Wednesday, April 28, 2004
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62
Sunny morning, the bedroom window is open wide, a knee pushes the door and a breakfast tray appears. It's my birthday and here are egg, bacon, mushrooms, tomatoes, brown toast and coffee with a tidy pile of mail on the side. A good (and typically kindly) beginning that sets the tone for a lovely time with my mates coming in and family 'phoning. I felt happy all day.
I always like looking at what people get for presents, so here are mine;
- a wristwatch and Cristalle scent from G.
- slipper mules and blue cotton nightshirt from my Skinny & P.
- silk covered notebook with lovely verse by the neece, and a Cyprus guidebook
- "William & Mary" video of 1st series / Judy Collins "Colors of the Day - from the neffe.
- ten quid garden voucher
- Rennie Mackintosh silver earrings
- sparkly earrings with a note " here's a bit of gli'er for yer"
- book on acupressure, bottle German wine
- tape of Kate Adie's "The Kindness of Strangers"
- box chocs
- photographic paper for printer
- small wooden owl
- amethyst candle and holder
- novel: Elizabeth George: Place of Hiding - 'for hols, or you'll get bored'.
- gardener's handcream
- silly teddy holder for plastic bags
And this from my sister, which is perhaps the best present of all.
Sunny morning, the bedroom window is open wide, a knee pushes the door and a breakfast tray appears. It's my birthday and here are egg, bacon, mushrooms, tomatoes, brown toast and coffee with a tidy pile of mail on the side. A good (and typically kindly) beginning that sets the tone for a lovely time with my mates coming in and family 'phoning. I felt happy all day.
I always like looking at what people get for presents, so here are mine;
- a wristwatch and Cristalle scent from G.
- slipper mules and blue cotton nightshirt from my Skinny & P.
- silk covered notebook with lovely verse by the neece, and a Cyprus guidebook
- "William & Mary" video of 1st series / Judy Collins "Colors of the Day - from the neffe.
- ten quid garden voucher
- Rennie Mackintosh silver earrings
- sparkly earrings with a note " here's a bit of gli'er for yer"
- book on acupressure, bottle German wine
- tape of Kate Adie's "The Kindness of Strangers"
- box chocs
- photographic paper for printer
- small wooden owl
- amethyst candle and holder
- novel: Elizabeth George: Place of Hiding - 'for hols, or you'll get bored'.
- gardener's handcream
- silly teddy holder for plastic bags
And this from my sister, which is perhaps the best present of all.
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Tuesday, April 27, 2004
Tim's lesson
J. was a brilliant, eccentric librarian, an expert on London history who wrote stylish pieces for small journals and ran a large reference library to a high standard. I worked for him in my first job and was in awe of that intellect; however, he was gentle and taught me kindly. A small, gaunt fellow with a moustache and a dramatically deep voice, he had married late a much younger, arty woman and had two boys.
One coffee break we were sitting chatting and he mentioned that he had taken the boys, then aged about 8, to the Tate. They had been looking at portraits. "I was trying to explain the principle of chiaroscuro to them," said J, "and they were quite interested. Tim was really studying a picture of a harlequin when the gallery attendant came over and patted him on the arm and said - "That's it my lad, you take a good look at the geezer in the funny 'at." Geezer indeed, bloody philistine."
Humour wasn't J's strong point.
J. was a brilliant, eccentric librarian, an expert on London history who wrote stylish pieces for small journals and ran a large reference library to a high standard. I worked for him in my first job and was in awe of that intellect; however, he was gentle and taught me kindly. A small, gaunt fellow with a moustache and a dramatically deep voice, he had married late a much younger, arty woman and had two boys.
One coffee break we were sitting chatting and he mentioned that he had taken the boys, then aged about 8, to the Tate. They had been looking at portraits. "I was trying to explain the principle of chiaroscuro to them," said J, "and they were quite interested. Tim was really studying a picture of a harlequin when the gallery attendant came over and patted him on the arm and said - "That's it my lad, you take a good look at the geezer in the funny 'at." Geezer indeed, bloody philistine."
Humour wasn't J's strong point.
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Monday, April 26, 2004
A nice way to pray
?Painting is saying ?Ta? to God.' Stanley Spencer
This tremendous thank-you is a real contender for the greatest British painting of the last century. Would you agree?
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Wonderful kids
Having done a bit of caring myself, I was knocked out by a programme on R4 - ?She?s alright, My Mum.? where young carers talked frankly about their lives; the age range was from 10 upwards and these kids were undertaking personal care of a sick or handicapped parent. Many were looking after siblings, running households and sometimes supporting an inadequate second parent, all this at the same time as trying to get to school and catch a glimmer of normal social life. For the most part they were cheerful, intelligent, patient, resourceful, but above all they were loving. The diplomacy with which they soothed the guilt & distress that the parent being cared for inevitably felt was impressive. I?ve been thinking about them ever since and have found this charity which will have a few pennies from me from now on.
Having done a bit of caring myself, I was knocked out by a programme on R4 - ?She?s alright, My Mum.? where young carers talked frankly about their lives; the age range was from 10 upwards and these kids were undertaking personal care of a sick or handicapped parent. Many were looking after siblings, running households and sometimes supporting an inadequate second parent, all this at the same time as trying to get to school and catch a glimmer of normal social life. For the most part they were cheerful, intelligent, patient, resourceful, but above all they were loving. The diplomacy with which they soothed the guilt & distress that the parent being cared for inevitably felt was impressive. I?ve been thinking about them ever since and have found this charity which will have a few pennies from me from now on.
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Sunday, April 25, 2004
In memoriam
You may find it ridiculous, but this is a sad household tonight. G. was worried about rats in the old pen and moved the bantams this week. This morning he thought it a bit hot in the new roost box, so he wedged the lid open a crack with a piece of wood and left the main door open. He says that he heard a lot of squawking but took no notice thinking that it was about the arrival of an egg. He went over later to find the young cockerel had for some unknown reason (possibly being chased by the other cockerel) jumped up and got his head wedged in the crack and couldn't withdraw it. He had no footing and was dead when G. found him. He says he feels like a murderer. We have had a thousand "If only's". I feel for him so much for he has a tender heart.
You may find it ridiculous, but this is a sad household tonight. G. was worried about rats in the old pen and moved the bantams this week. This morning he thought it a bit hot in the new roost box, so he wedged the lid open a crack with a piece of wood and left the main door open. He says that he heard a lot of squawking but took no notice thinking that it was about the arrival of an egg. He went over later to find the young cockerel had for some unknown reason (possibly being chased by the other cockerel) jumped up and got his head wedged in the crack and couldn't withdraw it. He had no footing and was dead when G. found him. He says he feels like a murderer. We have had a thousand "If only's". I feel for him so much for he has a tender heart.
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Dusty answer
I turned out three old school magazines that I had squirrelled away and found one from 1954. On page 27 there was a picture of Dusty Springfield as a member of the First Hockey XI. Can you find her?
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Saturday, April 24, 2004
In the genes
There's a definite family likeness in this latest portrait of Mark, he's a real chip off the old block. This one's nice too, but a bit grotesque. Or have I got my links muddled up?
There's a definite family likeness in this latest portrait of Mark, he's a real chip off the old block. This one's nice too, but a bit grotesque. Or have I got my links muddled up?
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Friday, April 23, 2004
Hand written sign by a cottage on the road to Bury St Edmunds
RUEBURB 60P A BUNDLE ROUND THE BACK.
Why not make a tart this week-end?
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Eeny meeny
The modern lifestyle encourages indecision; there's too much variety, too many options in virtually every direction. It finally paralyses you - well it does me. Today I went shopping for holiday bits and pieces. In "Boots" there was a whole wall of sunglasses - at least 200 pairs, I tried about 30, narrowed it down to five, forgot where I started, couldn't be bothered and left without buying. To M & S for knickers - thong, bikini, brief, french, sports, bloomers. Wanted a lipstick - there were 22 cosmetic ranges each with about 30 shades available, with pink streaks all up my arm I began to think they all looked the same. I just bought a replacement of the one in my handbag simply to end the quest. We won't mention coffee bar menus or American style sandwich outlets. Or Ikea.
It's not just consumer based; doctors have a frightening range of drugs to hunt among - have you seen a current pharmacopoeia? Cosmetic surgeons have nose and boob catalogues. What about speed dating, how the hell does anyone pick one desirable out of that blur of multiple yattering?
I don't suppose things will change, but I can. I'll shop as small as possible, select generic products. Most important of all, I'll make targeted lists before I go shopping and stick to them. That should inhibit the grazing process and save a hell of a lot of time and puzzlement.
The modern lifestyle encourages indecision; there's too much variety, too many options in virtually every direction. It finally paralyses you - well it does me. Today I went shopping for holiday bits and pieces. In "Boots" there was a whole wall of sunglasses - at least 200 pairs, I tried about 30, narrowed it down to five, forgot where I started, couldn't be bothered and left without buying. To M & S for knickers - thong, bikini, brief, french, sports, bloomers. Wanted a lipstick - there were 22 cosmetic ranges each with about 30 shades available, with pink streaks all up my arm I began to think they all looked the same. I just bought a replacement of the one in my handbag simply to end the quest. We won't mention coffee bar menus or American style sandwich outlets. Or Ikea.
It's not just consumer based; doctors have a frightening range of drugs to hunt among - have you seen a current pharmacopoeia? Cosmetic surgeons have nose and boob catalogues. What about speed dating, how the hell does anyone pick one desirable out of that blur of multiple yattering?
I don't suppose things will change, but I can. I'll shop as small as possible, select generic products. Most important of all, I'll make targeted lists before I go shopping and stick to them. That should inhibit the grazing process and save a hell of a lot of time and puzzlement.
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We'll call it an installation
I've tried hard not to be tempted to link to The Subservient Chicken. As a fast-food spin-off it's not PC, not animal rights friendly. In mitigation - I'm very kind to chickens and it's a very clever production. The cockerel even does the splits. So lighten up and see it as a bit of a hoot. No, sorry, cluck.
Via my niece's new Little Blogger
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A real stinker
Charlotte at Foxy Librarians puts an elegant boot into an obnoxious client, I did enjoy the piece
Wednesday, April 14, 2004
Lost Patron, Part Deux.
It brought it all back - these serial questioners are the hardest types for reference staff to deal with since they are ostensibly legit' - but they waste vast quantities of time if allowed their head.
Charlotte at Foxy Librarians puts an elegant boot into an obnoxious client, I did enjoy the piece
Wednesday, April 14, 2004
Lost Patron, Part Deux.
It brought it all back - these serial questioners are the hardest types for reference staff to deal with since they are ostensibly legit' - but they waste vast quantities of time if allowed their head.
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Around the place
Heard the cuckoo for the first time today - two calls only. She's a few days earlier this year.
We've moved the hens to the big aviary that the RSPCA built three years ago close to the house. In return we fostered and released many owls and various rehab' birds for them. The supply dried up but so far they haven't reclaimed the cage.
G. has made a them big new roost box from an old sea chest in one of the outhouses and we have let Cocky, Clara, Fatima, Yassir and CockyTwo loose to wander in the garden and wood, praying that Fox is not about. It's delightful to watch them gleaning with their fluffy bums in the air, kicking oak leaves about and making love every five minutes. Yassir (a very ugly bantam, but popular with the boys) is broody and keeps sitting in one of my wood piles muttering about motherhood.
A very small deer who was born in that aviary keeps trying to get back in there when it rains, we see her trot up to the door then hesitate and leave. I hope she'll settle in with the hens eventually, now that would be a charming sight.
Prunus blossom is out and the bird cherries are in bud. I've had two whole gardening days clearing dead broom and old foliage, planting santolina, herbs and a couple of guelder roses for autumn colour.
I said in March "I must take out that old rosemary, it's gone leggy and ugly". The poor thing heard me and is blooming its heart out - totally covered in fat spikes of dark blue flowers. It has won itself a reprieve.
Had lunch sitting on the grass surrounded by hens, all of us eating cold baked beans, Saint Augur on cream crackers and ripe pears. Why go to Cyprus next week - paradise is here?
Heard the cuckoo for the first time today - two calls only. She's a few days earlier this year.
We've moved the hens to the big aviary that the RSPCA built three years ago close to the house. In return we fostered and released many owls and various rehab' birds for them. The supply dried up but so far they haven't reclaimed the cage.
G. has made a them big new roost box from an old sea chest in one of the outhouses and we have let Cocky, Clara, Fatima, Yassir and CockyTwo loose to wander in the garden and wood, praying that Fox is not about. It's delightful to watch them gleaning with their fluffy bums in the air, kicking oak leaves about and making love every five minutes. Yassir (a very ugly bantam, but popular with the boys) is broody and keeps sitting in one of my wood piles muttering about motherhood.
A very small deer who was born in that aviary keeps trying to get back in there when it rains, we see her trot up to the door then hesitate and leave. I hope she'll settle in with the hens eventually, now that would be a charming sight.
Prunus blossom is out and the bird cherries are in bud. I've had two whole gardening days clearing dead broom and old foliage, planting santolina, herbs and a couple of guelder roses for autumn colour.
I said in March "I must take out that old rosemary, it's gone leggy and ugly". The poor thing heard me and is blooming its heart out - totally covered in fat spikes of dark blue flowers. It has won itself a reprieve.
Had lunch sitting on the grass surrounded by hens, all of us eating cold baked beans, Saint Augur on cream crackers and ripe pears. Why go to Cyprus next week - paradise is here?
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Wednesday, April 21, 2004
I put it back at the bottom
It?s the little thing that gets you. I cleaned out the big old chest freezer in the shed today; a horrible job too long postponed. It was full of redundant cartons of blackberries, wizened pitta bread and fossilized choc-ices. At the bottom I came to a plastic box tied tight with string. Inside in neatly folded wax paper (always carefully preserved from cornflake packets for this purpose) was a cake. A little handwritten label said ?Cherry? in familiar scribble. Her special recipe, she used to make one to eat and one to give away. Dodie.
I sat on the step in the sun and howled, couldn?t stop. In fact, I?m doing it again writing this. You think you?re getting toughened up, used to them being gone. Then you find a cake.
It?s the little thing that gets you. I cleaned out the big old chest freezer in the shed today; a horrible job too long postponed. It was full of redundant cartons of blackberries, wizened pitta bread and fossilized choc-ices. At the bottom I came to a plastic box tied tight with string. Inside in neatly folded wax paper (always carefully preserved from cornflake packets for this purpose) was a cake. A little handwritten label said ?Cherry? in familiar scribble. Her special recipe, she used to make one to eat and one to give away. Dodie.
I sat on the step in the sun and howled, couldn?t stop. In fact, I?m doing it again writing this. You think you?re getting toughened up, used to them being gone. Then you find a cake.
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Dancing
I just heard Stravinsky's "Rite of Spring" on the radio and, reminded of its effect on Malcolm, had to go back to re-read his Easter post from Poland - "Giving Over" on Eeeksy Peeksy. It was a more expansive piece than usual; his concentrated style is addictive, but he gives the occasional treat of a full-on slice of life.
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Manners
A friend phoned tonight from the West Riding to have a chat, there had been a bit of excitement there, a hold-up in the local Post Office. The robber, gun in hand, pushed an old lady in the queue hard in the back, she was the only customer left standing. He shouted at her ?Get down on the floor with the others, over there.?
?You must be joking, sonny,? she said, ?I can?t get down there with my legs, you?ll have to get me a chair.? He did. I wonder if it will make the nationals?
A friend phoned tonight from the West Riding to have a chat, there had been a bit of excitement there, a hold-up in the local Post Office. The robber, gun in hand, pushed an old lady in the queue hard in the back, she was the only customer left standing. He shouted at her ?Get down on the floor with the others, over there.?
?You must be joking, sonny,? she said, ?I can?t get down there with my legs, you?ll have to get me a chair.? He did. I wonder if it will make the nationals?
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Tuesday, April 20, 2004
Nighy high
Bill's riding the very crest of the wave at last. He's chalked up an Oscar 2003 nomination, BAFTA Best Actor award last night, serialisation of Trollope's "He Knew He Was Right" on BBC, Desert Island Discs guest spot, chat shows and voiceovers for at least five current TV commercials. An interesting actor, throwaway style, self-deprecating, urbane. Lovely to see him fly.
Bill's riding the very crest of the wave at last. He's chalked up an Oscar 2003 nomination, BAFTA Best Actor award last night, serialisation of Trollope's "He Knew He Was Right" on BBC, Desert Island Discs guest spot, chat shows and voiceovers for at least five current TV commercials. An interesting actor, throwaway style, self-deprecating, urbane. Lovely to see him fly.
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She refused to be bored
I still listen to the Pet Shop Boys sometimes, their "Being Boring" was a song that I once played endlessly in the car, hitting the back button again and again. Hearing it brings back the taste of driving home late on summer evenings after hospital visiting - roof open, arm trailing out of the window to blow away the shades of the prison house. The song's a wistful look back at youth and what it promised - as with Sinatra's "It was a very good year" it tugs the heart. Marcin Wichary has, amazingly, devoted a whole website to this one song and it gave me the story of its inspiration.
Via Veer
I still listen to the Pet Shop Boys sometimes, their "Being Boring" was a song that I once played endlessly in the car, hitting the back button again and again. Hearing it brings back the taste of driving home late on summer evenings after hospital visiting - roof open, arm trailing out of the window to blow away the shades of the prison house. The song's a wistful look back at youth and what it promised - as with Sinatra's "It was a very good year" it tugs the heart. Marcin Wichary has, amazingly, devoted a whole website to this one song and it gave me the story of its inspiration.
I came across a cache of old photos
and invitations to teenage parties.
?Dress in white,? one said with quotations
from someone?s wife, a famous writer
in the nineteen-twenties.
When you?re young you find inspiration
in anyone who?s ever gone
and opened up a closing door.
Via Veer
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Monday, April 19, 2004
wildfirejo
After following all the reports and critical commentaries on Iraq you have a grasp of the realities? OK, now read this for a dose of really real reality- wildfirejo, a weblog from an English activist and health worker in Falluja that takes you to the heart of the wickedness. If you can finish today's post without weeping I would be surprised. Please read her archives too, tough information from an angry, compassionate, admirable woman.
Via Cassandra
After following all the reports and critical commentaries on Iraq you have a grasp of the realities? OK, now read this for a dose of really real reality- wildfirejo, a weblog from an English activist and health worker in Falluja that takes you to the heart of the wickedness. If you can finish today's post without weeping I would be surprised. Please read her archives too, tough information from an angry, compassionate, admirable woman.
Via Cassandra
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Boxing clever
The Boy (our fifteen year-old neighbour) has started a new 'commercial' project - making nest-boxes - it's nicely compatible with his thriving plant empire. He got a small production line going and to display his ten finished boxes he knocked a line of nails in the side of his shed, hung them and put on price tickets - a fiver a time.
This week-end he went to show a customer a tit-box only to find a lump of moss sticking out and a Blue Tit ensconced. Looking further along the line he found that two others had been taken, both with sitting birds. Unfazed, he knocked out a few more units, stuffing them with newspaper this time. He reckons he's lucky to have such top-class product endorsement, all the neighbours have been to see the charming sight.
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Sunday, April 18, 2004
Polychrome angel
I'd give my eye teeth to own this eccentric and timeless little figure. The genre is discussed in this article.
Via PLEP
I'd give my eye teeth to own this eccentric and timeless little figure. The genre is discussed in this article.
Via PLEP
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Today I fought filth
There can be nothing more satisfying than cleaning paving stones with a really powerful pressure washer. Moss and grime peeled away in broad stripes leaving pale granite behind. There was in it a feeling of power akin to wielding an automatic weapon, instant impact. After three hours my arms were nearly falling off, jeans were soaked and my face spattered with black mud, but Jim's paths and terrace look smart.
There can be nothing more satisfying than cleaning paving stones with a really powerful pressure washer. Moss and grime peeled away in broad stripes leaving pale granite behind. There was in it a feeling of power akin to wielding an automatic weapon, instant impact. After three hours my arms were nearly falling off, jeans were soaked and my face spattered with black mud, but Jim's paths and terrace look smart.
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Saturday, April 17, 2004
Change and decay
I was a child in London immediately after the war so I remember the scars that remained on the city for many years. Mum and I lived in a flat in Westbourne Grove before it became trendy, the area had taken a pounding in the Blitz. Bomb-sites were common everywhere, maybe a single gap in a terrace or a whole swathe of land returning to grass and rosebay willowherb among piles of broken brick. Often an exposed side wall of a house would show the imprint of vanished rooms, squares of coloured wallpapers, a fireplace, light switches. Wooden pales on heavy wire fenced them in, no trespass permitted; wildlife colonised them, they became landmarks in their own right.
I have just spent an hour reading it and revelling in memories of familiar districts. The dear old Roundhouse where we used to hang around chatting late after concerts is coming back into use after years of decay. Here too is the North London Line that I used to ride from my bedsit in West Hampstead to college and to Kew on Sundays, its old carriages lumbering through almost rural backwaters, unknown to most Londoners. Suddenly I am full of nostalgia for the jumble and variety of the great town.
I was a child in London immediately after the war so I remember the scars that remained on the city for many years. Mum and I lived in a flat in Westbourne Grove before it became trendy, the area had taken a pounding in the Blitz. Bomb-sites were common everywhere, maybe a single gap in a terrace or a whole swathe of land returning to grass and rosebay willowherb among piles of broken brick. Often an exposed side wall of a house would show the imprint of vanished rooms, squares of coloured wallpapers, a fireplace, light switches. Wooden pales on heavy wire fenced them in, no trespass permitted; wildlife colonised them, they became landmarks in their own right.
Dereliction is evolution and what it leaves is often more interesting than original structures. Paul Talling's atmospheric record of Derelict London illustrates this very well through a mass of photographs and compelling historic captions.
I have just spent an hour reading it and revelling in memories of familiar districts. The dear old Roundhouse where we used to hang around chatting late after concerts is coming back into use after years of decay. Here too is the North London Line that I used to ride from my bedsit in West Hampstead to college and to Kew on Sundays, its old carriages lumbering through almost rural backwaters, unknown to most Londoners. Suddenly I am full of nostalgia for the jumble and variety of the great town.
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Lifestyle Society
The automatic translations on this Japanese site are deeply satisfying.
Being from Norfolk I was particularly interested in the advice on how to eat a dumpling:
'If a dumpling is gnawed, blood will not come from the gum-thing.
From which the fall of many functions will begin if man and no less than 20 years old are turned. The function which carries out food under and others who eats rice cake and blocks a throat utterly. It is heard that it is --in order to prevent a beam misfortune -- a dumpling it gnaws every with and I will taste slowly and will eat.'
'Prevent a beam misfortune', eh? Too late, too late. Too many dumplings.
Via Mark, via Davezilla.
The automatic translations on this Japanese site are deeply satisfying.
Being from Norfolk I was particularly interested in the advice on how to eat a dumpling:
'If a dumpling is gnawed, blood will not come from the gum-thing.
From which the fall of many functions will begin if man and no less than 20 years old are turned. The function which carries out food under and others who eats rice cake and blocks a throat utterly. It is heard that it is --in order to prevent a beam misfortune -- a dumpling it gnaws every with and I will taste slowly and will eat.'
'Prevent a beam misfortune', eh? Too late, too late. Too many dumplings.
Via Mark, via Davezilla.
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Thursday, April 15, 2004
Bile
I am out of patience tonight, irritable, bound for bed with hwb, headphones and REM. Why? Just silly things.
- Rats in the chicken run - bantams moved three times while poison was set. I have dealt with their fretting owner who would put them up in the Savoy penthouse if he could.
- I'm cooking for friends tomorrow; I started preliminaries then stopped. I had forgotten to buy essential breadcrumbs, lime and cumin. I bought at least eight other unnecessary things.
- Library books overdue to the tune of £1.50. My perk was never to pay such a thing so this is an abomination.
- G. heard from a forty-something, (*blonde ) friend who is off on a six month journey to South & Central America. Her itinerary is made in heaven. Bad enough that she writes rivetingly about her adventures every six weeks, now she gets to Chile before me. Cow.
Oh, go to sleep.
*I contend that blonde is sometimes a defensible adjective.
I am out of patience tonight, irritable, bound for bed with hwb, headphones and REM. Why? Just silly things.
- Rats in the chicken run - bantams moved three times while poison was set. I have dealt with their fretting owner who would put them up in the Savoy penthouse if he could.
- I'm cooking for friends tomorrow; I started preliminaries then stopped. I had forgotten to buy essential breadcrumbs, lime and cumin. I bought at least eight other unnecessary things.
- Library books overdue to the tune of £1.50. My perk was never to pay such a thing so this is an abomination.
- G. heard from a forty-something, (*blonde ) friend who is off on a six month journey to South & Central America. Her itinerary is made in heaven. Bad enough that she writes rivetingly about her adventures every six weeks, now she gets to Chile before me. Cow.
Oh, go to sleep.
*I contend that blonde is sometimes a defensible adjective.
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UP the estuary
I get so incensed with our regional TV weather presenter, a girl with a high-pitched voice whom I guess must underline every preposition in her report to ensure inappropriate emphasis in her delivery. "Tomorrow there will be hurricanes AND tidal waves UP the Norfolk coast." I looked up the phenomenon and arrived at this great exposition of the Estuary English from which it derives. She brings me to screaming point, but G thinks she's sweet.
I get so incensed with our regional TV weather presenter, a girl with a high-pitched voice whom I guess must underline every preposition in her report to ensure inappropriate emphasis in her delivery. "Tomorrow there will be hurricanes AND tidal waves UP the Norfolk coast." I looked up the phenomenon and arrived at this great exposition of the Estuary English from which it derives. She brings me to screaming point, but G thinks she's sweet.
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the sahib of behala
I like Daniel Brett's weblog, he's a free-lance journalist who has lived alternately in Britain and West Bengal. At a moment of departure, he has catalogued best and worst features of UK and Indian life in two interesting posts.
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Hols.
While we are all in the mood for "found" photographs, I'll share this extraordinary set that I had been treasuring up. Featuring a summer holiday, the first two shots give quite the wrong message of what's to follow. This is not Cynthia Payne country after all, just an innocent old sunny summer.
While we are all in the mood for "found" photographs, I'll share this extraordinary set that I had been treasuring up. Featuring a summer holiday, the first two shots give quite the wrong message of what's to follow. This is not Cynthia Payne country after all, just an innocent old sunny summer.
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Wednesday, April 14, 2004
Book meme
Via things magazine:
1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Open the book to page 23.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the sentence in your journal along with these instructions.
'When I moved from London to Seattle in 1990, the sea was part of the reason.'
(Jonathan Raban. Passage to Juneau)
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The photographs of William Simmonds
I can't tell you how much I like these images of country people. I often hear folk express regret at the loss of the eccentric 'old characters' who abounded in villages and these are real examples of the types. We have one here still, but just the one who is the real McCoy - he always wears a black hat and a neckerchief, has only two teeth and lives on bread and butter in a cottage deep in the forest.
(Link found on PLEP)
I can't tell you how much I like these images of country people. I often hear folk express regret at the loss of the eccentric 'old characters' who abounded in villages and these are real examples of the types. We have one here still, but just the one who is the real McCoy - he always wears a black hat and a neckerchief, has only two teeth and lives on bread and butter in a cottage deep in the forest.
(Link found on PLEP)
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Tuesday, April 13, 2004
Dr. Anna to the OR
My Gran's frequent cry was "Oh, me knees are bitches today". Mum had hell from hers, riddled with arthritis she finally had a replacement knee joint which wasn't successful and she lived with pain and disability.
Not surprising then that I have the same weakness; after some bad falls, my right knee is turning out and the patella area looks as if there's a bunch of peanut crunch under the skin. I'm in pain remission (touch wood as I write) since taking high strength glucosamine and cod liver oil. I move and work well, but I know as sure as eggs is eggs that one day I'm going to need this procedure; playing surgeon in this short interactive presentation is extremely informative and almost fun. Perhaps by the time I get there, some elegant bionic alternative will be available.
My Gran's frequent cry was "Oh, me knees are bitches today". Mum had hell from hers, riddled with arthritis she finally had a replacement knee joint which wasn't successful and she lived with pain and disability.
Not surprising then that I have the same weakness; after some bad falls, my right knee is turning out and the patella area looks as if there's a bunch of peanut crunch under the skin. I'm in pain remission (touch wood as I write) since taking high strength glucosamine and cod liver oil. I move and work well, but I know as sure as eggs is eggs that one day I'm going to need this procedure; playing surgeon in this short interactive presentation is extremely informative and almost fun. Perhaps by the time I get there, some elegant bionic alternative will be available.
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Snips from the weekend
► Someone has written "Kobla's" on a wall in Brandon. Obviously refers to gonads, the apostrophe is charming.
► We emulsioned the hall today after G had carefully masked off white paint. When it dried I saw I had bought super satin - it looks like a blooming hairdresser's. I can't stand shiny things, I'll have to go buy matt tomorrow and do the whole thing again. G is cross. Understandably.
► First barbecue on Saturday, Jim brought his gear and steaks marinaded in mesquite. I did rice and green salads & new potatoes. It got cold so we decamped to the kitchen and talked about psychoanalysis while chomping.
► The Boy brought me a tray of pansies and two small lupins from his polytunnel. "Oh, you shouldn't," I said. "Nah, it's OK, I picked out the poorest ones." "I see, ah well, gee, thanks!" "Nah, it's not like that, I know you'll make them alright, you're like my Nan, she can make rubbish grow." Hmmm, flannel.
► Two crumpet sightings this week-end. A photograph of the young Alan was in Ruby Wax's autobiography. We played the video of 'Love Actually' and there was the older version - seedier now but still fascinating. Amusing film, too, I want to watch it again.
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Sunday, April 11, 2004
Just a little, please.
Although the Grande Cuisine of the 18th century chef Careme involved lavish ingredients and high camp decoration, he began the process of simplifying dining by telescoping dinner menus to four courses from the usual eight. He redefined humble dishes for the grand table.
The next century produced Escoffier and his Classic Cuisine in which, instead of vast arrays of dishes served all at once (service à la Française), he introduced sequential courses served à la Russe.
Chefs chained to the old cuisine in the 20th century felt the lack of true creative freedom. In the ?50s Paul Boçuse and others invented a more free style which led to the "nouvelle cuisine". It made chefs into innovators rather than slavish followers of history. Freshness, simplicity and healthiness were guiding principles. Michel Guérard developed Cuisine Minceur in the ?70's using less butter and cream, more vegetables and vegetable sauces and lean cuts of meat and poultry.
After that little lecture you get the message ? the evolution of cooking seems to be a journey of simplification. The same progression has applied to fashion and interior decoration. As technology has created new materials and processes we have tended to apply them in minimalist mode.
Nano food is a developing technology which has alarming prospects. It will probably mean the death of cookery as we know it. Hopefully, it will follow history and inspire its own Nano Cuisine.
'Small food' at present refers to canapes and party nosh. A diminutive Cuisine would suit me very well, being a grazing sort of eater. A daily regime of vitamin supplements followed by endless nibbling at tiny tasties would be great. We tried to think up some absurd examples for fun - la câpre au carré de Dairylea; stuffed mange-tout (or three); micromeatball with reduced sauce; quail's heart farcie; winkle with garlic butter; parson's nose en croute... I?m sure you can think of some? Cutlery would transmute into toothpicks, tables into trays. The supply chain is already in place, millions of 'small food' outlets will surely welcome the development.
But in the meantime..
I'm going to make Tumbet, today to cheer up some leftover cold meat . I like Jill Dupleix' recipes, they seem to work well for me - her Jump-in the pan chicken is to die for.
Although the Grande Cuisine of the 18th century chef Careme involved lavish ingredients and high camp decoration, he began the process of simplifying dining by telescoping dinner menus to four courses from the usual eight. He redefined humble dishes for the grand table.
The next century produced Escoffier and his Classic Cuisine in which, instead of vast arrays of dishes served all at once (service à la Française), he introduced sequential courses served à la Russe.
Chefs chained to the old cuisine in the 20th century felt the lack of true creative freedom. In the ?50s Paul Boçuse and others invented a more free style which led to the "nouvelle cuisine". It made chefs into innovators rather than slavish followers of history. Freshness, simplicity and healthiness were guiding principles. Michel Guérard developed Cuisine Minceur in the ?70's using less butter and cream, more vegetables and vegetable sauces and lean cuts of meat and poultry.
After that little lecture you get the message ? the evolution of cooking seems to be a journey of simplification. The same progression has applied to fashion and interior decoration. As technology has created new materials and processes we have tended to apply them in minimalist mode.
Nano food is a developing technology which has alarming prospects. It will probably mean the death of cookery as we know it. Hopefully, it will follow history and inspire its own Nano Cuisine.
'Small food' at present refers to canapes and party nosh. A diminutive Cuisine would suit me very well, being a grazing sort of eater. A daily regime of vitamin supplements followed by endless nibbling at tiny tasties would be great. We tried to think up some absurd examples for fun - la câpre au carré de Dairylea; stuffed mange-tout (or three); micromeatball with reduced sauce; quail's heart farcie; winkle with garlic butter; parson's nose en croute... I?m sure you can think of some? Cutlery would transmute into toothpicks, tables into trays. The supply chain is already in place, millions of 'small food' outlets will surely welcome the development.
But in the meantime..
I'm going to make Tumbet, today to cheer up some leftover cold meat . I like Jill Dupleix' recipes, they seem to work well for me - her Jump-in the pan chicken is to die for.
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Saturday, April 10, 2004
And they crucified him
Whether you have religion or you don't, whether Easter signifies truth, fable or an opportunity to go shopping, you will probably concede an historical Jesus and the reality of crucifixion in the Roman world.
While universally we continue to practice exquisite refinements of cruelty, it is salutary to reflect for a little on a very significant death - whether or not it was redemptive.
Whether you have religion or you don't, whether Easter signifies truth, fable or an opportunity to go shopping, you will probably concede an historical Jesus and the reality of crucifixion in the Roman world.
While universally we continue to practice exquisite refinements of cruelty, it is salutary to reflect for a little on a very significant death - whether or not it was redemptive.
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Friday, April 09, 2004
Poesie Concrete
This is the exact result of me unsuccessfully using my TextBridge software to copy a poem in a pamphlet I bought the other day, I think it rather more interesting than the original.
"If I'll Fill It"
~f1F
I?i
I?ll
F~?r
I.
FillFlit
?U
III
FIT
I.;tt jrl
I
Ftmu
U
e1
[~I[lair
I
ii
IF
ii
I.
This is the exact result of me unsuccessfully using my TextBridge software to copy a poem in a pamphlet I bought the other day, I think it rather more interesting than the original.
"If I'll Fill It"
~f1F
I?i
I?ll
F~?r
I.
FillFlit
?U
III
FIT
I.;tt jrl
I
Ftmu
U
e1
[~I[lair
I
ii
IF
ii
I.
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Wednesday, April 07, 2004
"I", said the sparrow...hawk
The special relationship just doesn't extend to birds. There's a political metaphor in here somewhere. Nature's nature, but I begin to hate this predator having seen a blackbird borne away screaming a few weeks ago. We regularly find plucked corpses down by the forest.
Joey the scruffy pheasant has now lost all his tail feathers - he's such a loudmouth, that's why he's being bullied. I felt so sorry for him today out there in the rain with water running down his poor old bare neck. Made me think of a Bristow cartoon about a poorly pigeon. "How awful that one of God's creatures should suffer so. He ought to be inside somewhere in a nice little cage".
The special relationship just doesn't extend to birds. There's a political metaphor in here somewhere. Nature's nature, but I begin to hate this predator having seen a blackbird borne away screaming a few weeks ago. We regularly find plucked corpses down by the forest.
Joey the scruffy pheasant has now lost all his tail feathers - he's such a loudmouth, that's why he's being bullied. I felt so sorry for him today out there in the rain with water running down his poor old bare neck. Made me think of a Bristow cartoon about a poorly pigeon. "How awful that one of God's creatures should suffer so. He ought to be inside somewhere in a nice little cage".
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Deified
'You are a GRAMMAR GOD!
If your mission in life is not already to
preserve the English tongue, it should be.
Congratulations and thank you!'
How grammatically sound are you?
brought to you by Quizilla
'You are a GRAMMAR GOD!
If your mission in life is not already to
preserve the English tongue, it should be.
Congratulations and thank you!'
How grammatically sound are you?
brought to you by Quizilla
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Under the flightpath
I took a last barrowload of edgings and prunings down in the dusk, then walked along the stream edge. There was one star up and a hint of moon behind the pine forest. I heard him coming - a sharp familiar call preceding a fast brown bird, long beak extended, flying over my head to the river. All is well, my woodcock is back, ready to start the courting rituals again. My most loved bird, friend of the summer nights.
I took a last barrowload of edgings and prunings down in the dusk, then walked along the stream edge. There was one star up and a hint of moon behind the pine forest. I heard him coming - a sharp familiar call preceding a fast brown bird, long beak extended, flying over my head to the river. All is well, my woodcock is back, ready to start the courting rituals again. My most loved bird, friend of the summer nights.
The Thrush Sings Evening
Hush...hush!
over saffron afterglow,
deep in the dusk-held wood,
the thrush---
sings evening, sings
with voice of April, brings
to growing dark a world of sweet
sweet music where are fleet
and brief dark trees against the sky,
the pulse of life song of frog
and turtle, cry
of woodcock, fragrant air,
the wild and magic there...
Oh hush --- hush!
the brook sings too in quiet air,
the willow catkins' spires light
yellowly the growing night---
Scent of maple bloom
drifts in the meadow's gloom.
Out of the dusk and dark, sings in the hush
of evening now the thrush,
the brief brief pace wherein the heart
its tears now sings---
Oh, hush!
sing silence to the winter's weeping now,
oh thrush!
August Derleth
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Funny folk
Great little programme today on R4 about comedians who made their way up in the folk clubs ? Mike Harding, Jasper Carrot and Billy Connolly among others. There was a burst of comic talent in the ?70?s, particularly in the North and they honed their edges well in these venues. Folk audiences were judged sharper, quicker on the uptake than those in the working mens' clubs ? but they still gave them the traditional hard time.
Billy Connolly?s manager recalled a night when he was working a club full of students; one heckled enough to make Billy fighting mad and he finally thumped him. ?Out of that big crowd of student union blokes Billy had to choose to lay out the Treasurer. We didn?t get paid. Ah, weel, ?twas only a fiver.?
I can never remember jokes, but these stuck from Tony Capstick the Yorkshire comic, about failure.
?My brother-in-law designed underwear - he made the ?Bolton Wanderers Brassiere? ? it didn?t do well ? no support and no cups.? Then he tried to be a horse thief but he kept getting arrested. The police spotted the legs dangling fom under his mackintosh.?
Boom, boom.
Great little programme today on R4 about comedians who made their way up in the folk clubs ? Mike Harding, Jasper Carrot and Billy Connolly among others. There was a burst of comic talent in the ?70?s, particularly in the North and they honed their edges well in these venues. Folk audiences were judged sharper, quicker on the uptake than those in the working mens' clubs ? but they still gave them the traditional hard time.
Billy Connolly?s manager recalled a night when he was working a club full of students; one heckled enough to make Billy fighting mad and he finally thumped him. ?Out of that big crowd of student union blokes Billy had to choose to lay out the Treasurer. We didn?t get paid. Ah, weel, ?twas only a fiver.?
I can never remember jokes, but these stuck from Tony Capstick the Yorkshire comic, about failure.
?My brother-in-law designed underwear - he made the ?Bolton Wanderers Brassiere? ? it didn?t do well ? no support and no cups.? Then he tried to be a horse thief but he kept getting arrested. The police spotted the legs dangling fom under his mackintosh.?
Boom, boom.
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Monday, April 05, 2004
Convenience is all
A friend, once a home help, told me a story of caring for an old couple who lived in pretty rough home circumstances. The husband lovingly looked after his bedridden wife. Her initial lavatory arrangements ran to a potty on a coffee table covered by a copy of the "Daily Mirror". Some effort was made to improve her lot and an elegant commode was delivered - a stylish wooden job with arms and a wooden seat cover. It raised the tone considerably and the potty was consigned to a cupboard. Things were definitely on the up decor-wise. P. went into the bedroom next day to find that the old boy had carefully tied a roll of lavatory paper to the arm of the commode with a length of hairy string.
A friend, once a home help, told me a story of caring for an old couple who lived in pretty rough home circumstances. The husband lovingly looked after his bedridden wife. Her initial lavatory arrangements ran to a potty on a coffee table covered by a copy of the "Daily Mirror". Some effort was made to improve her lot and an elegant commode was delivered - a stylish wooden job with arms and a wooden seat cover. It raised the tone considerably and the potty was consigned to a cupboard. Things were definitely on the up decor-wise. P. went into the bedroom next day to find that the old boy had carefully tied a roll of lavatory paper to the arm of the commode with a length of hairy string.
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Sylvan Sunday
High winds here over the last weeks have thrashed the trees into shedding all over the land. It's a constant job to clear away ash wands, pine branches and the deep scatter of pestilential black birch twigs. Dennis came to cut grass on the ride-on for the first time today and I ran before him picking up the results of last night's wind.
I'm still clearing oak leaves; if someone gave me an association test on the word 'OAK' my response would be four letters beginning with F. Ubiquitous, they stick deep in herbacious plants, down drains, in gutters, white and papery. I hate them. In fact I scowl at the 3 giant oaks when they come into leaf, not seeing green beauty but work for next year.
Sycamore stumps from last month's felling are pouring streams of sap which turns to thick orange gel. Old Ethel next door used to make wine from sap gathered by nicking a branch and hanging a bucket underneath. She kept that one close, only dispensing elderberry and parsley.
The stream was full of fallen wood and in the sunshine I spent a lovely, strenuous couple of hours pulling it out with a big rake and making a present of it the the Forestry Commission over the fence. Mud catches in submerged branches and the water weed grows on the built up silt. I see I have a good stand of yellow iris shooting. The banks are covered now with primroses and the miniature comfrey that Pat gave me has spread well and is covered in pink buds. Forget me nots are nearly ready and the fritillaries are just budding. The gunnera has three leaves unfolding - I gave it a spadeful of manure as encouragement to get obscenely large.
The hawthorn hedge, planted three years ago just won't take off, it got deer nibbled early on and never recovered; I am going to infill it this year with some blackthorn and a few sweetbriars to dense it up a bit.
High winds here over the last weeks have thrashed the trees into shedding all over the land. It's a constant job to clear away ash wands, pine branches and the deep scatter of pestilential black birch twigs. Dennis came to cut grass on the ride-on for the first time today and I ran before him picking up the results of last night's wind.
I'm still clearing oak leaves; if someone gave me an association test on the word 'OAK' my response would be four letters beginning with F. Ubiquitous, they stick deep in herbacious plants, down drains, in gutters, white and papery. I hate them. In fact I scowl at the 3 giant oaks when they come into leaf, not seeing green beauty but work for next year.
Sycamore stumps from last month's felling are pouring streams of sap which turns to thick orange gel. Old Ethel next door used to make wine from sap gathered by nicking a branch and hanging a bucket underneath. She kept that one close, only dispensing elderberry and parsley.
The stream was full of fallen wood and in the sunshine I spent a lovely, strenuous couple of hours pulling it out with a big rake and making a present of it the the Forestry Commission over the fence. Mud catches in submerged branches and the water weed grows on the built up silt. I see I have a good stand of yellow iris shooting. The banks are covered now with primroses and the miniature comfrey that Pat gave me has spread well and is covered in pink buds. Forget me nots are nearly ready and the fritillaries are just budding. The gunnera has three leaves unfolding - I gave it a spadeful of manure as encouragement to get obscenely large.
The hawthorn hedge, planted three years ago just won't take off, it got deer nibbled early on and never recovered; I am going to infill it this year with some blackthorn and a few sweetbriars to dense it up a bit.
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Saturday, April 03, 2004
Courting trouble
There are social occasions when you see a Grade D male straining to capture an alpha female. It?s a painful thing - the frog rarely gets the princess. Woody Allen played that scene many times, unattractive guy talking up a storm, getting in close under cover of wit. It buys a little time with beauty, but mostly not much more.
For days I?ve been watching the ornithological version starring a pheasant called Joey. He?s a poor young bird in a mess, very scrawny (seven stone weakling) with no feathers on the back of his thin yellow neck. The alpha males on the land have been kicking sand in his face. His right wing droops as he limps along. He survives because we feed him separately.
But Joey?s blood is up for spring, he?s hot and he?s bidding for a female. He has chosen the top of a pile of logs where he stands on tiptoe, puffing out his tatty feathers to make himself look big and squawking a loud call of self-promotion. Repeated every few minutes, hour after hour, this has had absolutely no result except to make him thinner. The pretty buff females strutting on by are probably saying, ?Who the hell does that weedy git think he is?? Poor Joey, he won?t even pull the bird with the buck-teeth and glasses this time round.
Last year, I remember, there were too many males about - two cock pheasants started a suspiciously loving friendship. We believed that they went too far. We christened them Gilbert and George.
There are social occasions when you see a Grade D male straining to capture an alpha female. It?s a painful thing - the frog rarely gets the princess. Woody Allen played that scene many times, unattractive guy talking up a storm, getting in close under cover of wit. It buys a little time with beauty, but mostly not much more.
For days I?ve been watching the ornithological version starring a pheasant called Joey. He?s a poor young bird in a mess, very scrawny (seven stone weakling) with no feathers on the back of his thin yellow neck. The alpha males on the land have been kicking sand in his face. His right wing droops as he limps along. He survives because we feed him separately.
But Joey?s blood is up for spring, he?s hot and he?s bidding for a female. He has chosen the top of a pile of logs where he stands on tiptoe, puffing out his tatty feathers to make himself look big and squawking a loud call of self-promotion. Repeated every few minutes, hour after hour, this has had absolutely no result except to make him thinner. The pretty buff females strutting on by are probably saying, ?Who the hell does that weedy git think he is?? Poor Joey, he won?t even pull the bird with the buck-teeth and glasses this time round.
Last year, I remember, there were too many males about - two cock pheasants started a suspiciously loving friendship. We believed that they went too far. We christened them Gilbert and George.
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Friday, April 02, 2004
Abandoned
- Elena's journey through the haunted terrain of Chernobyl is a riveting mix of courage and sympathy. Her eccentric English adds unique flavour to the experience.
- Andree is 93, she has lived quite alone in a tiny room in Paris for thirty years - look and imagine.
Thank-you, Neffe for the links.
- Elena's journey through the haunted terrain of Chernobyl is a riveting mix of courage and sympathy. Her eccentric English adds unique flavour to the experience.
- Andree is 93, she has lived quite alone in a tiny room in Paris for thirty years - look and imagine.
Thank-you, Neffe for the links.
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Thursday, April 01, 2004
Gotcha
Gordon was fast asleep in the chair at midnight ten. I called from the kitchen in a very loud voice "Oh my God, your chickens are loose on the lawn, there's another one .. coop, coop, coop come here Clara...good chickadee" As if shot, G ran for the door and seizing a torch, one slipper off, pyjama trousers at half mast vanished into darkness.
"Where, where are they? Can't see a bloody thing"
"They're over on the grass, look there, just beside that large ostrich with its head in the flowerbed."
"Why you rotten stinker, my foot's all wet...."
Tee Hee. I won.
Gordon was fast asleep in the chair at midnight ten. I called from the kitchen in a very loud voice "Oh my God, your chickens are loose on the lawn, there's another one .. coop, coop, coop come here Clara...good chickadee" As if shot, G ran for the door and seizing a torch, one slipper off, pyjama trousers at half mast vanished into darkness.
"Where, where are they? Can't see a bloody thing"
"They're over on the grass, look there, just beside that large ostrich with its head in the flowerbed."
"Why you rotten stinker, my foot's all wet...."
Tee Hee. I won.