So, holidaying in Switzerland, I bought a cuckoo clock.

I’m not sure why. I went out saying it was the last thing I wanted to buy and as we went into the cuckoo clock shop, I forbade P from buying one.

We went to a shop in Montreux that boasted “the only cuckoo cave in the world” – it turned out to be a room in the back of the shop decked out to look like a cave with anything up to 200 clocks in it, all of them just a few minutes away from 12noon on their dials.

There was a huge variety, in varying degrees of tastefulness, from ‘almost’ to ‘OHMYGODMYEYES!’ in prices from just over 100CHF to nearly 4000, real mechanical ones and battery operated ones. There were even some that played tunes every hour, had dancing mannequins and turned themselves off at night.

The lady in the shop gave us a very detailed demonstration of lots of different types, and how they worked, and how much space you need. They need to be over 6′ off the ground to have enough drop for the pine-cone shaped weights that keep the mechanism going.

Here was my out! I could have said – there’s nowhere in my house with a six foot drop. Or even – the cats will play with the chains and pull the clock off the wall. Or even indeed, no, actually, I don’t want a cuckoo clock.

But somehow, I got suckered into buying one of them. The cheapest mechanical one, which came in three versions, tat, bling and BLING. We got the least bling one with tasteful birds etc around it. It cuckoos on the hour and the half hour, and also has a gong noise it makes at the same time:

So far, every time it sounds the hour, it makes P laugh. We haven’t forgotten to wind it and it actually keeps reasonably good time.

And the cats have been good, and not chased the chains. But I think they’re biding their time, and one day, the cuckoo will be catfood:

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The creator of the The West Wing, Aaron Sorkin, has for the past year in the US, had a new TV show called Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip, which, I understand, has been jolly good.

There are loads of sparkling-looking clips on Youtube which suggest it’s more sassy, TV for grown-ups much in the vein of West Wing. It arrives on UK tv shortly, and I can’t wait!

Unfortunately, just as it turns up here, it gets cancelled in the States. The programme didn’t get the ratings it deserves, and so it makes way for another show in the autumn.

So, a group of concerned citizens have got together on the various social networking sites to buy an ad in a California newspaper to say “thanks.” Any surplus cash left over from the ad will be forwarded to New Orleans charities such as the ones featured in the show.

I’m supposed to be getting an early night, and yet here I am once more spodding in the middle of the night.

And for why?  I’m watching the videos of Syncsta, from Spondon, in Derby.

Hilarious! And they have a dedicated following worldwide.  And one click leads to another, and before you know, it’s 2am again. Pfft.

Iain Dale is speaking at a dinner and is asking for jokes again.  (It’s over a year since the last time he asked!) Here’ my current favourite that came in on e-mail, ooh, last night.

Council tax
Council tax re-valuers want to charge us more if we live in a nice area.
That ought to mean discounts for those of us who live in rough areas.

We have a huge council house in our street. The extended family is run by a grumpy old woman with a pack of fierce dogs.

Her car isn’t taxed or insured, and doesn’t even have a number plate, but the police still do not do anything.

Her bad tempered old man is famous for upsetting foreigners with racist comments.

A local  shopkeeper blames him for ordering the murder of his son’s girlfriend but nothing has been proved yet.

All their kids have broken marriages except the youngest, who everyone thought was gay.

Two grandsons are meant to be in the Army but are always seen out in nightclubs.

The family’s odd antics are always in the papers.

They are out of control.

Who’d want to live near Windsor Castle?

We have elderflowers growing in the garden – I recognised the elderberries at the back end of last season, and thought I should look out for the flowers. I see them every (ahem) morning when I open the bedroom curtains – they’re the white specs in the middle of this photo.

Seeing that Manda had made elderflower champagne – she’s written about it here, and has a recipe here. At first I thought that elderflower champagne was going to be a little complicated, what with finding suitable bottles, so resolved to make elderflower cordial instead, following this recipe.

The recipe sent me to Wilcos in search of citric acid, from their ever-smaller homebrew shelves, but while I was there, I saw they had a machine for putting crown caps on bottles. I’d assumed it would be complicated and expensive, but i fact it was under a fiver. Now the only thing standing in the way of making elderflower champagne is empty beer bottles, and I’m sure I’ll be able to manage to make some of those.

Home again to boil water, make sugar syrup, peel lemons, etc.

The mix is steeping for 24 hours now, but already tastes fantastic. If you have seen any elderflowers growing anywhere near you, I urge you go and make this! It’s dead simple and tastes gorgeous. And so cheap compared to commercial elderflower cordials.
Now off to sterilize a bucket to make champagne too!

Last week, we organised a debrief session for all of our council candidates at the local elections.  In order to make the invite seem a little more personal, I wrote a letter by hand, duplicated it, then topped and tailed each individual one.  Unless you were looking carefully, it would have looked like I had written the whole letter in one go.  P, who came in halfway through the topping and tailing stage, said something along the lines of “that must have taken you hours!”

To complete the effect, I also hand-wrote the envelopes.  Here’s the problem, though.  Clearly, by the time I got as far as writing more than 40 envelopes, as well as Dear XXX on more than 40 letters, my hand was tired, and not writing very clearly.

About half the letters turned up in time.  About half didn’t.  They were all posted simultaneously at the sorting office in Nottingham, entirely to Nottingham addresses.

On closer examination, looking at the printed things on the back that the automatic sorting machine leaves on envelopes, it appeared that about half of the envelopes had been via Newcastle.  Apparently the machines can’t tell the difference in my handwriting between NG8 and NE8.  And apparently the machines don’t look at the line above the postcode where NOTTINGHAM was written very plainly, and not looking in the least like NEWCASTLE.  Grrr.

The Wii 5-day weather forecast does not auger well for our camping trip to Norfolk next week:

The only day it’s not tipping it down, it’s below freezing at night!

Some of our friends are going in a caravan, and they say they’re going regardless. Others who are tent camping like us may well be a bit more nesh. We will have to make a decision on Wednesday when we’re supposed to head off.

Aunty’s forecast is a little better.

Still, at least it’s all good (hopefully!) for the various things I planted in the allotment last week!

After all the trouble surrounding the Lib Dem candidate to stand against Red Ken for the London Mayoralty, finally a credible candidate emerges.

Lord Bonkers has announced his intention to allow his name to go forward, and is preparing for the contest in traditional manner, by having himself measured for a Pearly Suit and taking down his edition of Teach Yourself Cockney from his library shelf.

There’s even a Facebook group.

Surely now, with all this new-found notoriety, even Wikipedia will have to reconsider their decision to delete the page dedicated to this most experienced of peers.