hadn’t realised how much I rely on them as a kind of speedometer. 

Meanwhile, the MG went off to our usual garage. They replaced the water with proper coolant and booked it in for further investigation, which it’s undergoing today. They don’t think it’s the coolant cap. Fingers crossed it isn’t too painful for the wallet. 

Now for the important bit. MTM has now had one eye done. In the end it was a 12-week wait rather than the 16 we were warned about, and he now has a shiny new lens in his left eye. Once the cloudiness and gritty sensation cleared (about five days), he was amazed by the colours. His right eye still sees the world through a sepia-tinted cataract — he describes it as “pub haze”, from the days when smoking was still allowed indoors. In his left eye, whites are now as dazzling as those in a Peter Crouch advert. Blues and silvers, in particular, are startlingly bright. 

At his follow-up appointment yesterday, the consultant confirmed he's cleared to drive again. The downside? He’s gone straight back to the bottom of the list for his second eye, with another 16-week wait looming. This is especially galling when friends elsewhere have had their second eye done within a week or two of the first. 

The NHS used a private hospital for MTM’s operation - apparently this is increasingly common to help reduce waiting lists. As the nurse explained the delay for the second eye, we were sitting right next to a sign advertising cataract surgery for £2,750 (or £65 a month) with no waiting time at all. Is it terribly cynical of me to wonder whether that sign was there by design? 

Still - one eye down, one to go. We’ll keep the Lexus fuelled, the MG under observation, and our sense of humour firmly intact. The next episode of this saga will no doubt cover the adventures of MTM's right eye, a gradual return to full-colour living, and whether the garage can restore our faith in the MG’s (usually quite good) reliability.