Month: August 2022

A Way In The World

In https://derrickjknight.com/2022/05/09/the-enigma-of-arrival/ I observe that ‘this outstanding work chronicles the life history of the man interlaced with that of the writer,

Once again in ‘A Way in the World’, the writer seems to be in search of himself and his global arrival through the voices of fictional narrators. On this occasion the geographical and historical sweeps are far broader, taking us backwards and forwards in time from the author’s roots in Trinidad, around the Caribbean and the mainlands of Europe, South America and Africa from the days of Sir Walter Raleigh.

Is this a novel? Is it a world history? Is it a memoir? V.S. Naipaul, the author claims the work is a novel. It is in the form as he has stretched it.

It is also an exploration of the human condition, including political, emotional, and racial realities; people’s essential self interest, cruelty, hatred and fear of differences between groups and cultures. Racism, ambition, open and disguised conflicts are prevalent. I learned much about the dreadful conditions of slavery in the colonial and post-colonial Caribbean. The consequences of political emancipation in Africa are portrayed in the last chapter of this sequence of linked narratives.

There is evidence of warmth and trust between individuals, and the writer’s humour remains a feature. Fundamentally the stories are of people who are struggling, often unsuccessfully, yet with hope, to find ‘A Way in the World’. The writer has represented his own origins and arrival at literary maturity over five centuries.

This is the illustration which adorns the front cover of Heinemann’s paperback edition of 1994.

Volunteers, Casualties, Survivors

Our Head Gardener this morning toured the garden making

a pictorial record of its current condition now the full force of the heatwave seems to have subsided somewhat. Some may consider that the task which fell to me – loading the pictures into the computer, making the tiled gallery and titling the individual images with some additional information – was rather easier.

This evening we dined on succulent roast chicken; crisp Yorkshire pudding and roast potatoes; crunchy carrots; firm cauliflower and broccoli; tender runner beans, and flavoursome gravy, with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden, I drank more of the Bordeaux, and Flo and Dillon drank Ribena.

A Tale Of Wasps

Eleanor is a good-tempered child who doesn’t normally make a fuss. It therefore came as a big surprise when, some time after the above picture was taken at yesterday’s barbecue, she let out a piercing yell and continued to cry.

Jackie soon grasped what was wrong and provided the wherewithal to reduce the distress.

For most of this week she has been set on the destruction of two nests –

one underground on the footpath across the Palm Bed

and the other in the stumpery which is after all an insect hotel.

The evening before the party the Terminator discovered, from ankle to upper thigh, beneath her jeans, upwards of 20 rapidly swelling stings and two halves of a wasp. She used up all her creams and a couple of Ibuprofen tablets overnight and bought a new supply in the morning.

She was therefore well equipped to administer anti histamine creams and to prevent vinegar being applied to the child’s sting.

Jackie’s leg was much better this morning, as was mine. Although she seems to have destroyed the nests, she has noticed that wasps are still drinking from the water fountain in the Rose Garden.

I therefore lay in wait for the thirsty visitors and photographed a few.

After lunch we took a brief forest drive.

Alongside the lane into Portmore

Jackie noticed sheep sheltering in the barren landscape, and stepped out of the car to photograph them.

She also pictured cow parsley seeds, as did I;

Additionally, I focussed on burnished bracken on the verge, and a developing sweetcorn crop.

Determined donkeys advanced steadily along the tarmac at East Boldre,

where a few ponies, having left the parched terrain opposite, tried to shelter in clusters beside the village shop, too drained of energy to care where they were putting their feet. The Janus-headed one in Matthew’s Lane did summon up the enthusiasm to make a bee-line for me in a vain search for succour.

Jackie, keen to demonstrate to our concerned readers that I am no longer confined to the passenger seat, photographed me attempting to convince my equine friend that I had nothing for her.

Normally I try to keep my shadow out of a picture, but this seemed to warrant making an exception, since the pony was too close to be kept in focus.

I stepped out of the car again opposite No 1, Sowley Lane to photograph two donkeys, one moulting, on the bend in the road. As I did so, I saw one car with a boat on a trailer approaching from the animals’ side of the road while another vehicle was about to pass them on my side. Neither could have seen or heard the other, and the first would not know he was aiming straight for two animals he could only avoid by slamming on brakes or chancing a head-on collision. I pointed and gesticulated in each direction, hoping they would get the message. Fortunately this alerted them to approach the bend especially slowly. The asses did not move.

This evening we dined on Red Chilli takeaway fare. Main course choices included Lamb Rogan Josh, Chicken Korma, Chicken Tikka Shaslick, and Naga Lamb; we shared Pilau Rice, Peshwari Naan, Plain Paratha, and Saag Bhaji, all of which was as good as ever. Jackie drank Hoegaarden; I drank more of the Bordeaux which involved opening another bottle; and Flo and Dillon drank Ribena.

Ron And Shelley’s Barbecue

Shelly and Ron had managed to choose a day at the height of the heatwave for this year’s traditional summer barbecue. My leg had improved enough for me to

produce all these photographs without leaving my seat. Each participant is named in the gallery.

We enjoyed Ron’s usual splendid barbecue meats – lamb kebabs, beef burgers, hot dogs, and chicken pieces; Shelley’s wonderful salads; and tempting-looking desserts for which I had no room. Various beers, wines, and soft drinks were on offer. I had just one pint of beer, otherwise water – fizzy or tap.

Still Confined To The Passenger Seat

As we sat in a queue at the Brockenhurst level crossing this morning I photographed the dry grasses alongside.

We were on our way to Streets, the shop which has everything. Jackie took this location photograph, whilst I

focussed on the windows when we parked outside it.

My more able bodied Chauffeuse also photographed the fungus decorating the oak tree shown above because that required a disembarkation.

Jackie was able to buy wasp foam and wasp powder; and surgical spirit, which may flummox our American readers as it did most of the staff of Streets until one said “isn’t that what they call rubbing alcohol?” “Yes”, replied Jackie who had begun by Googling “rubbing alcohol”, which had been what Dillon had requested.

Our now sparse open tracts of land, normally occupied by grazing ponies, are left empty, except for this one on the edge of Beachern Wood which hosts

just one mare and foal perhaps taking a chance on being able later to

squeeze among the others already clustered for shelter among the trees.

Others, like these in The Coppice at Brockenhurst, find individual shade.

Beside Beachern Wood ancient banks of high hedgerows enjoy diffused light.

On our way towards Wilverley a determined troop of ponies advanced, perhaps in search of their own refuge.

This afternoon I read another couple of chapters of Naipaul.

We dined this evening on Jackie’s well-filled beef pie; crisp fried potatoes; firm carrots, cauliflower, and broccoli, with meaty gravy. The Culinary Queen drank Hoegarden; I drank more of the Bordeaux; Flo and Dillon drank water.

From The Passenger Seat

This morning Jackie and I drove to The Oakhaven Hospice Trust furniture warehouse on the Ampress industrial estate in order to offer for collection a Chinese oak cabinet which is now surplus to our requirements.

I took the opportunity to photograph the parched condition of the surrounding verges.

The now golden moorland around Brockenhurst was tinged with purple heather, yellowing bracken, and early autumnal trees.

The usual ponies had deserted the arid Longslade Bottom

for such sheltered spots as they could find among the lanes

and the dappled woodland.

Plants were drying along the verges of Hordle Lane and

Christchurch Road at the point at which it runs alongside our house, the front garage trellis of which has been saved from suffering a similar fate by Flo and Dillon’s valiant irrigation.

With the exception of the first and last all these photographs were produced from the front passenger seat.

This evening we dined on pizza and fresh salad with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden, Flo and Dillon drank Ribena, and I drank Château La Mauberte Bordeaux 2020.

Resting My Leg

Forced to rest my injured leg, this afternoon I published

A Knight’s Tale (148: First Stage Of Repossession)

then read a good chunk of V.S. Naipaul’s ‘A Way in the World’.

This evening we dined on Mr Pink’s fish, chips, Garner’s Pickled Onions and Mrs Elwood’s Pickled Cucumbers, with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden, I drank London Pride, Flo drank Lipton’s iced tea, and Dillon drank Fanta.

A Knight’s Tale (148: First Stage Of Repossession)

Every Friday evening throughout July and August Sigoules square is covered in long tables and chairs;

various food suppliers put up their stalls;

Les Caves and others produce the wine; and people swarm in from miles around.  There is a pop group singing a fair number of English songs.  With respect to those who want to sleep, everything closes down around midnight. Given my proximity to the square I’d best join in.  If I didn’t there would be no point in going to bed early.  In any case these are delightful occasions, and at one we met Judith and Roger Munns, whose friendship was to prove to be particularly helpful.

On our early morning arrival in Sigoules on 28th August 2014 I immediately visited the police and alerted them to the fact that I was about to reclaim my house. I had been advised that they would help me regain my property. This was denied by the officer on the desk who stated that it was a civil matter and not their concern.

Allowing a reasonable amount of time to avoid waking whoever was in the household, accompanied by Michael, I rang the bell. Having no response, I opened the door, which was unlocked, and confronted some of the occupants. These included the mother of the family, a teenage girl, two young men, and two small children. The conman who had groomed me was away.

Despite pleading from the mother and the two pre-school children clutching at her skirts I was adamant that they should leave today. The father was suddenly able to telephone me and ask me to retract. Naturally I refused.

The woman claimed to have no money, no transport, and nowhere to go. I did not believe her and would not relent.

Leaving them to pack up, we visited Garry and Brigitte next door. I spent the morning with my neighbours while Michael went off to make some work phone calls. Brigitte cooked a splendid lunch which consisted of a piquant tomato salad; sausages with fried potatoes, onions, and haricot beans which Garry had topped and tailed; and strawberries. We drank rosé wine and water.

An emergency locksmith reinforced the security of the front door. Obtaining that locksmith was just one benefit from the friendship of Judith and Roger mentioned above. When others had been unable Judith quickly tracked down a man to change the locks.

My unwelcome guests did actually leave at the appointed time. In truth, Michael had found the language – only Garry spoke any English – too stressful and had resorted to a café meal. This meant that my son was able to witness the female squatter using a bank card to fill a car with petrol before moving off – the significance of this being that fuel there was only available by card.

I began the task of reclaiming my rooms by making my bed which contained cheesy snacks similar to Quavers lodged between the mattress and the headboard. The bedroom itself had been taken over. My clothes had been removed from wardrobes, and an array of shoes were lined up on the floor. An enormous television stood on my chest of drawers.

That evening, although I hadn’t slept for more than 24 hours, I was still not tired, so I settled down to watch Prime Suspect 3. I got the gist of it, but some of the detail escaped me because I kept dropping off into deep slumber. I went to bed at midnight and slept soundly for six hours.

All was not over yet, because much furniture, many clothes, bedding, and personal effects belonging to the squatters remained to be collected.

Hopping From Seat To Seat

Yesterday I somehow managed to strain my left inner thigh which means walking is out of the question.

Perhaps thirty years ago, as featured in https://derrickjknight.com/2013/01/17/im-only-borrowing-it/ I spent a good hour hopping from seat to seat on an Intercity train when I was commuting from Newark to Kings Cross.

The method proved useful once again today. I couldn’t walk, but I could hop from seat to seat around the garden for a photoshoot. So this is what I did.

These images were produced from a seat in the patio;

these from the Wisteria Arbour;

the Gardener’s Rest yielded just two;

then came the decking;

one from the bench at Fiveways;

a good range from the four various viewpoints in the Rose Garden;

two from the concrete patio;

four from the Heligan Path bench;

two from the Westbrook Arbour;

three from the Nottingham Castle bench;

and finally, petunias in a chimney pot on the lawn seen from its own bench. All the other titles will be available from accessing the galleries.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s succulent beef and onion pie; boiled new potatoes; firm carrots, cauliflower, and broccoli, with meaty gravy. The Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden, Flo and Dillon drank Ribena, and I finished the Côtes-du-Rhône.

The Moment

On our way to a shop at Lidl this morning, Jackie pulled into a farmer’s drive and leapt out of the car with her camera.

Whenever we pass this weather-ravaged oak tree we make a mental note to photograph the effect of the sometimes savage coastal winds that have carved one side of the tree into a monumental headstone. With the cluster of crows taking a breather today – they are often found perching on markers of final resting places – this was the moment we had been waiting for. Jackie’s first picture also shows how a different kind of climate has prematurely altered the pigment of the fields around.

This afternoon I published https://derrickjknight.com/2022/08/08/the-great-gatsby/

This evening we dined on more of the chicken in Nando’s sauce; Jackie’s savoury rice; and tender green beans, with which the Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden, I drank more of the Côtes-du-Rhône, and Flo and Dillon drank Ribena. (No, WP, how many times must I tell you this is not Ribera?)