I just got back from my Godmother’s 15th century stone farmhouse, up on the Yorkshire Moors. The place is beautiful and timeless, with stunning views over Robin Hood’s Bay. The farmhouse was also built both for and by midgets, as far as I can tell.
The height of the doorways ranges from 3 to 8 inches shorter than I am, and are made of massive stone slabs.
In the daytime, awake, it’s no problem – the door frame is at eye height, so I duck 100% of the time. Duh – who wouldn’t? Well, try getting up in the middle of the night and remembering to crouch all the way to the bathroom. I’ve cracked my head against them many a time, and occasionally ended up flat on my back. When your head and slabs of quarry rock connect, it’s your head that always looses.
Tamar’s a lovely lady, entirely batty in the way teachers get batty after spending 30 years with small children – she treats everyone like a 5 year old. Not that it’s misplaced in my case. Here’s an illustrating conversation from when I was much younger. (and in case you are wondering, a silverfish is a fast-moving English insect that likes dark cupboards)
“Tamar, there’s a Silverfish in my juice”
“No there isn’t. Yes, there. . . no . . . yes, indeed, there is. Drink it anyway. It’s good for you. Go on.”
Another one I remember was when I was walking with her past some workmen. One of them said something, not quite rude but not quite respectful, and she turned to him and said, “Don’t you get fresh with me, Gavin, I’ve changed your nappy.” (Nappy is a diaper). The other workmen howled with laughter, and poor Gavin was duly humbled as we walked away.
In other news, I’ve moved out of my last free flat, and am now bumming my way around Europe. Germany is this weekend, followed by Poland, then back to the US, road trip across to the West Coast, and back again, before settling in London February or March, and getting serious about starting a computer consulting company.
