October 2024 – derrickjknight

The Under Dog

This morning I underwent the postponed third session of my BCG vaccine installation series at Southampton General Hospital. The procedure was carried out on time with the usual smooth, efficient, friendly, informative, and humorous care by Anna Cornwall.

The anticipated painfully irritating after effects to be expected for 48 hours produced the usual difficulty in concentrating on anything else, so here is a review I made earlier:

This is the third story in the Crime Club Choice of Agatha Christie’s tales entitled “The Adventure of the Christmas Pudding”.

Once again we have the perspicacious Poirot unravelling the alleged facts in a case of Inspector Miller’s and coming to a different conclusion.

With the spare precision of her character description reflecting that of her main protagonist, Christie matches his skill – or is it the other way round? “His eyes swept over Lily Margrave in a quick comprehensive survey, taking in the details of her neat black suit, the touch of white at her throat and the smart little black hat. He saw the elegance of her, the pretty face with its slightly pointed chin, and the dark blue, long-lashed eyes. Insensibly his attitude changed; he was interested now, not so much in the case as in the girl sitting opposite him.” Naturally he was not the only man attracted by her, thus providing an element of a the intrigue.

In complete control of her characters’ dialogue, Christie guides the conversation with such as “His eyes invited her to go on.” She pays attention to tone, as in “The disparagement of her tone, though vague, was evident, and Poirot beat a tactful retreat.” The manner of speech is also relevant, for example ” “Yes, yes, quite so,” said Mr. Mayhew without enthusiasm.”

Dame Agatha catches the note of the Belgian’s spoken English with accuracy and humour, as in “She is anxious that no one should disturb the sleeping dogs.” and “one would hardly think a young man of that type would have the – how do you say it – the bowels to commit such a crime.” On the other hand he can use idioms to good advantage: ‘See a pin and pick it up, all the day you’ll have good luck.”

The detective’s own obsessive nature is indicated by such as “Poirot’s right hand strayed out and straightened one or two of the objects lying on the table near him.” This quotation also suggests the author’s love of alliteration as does “quick comprehensive survey” above.

The well-crafted story is told with humour and meticulous detail connecting or refuting all elements as appropriate in order to establish the truth.

This evening we dined on flavoursome baked gammon; boiled new potatoes; piquant cauliflower and leek cheese; tender cabbage and leek; crunchy carrots; I also decided that one small glass of Collin-Bourisset Morgon 2022 could not irritate my bladder any more than today’s procedure has done, so I drank one.

Squirrel Suspect

In the murky light of an overcast shirtsleeves-warm morning I photographed a few garden views from the windows above.

I then dead-headed some of our roses, and

photographed a few still flourishing. The first is Compassion, from above; the red carpet rose is in the Weeping Birch Bed, as is Rosa Siluetta Lavender; the pink Festive Jewel, yellow Absolutely Fabulous, and red/gold Mamma Mia are all in the Rose Garden.

The first of these dahlias was also viewed from above.

Begonias white and pink continue to thrive.

Red/purple Army Nurse, pink and white Garden News, and the ubiquitous Delta’s Sarah are long lingering fuchsias.

These yellow chrysanthemums and red cyclamen will hopefully be safer than the recently planted tulips of which Jackie bought a number in three figures.

Some time this morning the bulbs began to be exhumed and eaten, we suspect by a squirrel which can read the labels. They have already ravaged the area around the patio. Even if these animals are illiterate they will probably eschew daffodils to which they are not partial. If not squirrels, who knows?

This evening we dined at Rokali’s where the food and service was as good as always. I chose methi goust; Jackie, ponir shashlik, and we shared sag rice. I drank Kingfisher and Jackie drank Diet Coke. I may not have mentioned before that the knives actually cut and the forks and spoons do not bend.

Pumpkins And Witchcraft

This morning we stacked the Hyundai to the gunwales with more bags of garden refuse and a large aluminium container. One of the bags contained the roots of the felled bay tree, the stump of which bears the initials of Aaron, Mark, and Steve who rid us of the tree. The last named now works at Efford Recycling Centre and helps us a great deal when we unload our garden refuse.

Later, I finished reading Agatha Christie’s ‘The Under Dog’ which I will review soon.

On our return from the tip we noticed a pumpkin display drawing attention to the sale of eggs from a resident of Christchurch Road which pointed us towards Burley later the afternoon.

On the way up Holmsley Passage we followed a cycling family before

watching the efforts of another driver persuading ponies to scarper.

Burley was in full witchy celebration mode. The first eight of these images all bearing titles in the gallery are mine. The next nine by Jackie, who also photographed

a clock to confirm our location.

This evening we dined on delicious smoked haddock cheese centred fishcakes from Lidl; Jackie’s piquant cauliflower and leek cheese and crunchy carrots, with which I finished the Fleurie.

A Rest Home Visit

On a miserably wet yet warm morning Jackie transported three more paving slabs from the back drive to the side of the house.

Following his hospital period at the end of September Giles is now comfortably settled in a long term rest home very near his own house. I visited him there this afternoon. He was content and cheerful in a very spacious and well appointed room with very friendly staff.

Afterwards I received a haircut at Sears Barbers and began reading Agatha Christie’s short story ‘The Under Dog’.

This evening we dined on a repeat of yesterday’s Southern fried chicken meal with the addition of a melange of fried onions, peppers, mushrooms, and tomatoes. I drank more of the Fleurie.

The Mystery Of The Spanish Chest

We learn something of Hercule Poirot’s taste in women in this second story in the Crime Club’s Choice Collection “The Adventure of the Christmas Pudding” – a tale of an impossible murder into which his reluctant investigation was cajoled by Lady Chatterton, “…..one of the brightest jewels in what Poirot called le haut monde. Everything she did or said was news. She has brains, beauty, originality and enough vitality to activate a rocket to the moon.”

This “entrée” is introduced with a description of the famous detective’s efficient secretary who “seemed to be composed entirely of angles – thus satisfying Poirot’s demand for symmetry. Not that where women were concerned Hercule Poirot carried his passion for geometrical precision so far. He was, on the contrary, old-fashioned. He had a continental prejudice for curves – it might be said for voluptuous curves. He liked women to be women. He liked them lush, highly coloured, exotic….” This quotation exemplifies Christie’s humour and fluid prose. As usual she has complete control of dialogue.

Poirot can be “obsessed with beautiful women, crimes of passion, jealousy, hatred and and all the other romantic causes of murder” especially as this one appeared to have only one generally accepted possible solution which he found inexplicable.

We were led down a blind alley before Poirot proved what had really happened.

Agatha Christie’s own genius was to tie her plot into Shakespeare’s story of Othello with its themes of jealousy, murderous intent, and the naive innocence of a femme fatale.

Yesterday Jackie began transporting paving stones from the stack on the back drive to the side of the house for use behind the shed. She continued today, and I added a few. 21 of 28 have now been moved with the aid of sack barrow and wheelbarrow.

This evening we dined on Southern Fried Chicken and Jackie’s savoury rice with which I drank Collin Bourisset Fleurie 2022.

In Search Of A Mate

After more stimulating conversation Louisa, Geri, and Coco left us at 10 a.m. this morning.

Jackie then set about removing the tree roots impeding the level of the area behind the garden shed, and photographing her work.

I bagged up the waste roots.

We have a number of areas where the soil has recently been thrown up in what are now molehills produced by these normally solitary animals burrowing underground in search of a mate. One of these is the new footpath into the Weeping Birch Bed.

The Head Gardener also photographed the Cryptomeria Bed;

and roses Lady Emma Hamilton, aloha complete with raindrops and a fly, an Absolutely Fabulous bud, and Mamma Mia also bejewelled with rainwater.

This afternoon we took a forest drive. On a shaded bank at the corner of Bistern Close and Bennett’s Lane a squirrel scampered while the woodland behind enjoyed the sunshine.

This being bonfire season our nostrils often sniffed woodsmoke like this in the smoky landscapes seen from Picket Post carpark.

The rippling stream flowing fast under the ford at North Gorley reflected the footbridge above.

This evening we repeated last night’s meal of chicken and vegetable stewp and focaccia bread.

Cockapoos

We enjoyed a pleasant morning with Louisa and her Cockapoos, Geri and Coco.

After lunch my daughter and I took the dogs on a forest drive.

The first stop was on Wootton Common.

Louisa photographed me venturing to cross the road to join them,

where they enjoyed splashing in the sodden pools.

Louisa parked the car beside the stream at Holmsley Passage and took her pets for a walk across the moorland and back.

I remained beside the car and focussed on the stream and on the landscape.

Coco kept me company on our return home.

Later this afternoon Helen and Bill joined us for more convivial conversation.

Elizabeth joined us for dinner which consisted of Jackie’s wholesome chicken stewp with focaccia brought by Louisa. I drank more of the Shiraz and my sister drank FeeDamm non-alcoholic lager.

The Adventure Of The Christmas Pudding

Exactly 74 years ago to the day from this date Collins Crime Club published

In her foreword to this delightful first entrée Dame Agatha speaks of her own joyful childhood memories, acknowledging their part in the celebration which brought an adamantly reluctant Hercule Poirot into the party through the diplomatic persuasion of Mr Jesmond acting on behalf of the Commonwealth. “If one wanted to sum up Mr. Jesmond in a word, the word would have been discretion. Everything about Mr. Jesmond was discreet. His well-cut but inconspicuous clothes, his pleasant, well-bred voice which rarely soared out of an agreeable monotone, his light-brown hair just thinning a little at the temples, his pale serious face. It seemed to Hercule Poirot that he had known not one but a dozen Mr. Jesmonds in his time, all using sooner or later the same phrase – “a position of the utmost delicacy.” ” is an example of the writer’s skill in penning a complete portrait with few phrases. Each of the personalities in the tale are equally well presented – with insight, sensitivity, humour, and knowledge of people from all walks of life.

In her well-crafted style Christie presents the characters attending the Christmas and Boxing Day events, the possible crime, the suspected perpetrators, and the perspicacious Poirot.

We have an excellent description of the dinner and its traditions; a nice confusion over which puddings to serve when; a practical joke which backfires; a touch of mystery; and a few surprises.

The jacket of this first edition owes to its cellophane wrapper its rather more pristine condition than that of the ex-library edition pages. One of the collection bequeathed to me by my Auntie Ivy, I suspect she bought this as discontinued, for it bears the turned down corners produced by multiple readers not using bookmarks and

various stains I would prefer to imagine as those of the eponymous puddings, which, of course put me in mind of my own book featured in

Chocolate Surprise Pudding

The two now much older grandchildren who cooked the pudding mentioned above are currently fully occupied on their own matters, preventing them from joining my daughter Louisa on her own visit today when she will stay for two nights.

Louisa suffered much delay on her journey from Nottingham. ETA is now 8.30 p.m.

When she arrives we will all dine on succulent roast lamb; mint sauce; boiled new potatoes; soft spinach; firm broccoli, cauliflower, carrots, Brussels sprouts, and tasty gravy, with which I will drink Paarl Shiraz 2023.

The House Of Bernarda Alba

This is the third of Federico García Lorca’s Three Tragedies in the Folio Society edition of 1977. As usual I have presented the illustrations by Peter Pendrey as they lie on their pages in the context of the author’s clear scene directions.

The play has an all female cast, with the only male character, being the focus of conflict and rivalry never appearing on stage.

We have an embittered controlling woman who battles to maintain appearances of harmony in a family of daughters barely concealing seething hatred. “I’m not interested knowing what you’re feeling inside; that’s your business; but I like to see an illusion of harmony at least.” “Do you understand?” – this last sentence is an indication of her domination over all but her youngest, whose equal spirit seeks the changing life of the future, while her mother clings to the old ways.

The poet’s language includes such as “until she looks like a squashed lizard when the children have finished with it” or “I love the way that priest sings…..his voice soars up and up like water filling a bucket little by little”. Songs in verse carry repeated phrases like “Open doors, open windows, /Village maidens draw near/The reapers beg roses/For the hats they wear”, yet the perception of the condition of women is encapsulated in this three sentence conversation: A. “Men get away with everything.” Another A. “It’s the ultimate punishment to be born a woman.” M. “Not even our eyes are our own.”

The appearance of the eldest, possibly dementing, woman in the final act symbolises loving mothering as she tenderly carries a baby lamb.

As the oppressive heat out in the village threatens an impending storm, so the stifling suppressed conflict among the sisters portends an emotional explosion within the airless house of mourning.

Sue Bradbury’s translation is fluid and seems to me who has no Spanish to convey the original language.

Here are Peter Pendrey’s last two accurately expressed lino-cut illustrations.

This evening we dined on a rack of pork spare ribs in barbecue sauce; Jackie’s special fried rice; carrots, cauliflower, broccoli, and runner beans, with which I finished the Cabernet Sauvignon.

A Damp Dump Drive

Late this morning, in steady rain, we transported 11 bags of garden refuse and a broken spade that even we couldn’t recycle, to Efford Recycling Centre and came back with a print of a painting of flowers which Jackie had been given because unsold contents of the Reuse Shop were undergoing periodic culling.

Our warm, wet, weather of recent weeks has provided breeding grounds for a myriad of irritating midges. During our dump drive a number of these emerged from the damp rubbish and will be reminding us for a day or two to come.

We call our downstairs loo The Print Room on account of the number of my photographic prints.

Here is today’s new addition.

My lunchtime antiques TV programme doze was interrupted by a telephone call from Alice who was to carry out my BCG procedure at Southampton General Hospital tomorrow. This has been postponed to next week because the vaccine has not arrived.

Later, I finished reading a delightful short story, the draft of a review of which I will use my bonus time to write tomorrow. It will not be posted until Thursday 24th, for reasons which will become clear when it is.

This evening Jackie both produced and photographed our dinner of tempura and salt and pepper prawn preparations; with duck spring rolls on a bed of her colourful savoury rice and a side of succulent ratatouille, accompanied by another glass of the Cabernet Sauvignon for me.