derrickjknight

Standing Stones

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It is more than fifty years since Jackie and Helen enjoyed their ‘Stonehenge Sandwiches’. Since that time English Heritage and The National Trust have, between them restricted access and priced out all but those individuals who can afford £25 for a timed entry ticket and have on-line facilities for booking this on the day before. When Flo and Dillon wished to see some Neolithic standing stones, we suggested viewing

Stonehenge as we drove past,

and driving on to Avebury, which is far more user friendly. Unfortunately the road that Jackie had carefully memorised before setting off was closed. With the aid of Dillon’s mobile phone we were able to find an alternative route by narrow roads through the Vale of Pewsey, where

we trundled along behind a hay cart. Jackie sensed that the driver of a Land Rover chasing her was becoming rather frustrated. At the first opportunity he sped past. He remained between us and the hay for quite some time until he reached his own destination. It was a considerable while before the cart turned off, freeing us and the convoy in our wake.

Once clear of Salisbury we had stopped at a Harvester pub opposite Old Sarum Castle for lunch. My choice of meal was gammon steak with all the trimmings, and my drink was Marston’s pale ale. Should they wish, the others can speak for themselves.

On reaching Avebury we passed ‘the largest artificial mound in Europe, mysterious Silbury Hill [which] compares in height and volume to the roughly contemporary Egyptian pyramids. Probably completed in around 2400 BC, it apparently contains no burial. Though clearly important in itself, its purpose and significance remain unknown.’ (English Heritage website)

When we reached the henge itself we went our separate ways. I dawdled with my camera, seeing faces, figures, and even a horses head in this 10,000 year old monuments. There was quite a lot of evidence of mole activity.

We met up at The Red Lion, a 400 year old pub standing in the middle of the largest circle.

Flo and Dillon posed against the backdrop of the stones,

alongside a tree full of jackdaws.

Back at home, Jackie made pancakes for the others and brought me a plate of finger food to be enjoyed whilst working on this post. When the internet started misbehaving I poured myself more of the Navarra, and just managed to publish before the witching hour.

Lost In Clerkenwell

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As I sat at my computer this morning, a pair of long tailed tits attempted repeatedly to penetrate the double glazed windows beside me, possibly in order to keep me company.

Richard visited a little later, bringing the instruction manual for the hobs and returning our key. We had as enjoyable a conversation as always.

This afternoon I scanned another batch of colour slides from my Streets of London series. These are from June 2005

http://hidden-london.com/gazetteer/euston-square/ tells us that’In 1869 Euston Grove was extended south from Euston station through Euston Square to connect with Euston Road. The following year two lodges were completed at the grove’s intersection with Euston Road, both of which have now been converted to bars.’

This one is the Cider Tap. I believe the other building is called the Euston Tap. At the time of my photograph above, one of the buildings was being used by a charitable organisation with which I briefly carried out a consultancy role.

The two uniformed gentlemen at opposite corners of Florence Street, N1. are traffic wardens whose task it is to report parking violations. They are, of course most unpopular with drivers. The RAC has useful information on their website

I wonder how long that heap of rubble and cone cordon occupied this corner of Islington’s Waterloo Terrace before the kerb was repaired.

http://www.closedpubs.co.uk/london/n1_islington_oldparrshead.html updates this picture. ‘The Old Parrs Head was situated at 66 Cross Street. Closed in the mid/late-2000s, the pub has the alternative address of 290 Upper Street. The bar area is a shop, the pub name can still be seen in tiling above the ground floor.’ So, here in Islington the process described above in Euston Grove has been reversed. Uses of London’s buildings are constantly changing.

Pilates Central is situated at 10-12 Gaskin Street. Most of the residential accommodation there consists of flats or apartments. You could rent a three bedroomed one for £1,900 per week, or, if you prefer, purchase a 3 bed penthouse for £3,300,000.

This section of Islington High Street is tucked in between buildings adjacent to Angel, Islington tube station.

Wikipedia tells us that ‘Staple Inn [in High Holborn, N1] dates from 1585. The building was once the wool staple, where wool was weighed and taxed. It survived the Great Fire of London, was extensively damaged by a Nazi German Luftwaffe aerial bomb in 1944 but was subsequently restored. It has a distinctive timber-framed façade, cruck roof and an internal courtyard.

The historic interiors include a great hall, used by the Institute and Faculty of Actuaries. The ground floor street frontage is let to shops and restaurants, required to use plainer signage than they do on less sensitive buildings. This building will be familiar with those that smoke “Old Holborn” tobacco, as formerly it featured on tins and pouches of this product, this logo is no longer in use.’

During my pipe-smoking days I often bought pipes, tobacco, and various paraphernalia from Shervington’s, the last outlet on the right. Now permanently closed it was one of the last such specialists I once frequented. As one gentleman I passed when we were both smoking quipped “there are not many of us about now”. Declining smoking and increasing rentals drove most of them out.

With his back to Staple Inn, facing down High Holborn towards us near the junction with Brooke Street stands Albert Toft’s bronze Royal Fusiliers war memorial.

This is where I get a bit lost because I can’t read the road signs. I think this is part of the Leather Lane market;

as is this corner of Greville Street;

and I’m pretty sure I took this one from Holborn Viaduct. Is that Mount Pleasant, and what? The car park was probably temporary and will have been built over by now.

Finally, we have another view of The London IMax Cinema from the corner of Sutton Walk, SE1

This evening the four of us dined on Jackie’s exquisite sausage casserole, with perfectly cooked carrots, broccoli, green beans, and mashed potato and swede. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank Don Lotario, gran reserva Navarra 2009.

P.S. wdeod’s comments below are a useful supplement to this post.

A Stag Party

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Becky and Ian returned this morning to their home at Emsworth. This afternoon Jackie drove Flo, Dillon and me out for a drive in the forest.

On the way to Beaulieu, Flo spotted a row of antlers among the gorse on the moors. They belonged to a string of stags. Jackie turned the car round and returned to the spot, where the animals still congregated. As long as we stood still and kept our distance, cervine curiosity kept them interested. When I edged forward, slowly at first they turned tail and suddenly rushed back into the golden covert.

In the foreground of this landscape are some of the many pools springing all over the forest at the moment.

As we approached Beaulieu an obliging pony put on a display of disrupting the traffic for our family visitors.

We visited The Yachtsman’s Bar at Buckler’s Hard for refreshments.

A number of yachts and motorboats were moored in the harbour.

We made a small diversion down to the beach at Tanner’s Lane where we watched a helicopter flying across the Isle of Wight.

The next stop was at Lyndhurst where, in the churchyard of St Michael & All Angels, Flo and Dillon were shown the grave of Mrs Reginald Hargreaves, otherwise known to the world as Lewis Carroll’s Alice. Dillon produced these selfies, while I photographed the stone commemorating Anne Frances Cockerell which I suspect was that of a 23 year old who probably died in childbirth, leaving her husband to live on into the next century.

I also photographed roofs of the Crown Hotel and adjacent buildings,

while Flo crouched to focus on the street below, before she and I photographed each other.

The next grave to be visited was that of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, complete with pipe. It was Flo who captured these images whilst I focussed on her and Dillon.

This was in the graveyard of

Minstead Parish Church. Only the first, vertical, picture of these last seven is mine. The others are Flo’s. The list of rectors, beginning in the thirteenth century, bears out the age of the shattered, regenerated, yew tree to the left of the last photograph, said to be at least 700 years old.

Back home, we dined on Mr Pink’s fish and chips with mushy peas, pickled onions, and gherkins.

Omitted From The Talking Book

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Yesterday evening, Becky, who with Ian also stayed overnight with Flo and Dillon, was hunting in the library for James Joyce’s ‘A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man’. She had been listening to it on the radio. I knew where it was, but it was inaccessible at the moment. This morning I moved items blocking the passage and brought it out for her. This is my Folio Society edition of 1965, with illustrations by Dodie Masterson. The coloured drawing is on the front cover board; the black and white ones are full page pictures in the text.

This book, in its slip case, has followed me around for more than half a century. Purchased only five years after I left Wimbledon College, a Jesuit grammar school, it contains descriptions of a Catholic child’s upbringing with which I could identify. Beginning in the language of a very small boy, my recollection of Stephen’s bed-wetting and how it is warm and comfortable at first, then goes cold, was an example of such reminiscence. Becky tells me that this has been omitted from the talking book version. I was happy to present her with the slender volume.

Dillon, hailing from South Carolina, had never seen ponies roaming free before. Becky therefore offered to drive him and Flo on an equine foray. I accompanied them to Burley and back via a somewhat circuitous route. On the way to the village we encountered a number of ponies on the moor. They mostly seemed rather young, and less inquisitive that we would expect from older ones, as they went about the business of eating grass and gorse. Interestingly, they were very tolerant of Scooby’s attention.

We stopped at Burley where the young couple explored the witchy and other tourist shops. The fudge outlet was popular. Becky’s experience was so hilarious that at this point I hand the keyboard to her.

‘I noticed a bag of Marmite Fudge and on hearing the surprise in my voice the lady in the shop asked me, tentatively, if I would like to try it. There was a long pause before I weakly said yes. She sliced a very small piece off the block and then said, “Oh no you won’t want that much”, cut it in half and finished her sentence, “because it’s hideous.” I popped it in my mouth and just looked at her. Speechless. “It’s interesting.” I said politely. She replied, “I think it tastes like you’ve accidentally poured gravy all over your apple crumble.”‘

As we left the village, our guests were treated to the classic pony traffic disruption. In this they were assisted by a partial road closure furnished with temporary traffic lights. A string of the animals trooped across the road. One turned back to the other side to sample some tasty looking ivy dangling over a fence. This creature couldn’t make up its mind which side of the road was more attractive. As the lights changed from red to green no further progress was possible until it had stopped crossing and recrossing the tarmac.

This evening Jackie, utilising all her new cooking appliances, produced an excellent roast chicken meal, including Yorkshire pudding, roast and sweet potatoes, cauliflower, carrots, manges touts, sage and onion stuffing, and tasty gravy. Jackie and Ian drank Hoegaarden, and I drank Chateauneuf du Pape 2015

Shooting One-Handed

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Soon after Mat, Tess, and Poppy returned home I watched the recorded thrilling final quarter of the Six Nations rugby match between England and France; and the second half live of the Wales v. Italy game.

It has been a dull day, but one that was dry enough to wander round the garden and view our ever increasing daffodil, camellia, and hellebore blooms. I am indebted to an exchange with Cheryl to give me the confidence to hold up the bowed head of the single hellebore. The photo cyan speck on one of my fingers came from my Canon printer ink as I changed the cartridge when printing for Aaron a set of the photographs I took of him pruning roses last week.

The moss-covered branch seen here is what is left of a New Zealand hebe that had snaked along the bed during the time the West Bed was largely overgrown. To its left a new stem, having reached the light, stands proudly covered in foliage which will soon produce flowers.

This Mother’s Day evening Jackie, Becky’s mother, and Becky, Flo’s mother were joined by Flo, Dillon, Ian, and me for dinner at Lal Quilla. We’d mostly finished our meals before I remembered my camera, and waiter, Raoul took this photograph. My main course was king prawn Ceylon. We shared onion bahjis, various rices, two ponir dishes, parathas, and naans. Kingfisher, red wine, lemonade, and water were drunk.

The Containers Were Cleared

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The kitchen may have looked neat and tidy when we finished yesterday’s decluttering. Now we have to rid ourselves of the piles in the library. We may not pass on the stool in the top right hand corner of the vertical picture. We’ll probably keep the wine for lubrication. The A-Z book in the bottom right of that image is one in which I feature as Mordred. Beneath the clock in the landscape photograph is a flyer for ‘The Magnificent Seven’. Book piles are those which Richard eased off the shelves when fitting the duct for the extractor fan. They will be returned when access is clear.

This afternoon I watched the Six Nations rugby match between Ireland and Scotland and most of that between England and France.

This evening Mat, Tess, Poppy, Flo and Dillon came to stay. Jackie drove to Hordle Chinese Take Away for our delicious evening meal. Mr Chan and another customer opined that she was buying too much. They were wrong. The containers were cleared. Beers, wines, and soft drinks were imbibed.

Decluttering

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I rose very early this morning and completed the emptying of the cupboard under the stairs, carrying some items into the library, and littering the kitchen surfaces with others. Take no notice of the clock. The photograph was taken a bit later.

Jackie and I then began the process outlined yesterday by

Garrulous Gwendoline

9 hoursThe Reluctant Retiree

I’m a good declutterer, and willing to travel if you provide the airfare

Suggest you start with the age-old trick . . . have I used this in the last year?

Then you could move on to – if I hold on to this, will I know where I put it if I ever do need it?

The four-box method is also useful. One for must keep, one for throw, one for thrift shop, one for not sure. Repeat the process with the fourth box until there is nothing left. Then go back to the first box and re-assess your choices.

You could also create a box for items to sell if you like eBay or such sites. Or have a collection of something that will sell at auctions (eg my brother’s Dinky Toys)

If you keep “special things” because of sentimental or other reasons, make sure you use them and don’t keep them for those special occasions that never roll around.

If something is beautiful but serves no purpose, and you decide to keep it because you get pleasure from seeing it, make sure you DO have it somewhere you can see it, and not packed away in a box.

And its helpful to designate a small area at a time to work on. The old, “break the overall project into small achievable goals” strategy.

Good luck.

ps – I’ll understand if you prefer the ironing

Soon we had piles in the library and the beginnings of the most organised under the stairs cupboard ever.

Some objects, like these iron chicken doorstops bought for our Minstead flat, are destined to spend the rest of their lives as garden features.

By this evening Jackie had her kitchen back, and was able, on the hobs, to produce her tasty beef stew, boiled potatoes, carrots, and cabbage. She drank Hoegaarden, and I drank Wolf’s Leap merlot 2016. As I pulled out my dining chair, I narrowly avoiding sitting on a meat carving board destined for Oxfam that had been left thereon. Since it contained spikes that was probably just as well.

Lenses Trained

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Yesterday we spent a very pleasant evening at Lal Quilla with Richard and his delightful wife, Marianne. The food, service, and ambience were as splendid as ever. My choice of main dish was Goan lamb shank; the others’ were Davedush, Haryali chicken, and fish curry. We shared onion bahjis, a peshwari naan, an egg paratha, mushroom and special fried rices, and a sag aloo on the house. Kingfisher and a lime drink were imbibed.

When people move house they often take the opportunity to dispense with unnecessary items. We didn’t. We are prompted by the new kitchen to do so. I decided today to empty the cupboard under the stairs which was rather loaded with belongings stuffed in it and forgotten about. Having bitten the bullet with such as bags of bubble wrap, a mosquito curtain, and an Epson printer, we came to a standstill and will sleep on the rest. Not literally, you understand.

This afternoon we went for a drive in the forest.

We often take Holmsley Passage from the A35 to the Burley Road. This steeply undulating narrow winding lane is at first bordered by woodland. It is crossed by three running streams one of which requires a footbridge beside a ford. A cattle grid marks the change to moorland. At the Burley end a pair of horse riders waited cheerily to cross from one side to the other.

Opposite Burley cricket green a solitary pony was undaunted by the task of keeping the grass down.

Although the road between Ringwood and Bramsgore was itself reasonably dry, the lesser thoroughfares leading off it were largely waterlogged. Reflective pools abounded. Some made access to homes a little hazardous.

On the outskirts of Burley we spotted three silhouettes on a hill, all figures with lenses trained across the moor. We couldn’t see what had caught their attention.

During my years of running across London, I would often determine my route according to the state of traffic. For example, I might swing right if the lights were against me. So it was today, when we saw ponies chomping on the hedges of a narrow lane which they crossed at will.

This evening we dined on Mr Pink’s fish, chips, and pickled onions. We haven’t found our pickles yet.

An Assignation

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Before getting stuck into the ironing, I played for time by wandering around the garden with my camera. Some tulips and daffodils were still emerging; many hellebores and other daffs were in bloom; some of the earlier camellia blooms were turning to parchment, as they do; the winter-flowering clematis cirrhosa still flowers; three glass birds fly into the sun.

This afternoon Jackie drove me to Milford on Sea for Peter to cut my hair and for me to make an appointment with a GP to set things in motion for my knees to be examined. I don’t dwell on it, but it is time to see what’s what. Afterwards we continued into the forest.

A stretch of currently very marshy land separates Undershore from Lymington reedbeds. Undershore is a narrow, winding, lane with a high bank on the other side. Jackie tucked the Modus into a corner beside a footpath so I could walk back photographing the tarmac and the soggy ground. When we stopped, the route seemed unpopulated. Soon one car after another came along. Taking evasive action I nipped onto the verge taking a step onto a muddy path. It wasn’t a path. It was a quagmire of a ditch. That was awkward. My socks and shoes got rather damp. Further along Undershore we came to School Lane which was full of the cars I had seen earlier, and adults and children. School was out.

At East Boldre grey ponies cropped grass and tore at gorse; while chestnuts preferred to stick their noses in ditches and their rears in the air, occasionally disrupting the traffic.

Marvelling at how those dainty little hooves could bear the weight of a heavily pregnant donkey and her load we brought up the rear as she followed two others down to the shingle at Tanner’s Lane. The leading pair were soon chewing on seaweed. Jackie, who had stayed in the car, told me that the bulky creature had had great difficulty squeezing past two cars blocking the entrance to the beach. Once she found her way there a joyful assignation ensued as other donkeys greeted her through the barbed wire to the adjacent field.

My first task on returning home was to change my shoes and socks in readiness for a trip to Lal Quilla where we will be dining with Richard and his wife. I will report on that tomorrow.

Ponytails

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There was so much snow and ice around on Friday 2nd March, that we were unable to leave the house. It was, however, fifty years since Jackie and I first married. In our circumstances we are uncertain whether this date or that of our second wedding last year takes precedence. We couldn’t really let it pass unnoticed as we chomped our sandwiches in the evening, and I decided to buy a token present today. Jackie therefore drove me into New Milton where I bought some Givenchy Organza perfume which made her even more fragrant.

This afternoon we drove into the forest. Although the snow had largely disappeared there were a few pockets in the more sheltered spots.

More trees, like those on Boldrewood Drive, had been shattered by the winds of Storm Emma, requiring their limbs to be cut up, and left to join the relics of previous arboreal casualties, retained for ecological purposes.

The two small ponies seen foraging by the roadside were perhaps last year’s later foals. One, in particular, decorated its mane at tail with crisp bracken and leaves.

We stopped for a drink at The Royal Oak, North Gorley. Jackie, reflected in a pool on the road outside the pub, sports her own ponytail.

We then returned home just in time to receive a call from Richard of Kitchen Makers who came to fit the front of one of the drawers that had not been delivered to him before; and to change an existing power point so that it would match the new ones he had installed. Such is his attention to detail.

Having mastered the hobs, this evening Jackie fed us on her spicy pasta arrabbiata. She had stocked up on her frozen delicacies. The bulk of this meal was heated up and more pasta cooked on the induction hobs. The Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Chilean Cabernet Sauvignon.