October 2017 – Page 3 – derrickjknight

Waste Not……..

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Although I didn’t have to grapple with the mortgage issue until late this afternoon, I’ll deal with it first to get it out of the way. The latest nonsense is that, after almost a month of procrastination and prevarication on behalf of the solicitors in the case, we learned two days ago that one of our documents must be signed in face to face contact with a solicitor acceptable to the lender. The firm that the building society originally approved is in Manchester. We were not prepared to travel up there for a ten minute encounter. Our independent adviser found one in Southampton who withdrew today on the grounds of sickness. Jackie and I will have to trail around tomorrow to find another prepared to witness our signatures.

Happily ignorant of this, we began the wet and rainy day taking the bags of garden refuse to the dump, then drove on to MacPenny’s garden centre in Bransgore, where I wandered around the garden while Jackie plundered the plant sales and waited for me in The Robin’s Nest cafe.

Autumn has applied its rosy tints to many of the potted shrubs on offer.

Being the only person daft enough to enter their garden on such a day, I had it to myself. This giant hosta gave me a gleaming greeting.

The dismal weather could not deter the shrubbery from doing its cheery best to brighten the day.

Cyclamen,

fuchsia,

and this flower I cannot identify, splashed colour around. Susan Rushton, in her comment below, has suggested this: ‘The mystery flower looks like hesperantha coccinea.’.

Hydrangeas were a little more muted.

Almost fluorescent green moss coated tree roots;

small ferns punctuated log steps beside which asters, or Michaelmas daisies, clustered; splendid Pampas grass perched on a terraced bank.

Other logged steps were deep in shade;

where William was laid to rest.

A few trees were in the process of shedding their leaves; some clinging stubbornly on;

others decorated damp sward.

Winding paths are already being carpeted.

A loosely coiled hosepipe lay dormant.

Eventually the rain increased and drove me inside where we enjoyed good quality brunches before returning home.

Regular readers will know that it is rare for us to leave the recycling centre ( the dump), without making a purchase from the sales area. Today, Jackie bought a child’s multi story car park for the use of grandchildren and great nephews.

Someone had tossed apples along with branches into the green refuse container. They were rescued and brought home with bags of bulbs from MacPenny’s. As the saying goes, ‘waste not, want not’.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s exquisite beef and mushroom pie; tasty gravy; new potatoes; and crisp carrots and cabbage; followed, of course, by stewed apples and vanilla ice-cream. The Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the malbec.

Emma Would Have Been Under Water

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When I was awaiting my hip replacement in 2009, my GP offered the opinion that I would never have a blood pressure problem. I wonder what she would have thought about my performance on the telephone today, much of which was again spent in frustrating negotiations about the mortgage. We were just about to set off with two full orange bags of clippings for the dump, when I learned that I had to make yet another call before we could be under way. I made the call. We then arrived at the dump just after it had closed.

A trip to the forest was in order.

Only a few specimen trees were beginning to change into their autumn robes. The others still retained their summer garb.

Smoky indigo clouds swirled over the moors,

the sun only periodically piercing their cover,

and lighting up the ponies,

cattle,

and donkeys wandering about East Boldre,

where a woman had stopped her car and unloaded boxes of apples for their delectation.

Tanner’s Lane beach was awash with the highest tide we had ever seen there. As we contemplated this we reflected that, had this been today, Emma might have been under water.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s superb beef and mushroom pie; sautéed potatoes, carrots, and Brussels sprouts; and broccoli al dente. She drank Hoegaarden, and I drank an excellent Finca Flichman reserve malbec 2015, given to me by Helen and Bill for my birthday.

Ne’er Cast A Clout……

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Today was rainy enough to warrant another trip back to the Streets of London colour slides from May 2005.

Hadrian Mews, N7 is a gated street in Holloway, off Islington’s Roman Way. It probably pays to be security conscious here.

Epping Place and Granary Square, N1 are off Liverpool Road. The Lighterman bar at 3, Granary Square has mixed reviews.

Sheldon Square, W2, in the Paddington Basin development has featured a couple of times before. By May 2005 it was a popular venue for walkers, both real and artificial. The gentleman in the right foreground is destined to stride towards another out of shot, forever sporting his short-sleeved shirt, whatever the weather.

Over at Paddington Green, Sarah Siddons dominates the scene.

Two years ago her nose had not looked as complete as this.

It is to be hoped that, from the relaxed attitude of this motorcyclist that the policeman was helping him with directions. Mrs Siddons can be seen to our left of the Telephone Boxes.

The Britannica website has this entry on her:

‘Sarah Siddons, née Kemble (born July 5, 1755, Brecon, Brecknockshire, Wales—died June 8, 1831, London, Eng.), one of the greatest English tragic actresses.

She was the eldest of 12 children of Roger and Sarah Kemble, who led a troupe of traveling actors (and were progenitors of a noted family of actors to a third generation, including a famous granddaughter, Fanny Kemble). Through the special care of her mother in sending her to the schools in the towns where the company played, Sarah received a remarkably good education, even though she was accustomed to making appearances on the stage while still a child. While still in her teens, she became infatuated with William Siddons, a handsome but somewhat insipid actor in her father’s company; such an attachment, though, had the disapproval of her parents, who wished her to accept the offer of a squire. Sarah was sent to work as a lady’s maid at Guy’s Cliff in Warwickshire. There she recited the poetry of Shakespeare, Milton, and Nicholas Rowe in the servants’ hall and occasionally before aristocratic company, and there also she began to exhibit a talent for sculpture (which was subsequently developed, especially between 1789 and 1790, and of which she later provided samples in busts of herself). The necessary consent to her marriage to Siddons was at last obtained, and the marriage took place in Trinity Church, Coventry, in November 1773.

Sarah Siddons.

© Photos.com/Thinkstock

The new Mrs. Siddons, aged 18, then joined a new acting company. It was while playing at Cheltenham in 1774 that she met with the earliest recognition of her powers as an actress, when by her portrayal of Belvidera in Thomas Otway’s Venice Preserv’d she won the appreciation of a party of “people of quality” who had come to scoff. When the theatrical producer David Garrick was told of her acting prowess, he sent a representative to see her. At the time, she was playing Rosalind in As You Like It in a barn in Worcestershire. Garrick offered her an engagement, but when she appeared with him at Drury Lane, London, in 1775, she was a failure. She then went back on tour in the country, where she earned a reputation as the queen of tragedy on the English stage.

In 1782, at the request of Richard Brinsley Sheridan, who had succeeded Garrick, she consented reluctantly to appear again at Drury Lane as Isabella in Thomas Southerne’s Fatal Marriage. This time her success was phenomenal. From then on she reigned as queen at Drury Lane until, in 1803, she and her brother John Philip Kemble went to Covent Garden. In 1783 she was appointed to teach elocution to the royal children. She retired from the regular stage on June 29, 1812, with a farewell performance as Lady Macbeth in Macbeth. On this occasion the audience would not allow the play to proceed beyond the sleepwalking scene, which Siddons was said to have performed to perfection.

Gainsborough Flowers of 43 Marylebone High Street offer same day delivery to anywhere in Australia for orders placed before 4.00 p.m.

The gentleman using his mobile phone in this shot of Ashland Place, W1 is walking past a small public park in which I sometimes sat, although I never tried the Rajdoot

in Paddington Street, which has many excellent reviews.

In 1961 the old Marylebone Police Court moved from Seymour Place into a former swimming baths at 181 Marylebone Road. Marylebone Magistrates Court was closed and transferred to City of Westminster Magistrates Court in March 2007. (https://search.lma.gov.uk/scripts/mwimain.dll/144/LMA_OPAC/web_detail/REFD+PS~2FMAR?SESSIONSEARCH)

We in the UK will never agree on the meaning of ‘ne’er cast a clout until May is out. Clout is an archaic word for an article of clothing. May is both the fifth month and the May or hawthorn tree which blooms in that month. The controversy focusses on whether the aphorism refers to the blossom being out or the month being over. The two people here leaving Lisson Grove appear to be hedging their bets. The tree is in blossom, but the month was not over.

Late this afternoon we drove to Lymington postal sorting office to collect a letter that required a signature. When I eventually name and shame the culprits in the remortgage fiasco, this will be explained.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s marvellous beef and mushroom collage; toothsome carrots, Brussels sprouts, runner beans, and new potatoes. The Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the cabernet sauvignon.

P.S. See Becky’s comment below for important additional information on the mural. I should have remembered this was the old Woolworth’s head office because that is where George Onley, my club cricket captain from the 1950s and ’60s once worked.

The Latest Project

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This morning Aaron removed another shrub superfluous to requirements in order to make room for a larger than planned base for the West Bed bench. Jackie and I drove off to B & Q at Christchurch for six more bags of sand.

Aaron spent the rest of his time laying the base.

When he had finished he sat on the bench and surveyed the scene. As usual, I made him a set of A4 prints.

These are the views AP Maintenance’s finest could contemplate.

I enjoyed a fuchsia foray.

Delta’s Sarah defied the neighbouring geraniums to steal the limelight.

Red berries are forming on the ginger lilies;

a blue clematis drapes itself over the Phantom Path arch;

and roses such as Festive Jewel enliven the Rose Garden.

This evening we enjoyed a drink on the latest project.

Jackie had been rather dismayed that I should have photographed Aaron’s view of the Phantom Path before she had had a chance to remove the wheelbarrow and wash down the dry cement. It therefore seemed only fair that I should show what we were looking at then.

Beyond the chimney pot in the second picture, these diascias decorate a hanging basket.

This is our current view from beside the greenhouse.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s special special fried rice, chicken sag, prawn jalfrezi, and roast duck breasts. I drank Concha y Toro Cassilero di Diablo 2016.

Jane Austin

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Like our ancient New Forest, New House at Redlynch is not exactly new. It is a splendid Jacobean Building, here painted by L. Webb in 1988.

It was the venue for Rachel and Gareth’s wedding which we attended today. Here are Jackie, Shelly, Ron, Anthony, Chris, and other guests gathering before

ascending the entrance steps.

Drinks were offered in the hall. Donna was one of those inside.

The arrival of the sparkling Austin 12 was a rival to the ladies’ fascinators.

Richard has spent years renovating this wonderful representative of motoring’s early days.

This sheet explains its condition when he found it, now 20 years ago. It is one of two vintage cars available from Jane Austin Weddings (www.salisbury-wedding-cars.co.uk). Richard is currently restoring an Austin 7.

After a most happy ceremony Rachel, with her bouquet,

and Gareth, with his buttonhole, mingled with the guests outside,

before setting of to Barford Park Farm Barn in Downton for the reception.

Max was the youngest of the guests, who included

Anne,

Shelly,

Ron,

and Olivia,

who took these photos of Ian.

Oh, and Jackie and me portrayed by Becky.

The wedding breakfast consisted of perfectly roasted hog and superb crackling served with fresh soft rolls, jacket potatoes and plentiful salad. A variety of ice cream flavours were a most suitable dessert. Red and white wines were on offer.

We were entertained by speeches from Bill, the bride’s father, and from Gareth himself and his best man.

Resplendent Helen, here with Shelly and Anne,

and dapper Bill, with Anne, visited the tables.

We returned home, tired and content, soon after the music and dancing began.

Only The Crows

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I spent most of the day grappling with long-distance legal professionals over a small remortgage. I cannot summon the energy to detail this, but it has been going on for weeks and has only been necessary because I am too old to secure a mortgage from my bank. I have grown heartily sick of prevaricating, incompetent, and mendacious professionals who are happy to take your money while providing a useless service.

It is thirty years since I last negotiated such a loan. In those days you could walk to an office, speak to a person, and trust that what you were promised would be done. I don’t think I need tell anyone how it is now, in our progressive, unprincipled, digital age.

Jackie spent much of the day in the garden where she reshaped and added plants to the Dragon Bed section beside the greenhouse.

By 4.30 p.m., for the sake of my sanity, I was desperately in need of a ride in a motor car. Jackie happily obliged.

We began with a look at the sea at Barton. One member of a group on the beach seemed to have brought along a tent;

another man played with his dog;

a couple sat together on a bench;

Walkers,

one with a golden retriever, kept to the path along the clifftop.

Whenever a group of dog walkers meet, they swap engaging stories about their pets. Sometimes the animals are not so friendly. Lily was in trouble. She was admonished as being very naughty for nipping one of the others.

Cliffs are still crumbling.

Only the crows (if they are rooks forgive me – I don’t know the difference)

can truly feel safe on them.

As if to prove this statement, one of these took off, and clung precariously to the loose pebbles.

Down below a jogger on the beach path

checked her watch without breaking her stride.

As we travelled inland, ponies periodically exercised their right to ownership of the roads.

Sunset smiled over Roger Penny Way on our return.

Later, The Raj in Old Milton provided our takeaway meal with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I finished the malbec.

Checking Out The Venue

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Late this morning sunlight burst onto the canna lily given to us by Helen Keenan.

The garden beyond was alive with the buzzing of bees

and fluttering butterflies like this Small White three quarters of the way up the lines of a hanging basket

or this Comma hiding in the shadows.

The dahlia in the first picture is one of those

supported by the white pedestal in the patio.

Dappled starlight seemed to brighten the Stable Door.

Marguerites, petunias, and bidens continue to bloom on the edge of the Dragon Bed;

deep violet petunias spill from the Iron Urn;

while pale pink striped ones accompany similar hued geraniums on the

Cryptomeria Bed also sporting Hot Lips salvias.

More dahlias continue to bloom alongside the Dead End Path,

and in the New Bed.

A Canna lily lifts its flaming torch over the Palm Bed;

Blue Ming Marvellous campanula once more lives up to its punning name in the Rose Garden;

New Zealand flax, rudbeckia, and the remains of a crocosmia Lucifer still provide a sinuous sweep in the Palm Bed;

and clematis Comtesse de Bouchard flounces once more over the gazebo.

Sedum, fuchsias

and asters parade along the herbaceous border.

An orange begonia hangs before the Weeping Birch, the leaves of which appear to confirm that summer really is thinking about departing.

This afternoon we drove out to the other Downton, near Salisbury in Wiltshire, in order to checkout the route to the venues for Rachel and Gareth’s wedding on Saturday. The service is to be held at Timberley Lane, Redlynch, which was our first stop. From there we travelled to Barford Park Farm, where the reception is booked.

Cattle grazed in the field

on one side of the entrance drive.

The fields on the opposite side of Barford Lane basked in the warm sunshine. What a shame that the forecast for this area on the wedding day is continual rain.

Driving through:

on our way home, we noticed that the village public telephone box has now been converted to a book exchange.

Naturally we rummaged for romantic novels.

Jackie all but made off with her favourite find.

The cricket season has ended, but ponies still carry out groundsmen’s duties on the outfield at Nomansland.

We stopped for a drink at The Green Dragon, Brook, then continued on home.

This evening we dined on smoked haddock, piquant cauliflower cheese, crunchy carrots, new potatoes, and runner beans. I drank more of the malbec.

Knobbly Knees

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If you have no choice but to resort to vast shopping outlets, Bournemouth’s Castlepoint is far more user friendly than most. This is where we drove today for Jackie’s outfit for her niece Rachel’s wedding to Gareth in a few days’ time.

Jackie led the way across the car park to her shop of choice.

I followed slowly, taking in the sculptural railings;

the steps;

the serried ranks of cars;

people loading their purchases before driving away;

and shoppers chatting

and walking about.

I joined Jackie in Evans. While she chose some shoes reflected in this nether mirror,

I allowed myself to be distracted by a full length one,

before taking a multiple selfie reflected in silver balloons from Burton’s staircase, which also afforded a view of

Wallis models below.

From the first floor of this open-plan shared store I watched shoppers passing by

or just taking a rest.

There was even a cyclist

skirting the car park.

When we returned to our car, this Coca Cola can rattled across the tarmac at the speed of Usain Bolt.

On our way home we diverted to Christchurch, parking in the Priory Car Park. In the gardens alongside stands this commemorative sculpture:

Here is Side A;

here Sides B and C;

and here Side D.

A gentleman with a stick made his way along the quayside;

as did a number of cyclists. I didn’t think to ask this gentleman why he carried a spade.

A motorised dinghy sped towards the sun,

and a small group walked away from it.

A dog on a balcony was set off barking. Perhaps it suspected someone may be stealing the boats.

A vessel normally used for visitors’ trips hove into view just before we left,

while a paddle boarder approached from the opposite direction.

Jackie was of the opinion that this gull would have won a knobbly knees contest. It would have been a close call between the bird and the lamppost.

This evening we dined on spicy pizza and plentiful salad. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I started on another bottle of the malbec.

“A Lovely Autumny Day”

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We began the day with a trip to Everton Nurseries to buy four more slabs of reconstituted stone for the new bench base. Sadly, artificial Halloween pumpkins and other scary things were being arrayed at the entrance. What has happened to the pleasure of making your own carving? Sadder still, I noticed a heap of dog turds in the car park. Someone had allowed their dog to dump where others may wish to tread. I informed a staff member who picked up the offending material with a plastic bag.

I soon cheered up as we drove through the forest.

Somewhere near Bramsgore an Austin 7 was being carried on a low trailer.

We stopped on Charles’s Lane near Ringwood, where Jackie had noticed rows of gnarled boles of trees that had lived and died over centuries of accumulated hedgerow boundaries. I spent a pleasant time wandering up and down photographing these,

and the forest scenes beyond them. Leaves are just beginning to fall and ferns are turning brown.

I have been unable to discover any history of this lane, but we feel that, judging by the ancient hedgerows, it is a very early one.

One cyclist ascended the slight incline and disappeared round a bend in the road;

another whirred into sight and whizzed downhill.

The rapid machine gun fire that was acorns spattering the tarmac had me ducking for cover.

Soon, even this rattling was eclipsed by the clopping of horses’ hooves. I stood on the verge, expecting perhaps a couple of equestrian carriages to round the distant bend. What appeared were a group of riders who slowed as they approached,

and thinned out to a string, the young lady bringing up the rear being led by a rope.

Having, I thought, exhausted photographic possibilities I returned to the car. On the way the familiar clip clop indicated that the riders were returning.

Their leader paused for a chat, a comment that it was “a lovely autumny day”, and a wave goodbye.

Off they returned, on past

the walls of a now demolished railway bridge, an overgrown example of ‘Beechingisation’.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s excellent cottage pie, crunchy carrots and cauliflower, with most flavoursome first Brussels sprouts of the season. I finished the malbec.

“I’ll Have That One First……..”

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Elizabeth brought Mum over for lunch and dinner on this her actual birthday. Jackie laid on an especially super spinach soup to accompany some of yesterday’s surplus sandwiches.

Afterwards Elizabeth drove us all to Holmsley Old Station Tea Rooms, so we could introduce our mother to remnants of the pre-Beeching era that she remembers so well.

The Hordle Lane housing development is coming on apace. The first row of buildings now has its roofs;

and other rows are rapidly rising.

From the old station car park, with a signal arm behind it,

and the Booking Office in front,

we passed the To The Trains sign to enter the tea rooms.

In ‘Holmsley Revisited’ I wrote of Dr Beeching’s decimation of our railways system. This newspaper framed in the foyer was a London Evening News & Star issue from 27th March 1963. This publishing amalgamation represents two of the publications featured in ‘Starnoozenstanna’.

Beneath this page are stacked two leather suitcases of the period.

The Tea Rooms meringue confections are sheer indulgence. We thought we might be able to share two between the four of us. They were placed on the table within Mum’s range. She carefully moved her water glass aside,

so she could examine the offerings more carefully. “I’ll have that one first. Then I’ll have that one”, she exclaimed. With the joke over, she made quite good progress with her half of one.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s tasty cottage pie, carrots and runner beans. Elizabeth and I drank Parra Alta malbec 2016, while the others were happy with sparkling water.