I was being shown around one of my project sites. This one was near Cambridge. A developer wanted to build a luxury hotel here.

My tour guide was the project’s arborist. For weeks, he and his assistant had been painstakingly mapping and tagging the hundreds (thousands?) of trees on this woodland site.

‘That’s a field maple tree,’ he enthused. ‘Squirrels love them. That tree’s been chewed to the core so it’ll have to come down.’

As we hiked to the back of the site, he pointed out the trees of interest.

‘What’s that?’ I asked. There was a long, squat black fence bisecting an open grassy glad.

‘The newt fence,’ the arborist said. ‘The ecologist set that up. It’s part of the newt strategy, to help relocate the great crested newts to the new ponds out back.’

The great crested newt is famous for holding up development all over the English countryside. Although a highly protected species, in the eyes of developers, it is exasperatingly common.

‘And here are the ponds,’ the arborist announced. ‘Oh look! There are some newts now.’

‘I see. It looks like the ponds have worked, then,’ I suggested.

‘Yes, they’ve been very successful.’ The arborist grimaced. ‘The ecologist was so pleased with himself when these ponds got put in. The day after they were constructed, I showed up on site. “Look!” the ecologist said when he saw me. I was aghast. When they dug up the pond, they had ripped out all the roots of those lovely beech trees you see there! I was furious. I wanted to grab some newts and nail them to a tree! How would he like that? Eh?’

Hahaha…

Here, then, is a reminder about the blinkers we wear as professional specialists. I am the same — to me, everything is always about sustainability.

If the only tool you have is a hammer, then everything looks like a nail.

The last step for my taco dinner was to chop some lettuce. My heart sank as I pulled the head of lettuce out of its bag. The green leaves glittered with a grainy shininess — ice. The fridge had frozen my lettuce.

Not too hopeful, I peeled two leaves off and ran them under the tap to wash them. As the frozen burst cells warmed up, the leaves melted into a green ooze. Sighing, I squeezed the water out and put the ooze and the head of lettuce into the bin.

Luckily, I had a backup cucumber.

This is a good, perhaps overly rosy, explanation of social media. I found this video through Knowledge and the Cardinal.

I like ice-cream.

Social Media in Plain English from leelefever on Vimeo.

I’ve been trying to get a credit card for a while. I need it to do things like book taxis, buy theatre tickets, train tickets, and plane tickets.

The first time I was rejected, I assumed it was because I was a student with no income.

The second time, I thought it was because I had a basic account with the pitiful Solo debit card. As I’ve mentioned before, banks give this kind of card to people they don’t trust. So as soon as I could, I upgraded to a normal current account.

The third time I was rejected, I was told that it was because I needed to have my current account for at least four months.

The fourth time I was rejected, I discovered that, actually, banks don’t give people credit cards until they’ve lived in the UK for two or three years. Great! Months and months more to wait until I can book taxis, buy theatre, train and plane tickets.

Then my friend Bettina told me about a credit card for people with bad credit histories. In fact, I have a perfect credit history — it’s just not long enough in this country.

I applied for the card last week and it arrived today. Eagerly, I ripped open the envelope, ignored the card and scanned the letter. I have a credit limit of £260 (about AUD530). It’s a whole £10 above the minimum credit limit they offer, how lucky am I!

Well, at least it’s enough for a taxi ride!

‘Do you want anything from the store?’ Richard asked. He was preparing for an evening raid on the supermarket. I was about to start cooking dinner and had just been contemplating the unsatisfactory prospect of a meal without any vegetables.

‘Yes!’ I said. I thought for a moment. ‘A cucumber, please.’

‘A cucumber?’ Richard repeated. He looked sceptical.

‘I like cucumbers,’ I confirmed. ‘I usually have one in the fridge… Wait a second, maybe I do have one…’

I went over to the fridge, opened the door, pulled out the vegetable compartment and saw it — a vacuum-sealed medium-sized English cucumber.

‘Yes, there it is!’ I was delighted. I don’t often forget what food I have in the house. This discovery was like finding out that a wiser Joan from the past had put something away for a rainy day.

‘So, no cucumber then?’ said Richard.

‘No. Thanks, though.’