A holding pattern …

Have you ever been in an airport of a Friday afternoon (in a pre-Covid world) about to fly home? Of course your 6pm flight is delayed at least 20 minutes on departure due to the high volume of air traffic, but the captain assures you that time will be made up in transit. In yet another example of the triumph of hope over experience you believe that this will indeed be the case. Then just on approach to your destination the plane starts to take a steep left turn and the first officer comes on the intercom to inform you, in an infuriatingly cheerful tone,  that due to the late departure the aircraft has missed its landing slot and air traffic control requires that three circuits be performed in a holding pattern. Needless to say you are over an hour late once you finally land.

Well, the week on Cracroft Farm has started in a holding pattern. The 13 tonne excavator which was supposed to come and do some serious earthmoving failed to arrive. No explanation has yet been forthcoming from the operator. The plumber who is supposed to be updating a quote for major works around the house and the shed has suddenly gone into deep radio silence (see “The West Wing” - Season 3, Episode 7 “Gone Quiet”). To top it all, our tractor, which was supposed to arrive this week is now delayed because the part that was supposed to arrive from Melbourne last Friday has mysteriously gone missing. 

Despite these disappointments, small beacons of hope remain. As the photos show, spring has arrived in the valley. One of the ornamental Japanese cherry trees I bought Cath for her birthday is starting to show some really great blossom buds. It is clearly very happy. The other cherry blossom tree is also fine, although it is slightly behind in terms of producing buds. The tulip bulbs we grabbed from Cath’s mum are also looking promising.

In another triumph, Cath cleaned out the mess under the cottage left by the previous owners and assorted tenants. At one stage I was called in to remove some heavily taped black canvas bags which Cath was convinced contained human body parts. Now I ask you, why would I be summoned for this task? Here we have an experienced emergency physician, used to dealing with all kinds of badness every day, versus me, a notably squeamish econometrician. In fact, one of the first times I ever cooked for Cath I cut my finger peeling the pumpkin and promptly fainted. Anyway, it turns that out the black bags probably contain asbestos sheets and not human remains, so I was spared the humiliation of second fainting spell …