August 2016 – Page 3 – derrickjknight

What Happened To My Finger?

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A myriad of flying creatures feasted on fennel this morning.

This splendid hoverfly dwarfed its relative just above. Perhaps unusual in the insect world this harmless creature’s scary camouflage serves the purpose of drawing attention in order to instil fear. It has a long, slender, tongue which it inserts into each little yellow ball.

Later, I received this print from Frances. It is from hers and Chris’s wedding album from 1st August 1970 at Windsor. From left to right we have Dad, Auntie Gwen, Joseph, Mum, and Matthew, on my lap. I appear to have an injured finger on my right hand. Although Alan Warren did break that very same digit some years later, I’ve no idea what was wrong at this time.

Giles and Jean came to lunch. Jackie laid on a splendid spread. Starting with her watercress soup with crusty bread, we progressed to pork pie, cold meats, and salads. Cream cakes were to follow, with cheeses and grapes after that. We all drank Stajerska Slovenia dry white wine, 2014. We then spent a very pleasant couple of hours conversing in the garden.

I watched the Team GB v. South Africa semi-final of the Olympics rugby sevens this evening, after which another bowl of soup sufficed for our meal.

Across One Bridge And Under Another

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Being a little more alert and therefore capable of choosing which of the Olympic sports I watched, I confined myself to the rugby sevens.Otherwise I scanned more colour negatives from 1983.

I could not have imagined when I photographed Louisa taking her pushchair for a trip over this bridge in Morden Hall Park, that, almost 30 years later, I would be living in Morden with Jackie, and would engage with another little girl and her mother playing Pooh Sticks from the same refurbished structure.

Sticklebacks on 27th July this year featured the four children fishing in the lake at Richmond Park. In Morden Hall Park the River Wandle was suitably stocked for them to repeat the process.

Here Sam inspects a suitable stick;

Becky has a poke in the river;

and Matthew, closely watched by his younger brother, inspects a catch.

Goodness knows what, also involving Jessica, is being inspected here. It doesn’t look too savoury.

Were we on the River Thames when I made this image of Battersea Power Station? I’m not sure, but, by coincidence, this was the year the structure became empty and the controversies over its future use began. It is now an up-market housing development.

This is the logo of Wandsworth Borough Council.

Further along the Thames lies Putney Bridge under which Matthew walks with a treasured find. This image featured on 23rd May, 2015, but I took that from a print because I had not found the negative.

I trust Messrs Clarke and Knifton will agree that it was a thrush peering at us through the kitchen window as Jackie served up a splendid dinner of pork medallions, boiled potatoes, cauliflower and broccoli with tasty gravy. Neither we nor the thrush imbibed, although the bird did pop down to the Waterboy for a drink. While we ate, our spotted friend kept sliding down the curve of the obelisk upon which she stubbornly perched,

Abandoned

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Early this morning I stepped out into the garden to investigate the final work that Jackie did on Margery’s bed yesterday.

First she took out some unwanted plants, then replenished the soil and planted more lobelias.

Before returning to my armchair I spotted many bees foraging among the New Bed fuchsias, and photographed one.

This afternooon I received a link to this short animated film

[youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UBrJTzsvX3Q&w=420&h=315]

by Jim who had asked for permission to use one of my photographs as a backdrop. I like the clarity of the simple message, and what he has done with my image.

The rest of the afternoon, I was a couch potato watching the Olympics.

For our dinner this evening, Jackie produced chicken tikka, rice and peas, and vegetable samosas. She drank Hoegaarden and I abstained.

A Partial Reconciliation.

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Today, feeling rather feverish, I spent the best part of the day in bed.

In the intervals when my eyes were open I finished reading Jane Austen’s ‘Sense and Sensibility’. It is more that 50 years since I decided I didn’t like her writing. Maybe, now I’m a little older, I thought I might give her another go.

The novel is beautifully crafted; the prose elegantly fastidious. The writer progressively builds her insightful characters, but I still find I don’t like them much. She was, of course, writing of a certain social class in her own time, but I can’t develop any rapport with people who are concerned only with appearances and presenting what others may wish to hear.

I suppose I have achieved a partial reconciliation with Miss Austen.

My 1949 Avalon Press edition is illustrated by Blair Hughes-Stanton.

The colour plates, one of which adorns the book jacket, are obscured by mist,

and figures in the vignettes appear to represent ghosts or zombies.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s tandoori chicken and boiled rice. She drank Hoegaarden and I drank lime squash.

Planting Continues

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My contribution to garden maintenance today was to accompany Aaron to Mole Country Supplies to buy more fencing materials with which he and Robin virtually completed their job; to cut the grass; and to dead head some roses. Jackie did a lot of watering.

In the Rose Garden Emma Hamilton basked in the sunshine,

and Hydrangea Lanarth White tolerated the shadow of the orange shed.

A bustling bee explored a bidens;

a Small White butterfly sought refuge in the camouflage of a petunia;

and a rather tattered Gatekeeper took a rest in the Weeping Birch Bed.

The Head Gardener had also purchased a few more plants, including

the New Guinea impatiens introduced to the chimney pot on the grass that it shares with lobelia and geraniums.

By request, for our dinner this evening, Jackie produced fried eggs, bacon, and mushrooms; chips and baked beans. Lovely. She drank Hoegaarden and I didn’t.

Bloggers United

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On a warm and sunny morning a long-awaited visit took place. My blogging friend, the talented writer, Geoff Le Pard, who had spent much of his childhood a mile away from our home, came, with The Textiliste, The Lawyer, and The Beautician, to visit us and our garden. We could not have wished either for better weather or better company.

A relaxed and happy conversation over coffee, tea, and cake, followed the tour of the garden, after which an examination of the before and after albums ensued.

Here, The Textiliste surveys the Rose Garden.

Geoff, in the spirit of the bucket controversy, fished out a hidden one, pretending it had been left out to spoil a panorama.

He is, of course, capable of serious reflection.

The Lawyer and The Beautician strolled around with the rest of us;

here Geoff’s son contemplates the two ladies taking a break.

I did my best to keep the lens away from The Beautician, but the camera wouldn’t behave.

She did, however, get her own back when Geoff and I were posed on a bench. You get a sense of who a person is by what they write on their blog posts. We knew we would get on well.

Early this evening we took another trip to Tanner’s Lane salt marshes to take advantage of the clear light, lower in the sky than a couple of days ago. The tide was out.

A wind surfer was in a bit of trouble;

a couple walked hand in hand along the shingle;

a man wielding a metal detector passed Billy Tanner’s grounded boat;

and a yacht passed the Isle of Wight.

On our return home we enjoyed a plentiful salad meal with various cold meats and cheeses. Jackie drank her Hoegaarden and Bavaria mix, whilst I drank water.

Deadheading

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Isan Thai, here photographed by Barrie Haynes, has been in business for just a few weeks. Here is its brochure description:

It deserves to continue.

This is where we spent a most convivial evening and excellent meal yesterday evening, at 129 Parkstone Road, Poole. We joined Barrie and Vicki; their relatives Alan and Rosemary; and friends John and Lynn. We were pleased to meet the group with whom we had relaxed conversation. The staff’s greeting was warm and the service friendly.

My choice was tempura king prawns followed by Tom Saap with spare ribs, and egg fried rice. I drank Singha beer.

Barrie presented me with a copy of his recently published novel which I had read in draft. I will, in due course, write a review of it.

We have been asked how we keep the garden flowers in such good condition. There are several reasons for this. The first is the thorough soil replenishment carried out by The Head Gardener; secondly, plentiful feeding, thirdly her watchful battling with disease and insects, then constant watering, and finally

deadheading. This occupied us both today. As can be seen, our new garden chairs double as clothes driers.

Deadheading is the removal of spent flowers before they come to seed. If they are left alone the plants will stop producing the wherewithal for regeneration. The idea is to prevent this and thus lengthen the flowering season. Jackie, to whom I am indebted for this information, also tells me that those flora that do not need this maintenance are termed ‘self cleaners’.

The petunias in the basket needed just a little work. The dead petals are at the bottom right of the cluster. I often spot such blemishes on the photographic images, then have to deal with them and retake the shot. I was lucky with this one in that I could use it as an example.

Begonias,

and roses such as Mamma Mia need daily attention.

The Japanese anemones have only recently begun to bloom, but their turn will come.

We found a spot for the aluminium dump bench bought a day to two ago. When its peeling black paint has been removed and the seat repainted it will be as good as new.

It replaced the other rather rickety one on the grass. This has been relegated to the Dead End Path. The bricks underneath this earlier dump purchase will function as supporting pillars. Aaron’s fencing can be seen in the background.

This evening we dined on Mr Pink’s fish and chips, pickled onions, and gherkins. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and Bavaria mixed. I didn’t, considering that I consumed enough Singha last night to cover me for this meal as well.

Salt Marshes

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Early this morning I walked around the garden to survey the elemental damage. The review of the situation was actually encouraging.

The nicotiana and agapanthus staked up a couple of days ago have perked up;

as have the white gladioli,

and the surviving Priscillas

in the New Bed.

When we arrived, the clematis Campaniflora in the front garden rambled over all the other plants, including numerous brambles. We cut it down drastically. It has set off again and is now, the tiniest such bloom we have, dancing with abandon.

The Hot lips salvias are similarly enticing.

The gauras, and heucheras have just bent gracefully with the wind.

This clematis at the top of the Agriframes arch, an unnamed bargain from Lidl, has proved sturdy enough.

On the strength of that pleasant surprise, we enjoyed a drive around the forest. We didn’t visit Buckler’s Hard, which featured on 12th January 2013,

but peeped through the fence at others who were doing so as we drove past.

St Leonard’s Grange is one of the fifteen barns that once served Beaulieu Abbey. There is not much of it left at Beaulieu St Leonard’s. Just one and a half gable ends and one and a half walls. At 300 ft long and more than 50 ft wide it was one of the largest in Europe.

Here are part of the roofs of a newer building.

I found some nearby farm buildings equally photogenic.

Further on past Sowley, we ventured down a dead end road called Tanner’s Lane. This led straight to a shingle beach we couldn’t drive onto because this is what it was:

These were the salt marshes we had seen from the cruise boat out of Lymington Marina,

which was, in turn, even in the hazy sunlight, visible from here;

as was Hurst Castle,

and The Needles, demonstrating that the castle is on the nearest mainland point to the island.

An empty boat bobbed among the buoys.

Here is yet another view of the Isle of Wight and The Needles, for the delight of Mary Tang.

We will shortly leave for Barry and Vicki’s home in Poole. We are to try out the Isan Thai restaurant in Parkstone Road. Anyone who wishes to be informed about our gastronomical investigation must defer their gratification until tomorrow.

Tourist Time

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On a much brighter morning, Jackie and I transported two more large bags of garden refuse to the recycling centre. This time we returned with yet another garden bench. All we have to do now is find a space for it.

We then drove around the forest, parking at Burley where we both wandered around among the crowds of tourists, most of whom were foreigners who spoke good enough English to make us feel honoured.

When I published Witchcraft on 22nd June 2013, I gave the history of this New Forest village’s spurious historic association with the practice which draws visitors by the car and coach load. The two young men in the first picture, obscure the witches in the window as they make a beeline for the shop doorway.

The narrow alley beside the shop leads to the public car park. It is always filled with people, many wearing colourful backpacks, at this time of year.

Ice cream cones and mobile phones are very much in evidence. The children in the bottom right of these last two pictures are trying out the produce of Face the Music;

this young lady was soon going to have to choose between phone and cornet.

This woman,

and this little girl had clearly made their choices.

Forest Leisure Cycling drew quite a bit of custom;

and for those who preferred more leisurely transport, there were Wagon Rides. After checking out the form and the cost,

this little family took their seats.

When the horses had been adequately watered they were ready to step it out.

There was an opportunity for children to pose as witches by sticking their heads through holes in a suitably painted board. After the eldest of this flaxen haired trio had arranged her siblings to her satisfaction, she joined in the fun. The girls knew they were meant to be malevolent; their brother preferred the angelic look.

After I had taken the first shot of a sextet of girls on a stump, I pointed out that some of them had their back to me.

They consequently obliged by posing beautifully.

Having shown them the pictures, I wandered off. Soon one of my models ran after me and asked if she could copy this last image into her iPhone. Thinking this would require some technique that was beyond me I asked her if she knew how to do it. She did indeed. She photographed my photograph from the image on my screen.

This evening we dined on second helpings of Hordle Chinese Take Away food with treacle tart and ice cream to follow. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank Reserve des Tuguets 2012.

May Fair

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Incessant rain had hammered down for 24 hours after the family left yesterday. It was not until mid afternoon that we could go outside to survey the damage and stake up the taller plants like

these nicotiana sylvestris that had been beaten and weighed down.

Some, such as the Priscilla gladioli, had been broken off completely. Becky made their vase more than 20 years ago.

In the meantime, I scanned another dozen slides from May 2004 in my Streets of London Series.

During that time I regularly walked past Murray Road NW1 on my way to visit a foster home in North London. The maroon concrete planters were part of the London Borough of Camden’s efforts to brighten up the streets.

Essie Carpets, at 64 Piccadilly, on the corner of Albemarle Street, W1, sells Persian and Oriental rugs of allegedly superior quality. Never having been able to contemplate such luxuries I am unable to confirm this from my own experience.

Crossing Piccadilly and walking through Piccadilly Arcade, one comes face face with Beau Brummell, that famous Regency dandy about whom Wikipedia has this entry: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beau_Brummell

The sculpture was made by Irene Sedlecka in 2002.

The next three photographs were made in a district which came to National consciousness in the 1980s when ‘the deputy Conservative Party chairman and author Jeffrey Archer met the prostitute Monica Coghlan‘ This last phrase and the next three paragraphs are slightly edited extracts from Wikipedia.

‘Shepherd Market is a small square in the Mayfair area of central London, developed in 1735-46 by Edward Shepherd on the open ground then used for the annual May fair from which Mayfair gets its name. It is located between Piccadilly and Curzon Street and has a village-like atmosphere. The area was called Brook Field, through which flowed the Tyburn. It contained paved alleys, a duck pond, and a two-storey market topped by a theatre.^[3]

During the 1920s, Shepherd Market was a run down area, popular with writers and artists such as Michael Arlen and Sophie Fedorovitch.^[4] Arlen rented rooms opposite The Grapes public house and used Shepherd Market as the setting for his best-selling 1924 novel The Green Hat, which prompted Anthony Powell to move into the area in 1926.^[5]

It has been associated with upmarket prostitutes since the eighteenth century.^[2] When Olivia Manning and her husband Reggie Smith lived at 50a, she found the prostitutes “fascinating”.^[6]‘

Jeffrey Archer once cajoled thousands of pounds from guests at a Charity Dinner auction on behalf of Parents for Children Adoption Society during my period of Chairmanship.

I assume the driver of this police car alongside Chesterfield Street, still in Mayfair, was seeking directions from a colleague.

Hay’s Mews still contains some of the original converted stable buildings.

Around one corner is Waverton Street;

Balfour Mews

and Rex Place run into S. Audley Street where services are still held in the 18th century Anglican Grosvenor Chapel.

This young man must have taken his life in his hands as he crossed Park Lane and straddled the stride-stretching barrier to reach this strip of grass. And he could manage to sit cross-legged afterwards.

This evening Jackie collected our dinner from the garrulous Mr Chatty Man Chan at Hordle Chinese Take Away. Dessert was treacle tart and ice cream. We both drank Kingfisher