We give in.

We know when the Universe is trying to tell us something.

We’ve cancelled “Music for a Summer’s Evening”.

Everywhere is absolutely sodden and there’s more rain forecast for tonight and tomorrow morning. Even if it DOES clear tomorrow afternoon/evening, as they think it will, it’ll be too late - especially as they’re ALSO forecasting 40 mph winds.

We’ve done the “holding onto the gazebos with your teeth” gig. Don’t want to do that again.

So - we’re rescheduling it for October 4th, in a slightly revised form …

Meanwhile, I have caterers, musicians, volunteers, radio stations, Old Uncle Tom Cobley and all to contact …

You think you want to work in this idyllic location? Commune with nature in the paradise that is the Centre for Complementary Care?

You do?

Okay … I’ll swop. Whatever it is you do all day … I’ll swop.

This morning saw Gretchen and me trailing around the garden in a deluge working out where the gazebos are going to go for the music evening on Saturday. Two dejected women and a scarcely less-dejected gardener in the rain, huddling under a golf umbrella, peering into the murk and deciding that the Teddy Tombola could go in the Secret Garden and the musicians had better have a gazebo to shelter in, unless we wanted their sound system to kill them.

My first aid is good, but if you think I’m going to touch an electrified corpse, you’re nuts.

Then we got a telephone call from the poor soul who was our midday client. She was lost. We gave her directions. She ‘phoned back five minutes’ later even more lost. In fact, she was halfway up Muncaster Fell on a cart track. We told her to stay put, donned our coats and trekked out into the rain to find her …

Hardly had we got her back to the Centre and assured her that Mountain Rescue comes as part of the service, than Gretchen spotted three sheep on our back lawn. It’s bad enough that people are going to be sinking into the mud on Saturday - we don’t need them sinking into sheep pooh as well … So, Gretchen ‘phoned our friendly neighbourhood farmer and the conversation went something like this:

Gretchen: Hello there, friendly neighbourhood farmer. It’s Gretchen! How are you?!

Friendly Neighbourhood Farmer: I’m fine thank you Gretchen. How many sheep is it this time?

Cue arrival of slightly grumpy looking farmhand in pursuit of three sheep that are perfectly happy where they are …

Then we realized that we’d forgotten all about the necessity of feeding our volunteers on Saturday. I said, rather sourly, that we’ll have to buy sandwiches in because I’m not going to bloody well turn around and MAKE them … which is why I ended up down at the local petrol station sussing out who THEY got THEIR sandwiches from.

I got the information, rang the place, explained the situation, waited for the laughter (”Summer Concert? Saturday? Really??!!”) to die down and ordered 18 rounds of assorted sandwiches on white and brown bread. They’re being delivered to the petrol station on Saturday afternoon so that I can pick them up on my way past.

It’s 4.00pm.

Only another hour to go …

I have a little story to tell you.

We once had a client. Let us call him Tom.

Tom came to us, a long time ago, with his health in tatters through no fault of his own. He hadn’t worked in years. He hardly ever went out anywhere. He was a mess.

He started pottering in our garden. Eventually, we began to pay him for a few hours every week. At length he  was strong enough to take a part-time job at Muncaster Castle (which we were partly instrumental in getting him). At length, he was well enough to take a full time job with the local Council, which is where he is now.

In the latest edition of the council magazine, they ran a two-page feature on him … one of their star pupils. During the interview, he tells us, he made many grateful references to The Centre and what we’d done for him. Again and again, he sang our praises - good lad that he is.

And what did the council magazine article report?

That he was at Muncaster Castle before he went to work for the council.

Er … excuse me!! Coo-ee!! Over here!! Hellooo!!!

As regular readers will know (greetings again, Regular Readers!) in between managing the Centre I help run a book review site call Vulpes Libris.

Part of my reason for saying “Yes” to it in the first place was that I thought it would be an opportunity to drive a little more traffic to the Centre’s website. This has actually worked fairly well … people are curious enough about the opinionated dingbat with weird tastes in reading matter to check out my “About Me” page and follow the links on it. Harry helped, too, of course …

Sometimes, however, a wee gift drops in your lap. Heaven smiles upon you. Or - in this case - Mark Thwaite … who contacted us and asked if one or more of us would like to do a mini-interview for his Editor’s Blog on The Book Depository.

Dear Leena at Vulpes immediately saw it as an opportunity for me to raise the profile of the Centre a bit … and happily Mark left all my links in, even though they were quite blatant plugs (thank you, Mark …!). This was the result:

What on a Wednesday.

Fame at last.

(Oh - and the site stats? Developing nicely, thank you.)

We’ve had confirmation that all three musicians are coming on the 19th.

I looked in the mirror this morning.

I’m sure I wasn’t a wizened old woman LAST Tuesday.

Who can I sue? I must be able to sue someone … (wanders off in a tragically distracted manner …)

Andrea and I have been working on the arrangements today (well, chiefly Andrea, but I like to give the illusion that I earn my keep).  Fizzy plonk, plastic wine glasses, plastic bowls, plastic spoons … No expense spared, I’m telling you.

We haven’t heard from either Andy or the person who’s organizing the music.

I’ve set Andrea on chasing down the latter … We really, really need to know who’s coming, when they’re coming and what they need in the way of power cables, tables, chairs, refreshments …

Gretchen, meantime, is engaged in twitching-at-a-distance. She’s with her younger daughter for the week over the other side of the Pennines, near Newark.

I suppose I could always emigrate … but I’d need to go further than Newark.

I hear New Zealand’s very nice this time of year.

Honestly. 

The one on the 19th of July, with the Indie folk singers?

Teeny-tiny problem.

They don’t seem to know they’re doing it.

The lovely Andy’s last words to me were: “Don’t Panic.”

Okay, okay. I’m trying, I’m trying …

‘Flaming’ isn’t actually the word that I have trundling around in my head, but this is a Family-Friendly blog and I have to pretend that I don’t know any bad words because I’m a nice, middle-class lady and my epithets aren’t supposed to stretch beyond “blast”, or possibly “bother”.

I’ve no sooner managed to pack up and send off the Centre’s books to our accountants than there’s another fundraiser looming up on the horizon … Music For a Summer’s Evening.

We’ve actually done this before … with an opera group.  We pretended we were a mini-Glyndebourne, only instead of champagne we had Lambrusco, so you get the picture.  Think down-market mini-Glyndebourne.

This time, we have  ‘Indie’ folk singers providing the entertainment.

No, I have absolutely no idea what ‘Indie’ means, either, but I’m hoping for the best.  Frankly, I’ll settle for just staying in key.

This year, I’m probably going to have to be present, because we’re a bit short-handed.  The good and faithful Catherine did herself a nasty in her kitchen and has cracked many things in her shoulder, rendering her hors de combat for the foreseeable future.

We’re borrowing gazebos for the event from Muncaster Castle, and last time around they also loaned us the excellent and heroic Stewart, who unfortunately ran into a little trouble with the last gazebo.  I say ‘unfortunately’ because I snigger every time I think about it.  To this day, I can’t imagine how he managed to explain the problem to the Castle without sounding as if he was in a Carry-On film.

You try it:  “I can’t get the gazebo up”.

Damn … there goes the “Family Friendly” tag …

You know Rosie. She’s just coming to the end of a round-the-world run. She finally set foot on British soil again on the 18th of this month, in Scrabster in Scotland.

In a few weeks’ time we’re all trooping over to the other side of the fells to welcome her home and cheer her on her way to Tenby as she passes through Cumbria.

We’ve known Rosie for years. She’s been a friend and supporter of the Centre for as long as it’s been in existence and once - when we were still in our converted barn on the Birkby Road - lead our 10 mile sponsored walk. Only in her case of course, it was less of a walk and more of a gallop. She set off at a cracking pace, nearly killing the poor misguided bloke who tried to keep up with her (terrible thing, male pride - gives you coronaries …), finished the 10 miles almost before the stragglers were leaving, then ran back around the other way, shouting encouragement to people.

If I’d been labouring up over Muncaster Fell, I’d have been anything but encouraged …

Later, she gave an illustrated talk at Outward Bound Eskdale for us. We pitched one of her old tents on the polished oak floor of their august entrance hall … and they’ve never invited us back.

Can’t imagine why.

Anyway, in due course, Rosie will be doing another fundraiser for us, but first, she has to get home to Tenby, and write The Book …