Powerless – The Year the Lights Went Out

Saturday, November 16

When I went outside last night to shut up the hens, the grass around the henhouse was silvery with the moon. But this morning the grass was silvered with frost rather than moonlight and it has been bitter all day. However, walking to the pub with our goods warmed us up and we were welcomed by a cheerful crowd and a good fire.

Martin negotiated with Mick to run a tab for our drinks over the next few weeks, so that we can settle up with a joint of meat in due course. Then Mick called for attention and told everyone about the soldier who came by yesterday. Mick had grilled him for more information, as the posters he was distributing said so little. Mick says there is still no immediate prospect of power being restored as the fault appears to be a form of computer sabotage. He also learnt that, as we  suspected, whatever supplies do reach the country will be distributed in the cities, in an attempt to restore law and order.

This made us all muttered crossly about it being a disgrace, but then we got on with inspecting the supplies that other people had brought in to exchange. We had come with four large pieces of venison flank, which is a good cut for stewing. One lady offered pots of jam for our meat, but I didn’t want that as I still have plenty of jam made from the plums I picked from our tree in mid-September. Martin was keen to have a couple of flagons of homemade beer, but I said I thought one would do and then we could have Jerusalem artichokes, a cabbage and some carrots, which would be very useful. In the end he agreed, as he does like his food and realised he would end up drinking the beer rather quickly with Stephen’s help. Several people had brought acorn flour but we have plenty of our own and still have a good supply of nuts yet to be ground. I would have been glad of more suet though and Mick said he will ask the farm shop to come next week as they have a butchers there.

There were four eggs today, but I think one hen has gone off laying as her comb is pale.

This entry was posted in Uncategorized by Suzanne Goldring. Bookmark the permalink.

About Suzanne Goldring

Suzanne Goldring writes the kind of novels she likes to read, about the extraordinary lives of ordinary people. Two of her novels have been placed in the Winchester Writers' Conference First Three Pages of a Novel competition. She is currently working on a novel set in Corfu and her blog is a diary, set in real time, called Powerless, The Year the Lights Went Out.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s