A.P. Maintenance – derrickjknight

Continuing Maintenance

On a much brighter morning Jackie trimmed the lower limbs of myrtle while I bagged up the clippings and added them to the row awaiting the local recycling centre.

This, and further tidying, work has improved the views from the patio and down the Dead End Path.

Also in receipt of attention has been the Westbrook Arbour and that beside the clematis on the Wisteria Arbour. It was Mark and Steve of A.P. Maintenance who tidied up the Westbrook clippings this afternoon. They also dug out the roots of unsatisfactory un-flowering forsythia and thorny berberis; took away the garden refuse,

mowed the lawn; and continued weeding the Back Drive.

Meantime, I transferred the compost in the wheelbarrow beside the Oval Bed, shovelled the last of that in the centre bin into the barrow and started to fill the space again.

Later, I read a rather beautiful Anton Chekhov story, namely “The Lady with the Little Dog”.

The spare, subtle, descriptions of place, scene and situation contribute their own appeal to the tale of illicit lovers who struggle with living two lives – one conventional and stifling, the other secretive and stressful. As translator Elisaveta Fen observes ‘The story has indeed a rare delicacy and poignancy in its portrayal of the first genuine love between an innocent young married woman and a middle-aged married man with many love affairs in the past. They see no way out of the impossible situation, yet go on hoping against hope that a solution somehow will emerge’, even if it takes a very long time.

This evening we dined on succulent roast lamb; new potatoes; firm carrots, cauliflower, and broccoli; and meaty gravy with which Jackie drank Blue Moon and I drank Coonawarra Cabernet Sauvignon 2020.

On The Brink Of December

On a bright and sunny morning I wandered round the garden in my shirtsleeves.

Individual titles of these views can be found when accessing the gallery with a click on any image. The last two pictures show a Japanese maple before and after it had been pruned by Aaron and his A.P. Maintenance team who also

tidied up some of the beds.

Even a sleepy bee on a cobea scandens didn’t seem to realise that we are on the brink of December.

‘So enchanting was the vision of a stateless society, without government, without law, without ownership of property, in which, corrupt institutions having been swept away, man would be free to be good as God intended him, that six heads of state were assassinated for its sake in the twenty years before 1914. They were President Carnot of France in 1894, President Canovas of Spain in 1897, Empress Elizabeth of Austria in 1898, King Humbert of Italy in 1900, President McKinley of the United States in 1901, and another Premier of Spain, Canalejas, in 1912. Not one could qualify as a tyrant. Their deaths were the gestures of desperate or deluded men to call attention to the Anarchist idea.’ So begins the second chapter of my Folio Society edition of Barbara W. Tuchman’s ‘The Proud Tower’, namely The Idea and the Deed – The Anarchists: 1890-1914′.

This chapter deals with the Anarchism that swept Europe during this period leading to WWI – the theory of the intellectuals and the actions of those prepared to carry out ‘The Deed’ with which it was hoped the populace would be terrified into changing the orders of society. As always in such events, more ordinary people were killed than those for whom bombs or bullets were intended. Interestingly, it seems that Germany, who used the terror tactics espoused by their military theorists to suppress the Belgian people in August 1914, was the major European country least affected by the Anarchists.

Tuchman’s descriptions of the avowed terrorism bears alarming similarity to that technique practiced today. Unfortunately modern bombs are far more destructive than those that were available more than a century ago. Perpetrators are prepared now, as they were then, to sacrifice their own lives for their espoused cause.

The fluid writing in this work is far more literary than that permitted by the requirements of ‘The Guns of August’.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s succulent shepherd’s pie; a leak and pork sausage; roast potatoes; moist ratatouille; and firm cauliflower, carrots and Brussels sprouts with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Coonawarra.

They Left Their Mark

We have an old saw that states “Red sky at night, shepherd’s delight, red sky in the morning shepherd’s warning”. This certainly rang true today. Jackie had only a few minutes to photograph a

rosy pink dawn. Afterwards there was barely a tinge left for Florence sculpture’s portrait.

On this decidedly dank, dismal, day, Aaron, Mark, and Steve lopped two trees and removed another,

leaving their initials on the stump.

In a little more than half a day, the A.P. Maintenance team carried out this task, leaving the garden as if they had never been here except for

the neatly piled debris on the back drive. Because Aaron’s van is still in hospital they could not remove all this until it is back on the road.

This process is well choreographed, each man knowing his specific tasks.

Mark wielded the chain saw, first from the shed roof, then whilst climbing the trees.

Because the first holly seriously threatened the shed it was cut down and shaved to the level of the initialled image above.

Aaron received Mark’s cut branches, sometimes catching them from him as they were tossed down;

he and Steve gathered them together

and toted them down the garden to the neatly stacked piles.

The second holly and a sweet smelling bay tree were left standing but considerably reduced in height.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s spicy pasta arrabbiata with minced beef, followed by unusually spicy custard tart which, had she remembered to include the extra prepared ingredient, would have been pumpkin pie, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Shiraz.

A Clutch Of Clematis

Today was once more hot, humid, and overcast.

This morning I printed a copy of my recent photograph of Aaron for his parents. His A.P. Maintenance tasks included the repair of

the door of the Orange Shed which had managed to beat the shed itself to collapsing;

and to level the uneven, sagging, brick footpath which had kept tripping me up in the

Rose Garden, from the south west corner of which can be viewed

this hydrangea and fuchsia Magellanica.

Chequerboard is another fuchsia hanging beside clematis Niobe which scales the Gothic Arch;

clematis Madame Julia Correvon forms a serpentine diagonal with her neighbour sidalcea;

another clematis tops the arch spanning the Phantom Path in this view from the Cryptomeria Bed to the greenhouse;

today’s final scene contains two more clematis climbing the kitchen wall, among petunias, pelargoniums, fuchsia Delta’s Sara, Erigeron and more.

After lunch I spent some time clearing up clippings from Jackie’s morning maintenance and carrying trug-loads to the compost bins. Reading occupied the rest of my afternoon.

This evening we dined on succulent roast lamb; crisp roast potatoes including ipomoea batatas; crunchy carrots, cauliflower, and broccoli; with meaty gravy. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Rioja.

A Fine Set Of Choppers

‘A Short Walk from Harrods’ is the fifth volume of Dirk Bogarde’s autobiography, and, to my mind, the best. I finished reading it last night, and would have been saddened had I not had one more to come.

This work deals in more depth and detail with material that has been featured in earlier books, notably the years in France. Without giving too much away I would say that this is the mature writer honestly facing endings and renewal with his gifted descriptive writing. Pondering on the flowing language it occurred to me for the first time that Bogarde brings his actor’s ear to his prose. He knows how the words and their placement would sound when spoken, and he works on adapting his undoubted skill. I have not read any of his novels but this book could well read like one.

Today was free from rain, but winds gusted at more than 40 m.p.h.

Aaron of A.P. Maintenance is an ace and generous recycler. He takes our logs to another client whose heating comes solely from an open fire. To us he brings paving and other materials without charging for them.

He really enjoys what he says is “making something from nothing”. Here he stands beside an extra compost bin he is building. The burnt plywood sheet came from his friend’s garage; the pallet from another; the perspex sheeting from our garden; the boards from his own supply. The bricks along the front is a typical finishing touch.

So far the winds have not created too much damage. The galleries in this post can be accessed by clicking on any image in each one. These may be viewed full size by clicking on the boxes beneath them. Further enlargement is also possible with a click. The pictures are labelled individually.

Jackie did her best to repair some of the windburn and other damage to plants, and later we drove to the north of the forest.

There was much waving of manes and twitching of tails from the ponies on the green outside the converted school in South Gorley. One creature, keen to make my acquaintance, met me nose to muzzle as I stepped out of the car, shook her head about a bit, and repeatedly presented a fine set of choppers for inspection.

The stream at Ogdens North was now very shallow, so that pebbles on the bed could be seen beneath the reflections from above.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s spicy piri-piri chicken, marinaded throughout the day in a tangy sauce; her most colourful ratatouille; boiled baby Jersey Royal potatoes; and mature, yet tender, cauliflower and broccoli, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank Western Cape Malbec 2019.

A Paint Job

This morning, before dawn’s light had penetrated neighbouring trees, I photographed

the wakening garden from above.

Aurora first fingered the wisteria;

the crab apple

and the Amanogawa blossoms.

Aaron of A.P. Maintenance gave the shed two coats of paint,

then drank a mug of tea while, at a suitable distance, I admired his work and we came to the conclusion that we should have a crack at running the country together.

Afterwards I made him prints of this set of photographs and those of “Where’s Aaron?”.

This evening we enjoyed pre-dinner drinks on the decking and watched tiny airborne hoverflies floating around

red and gold Japanese maples;

flecked laurel leaves;

Brown Turkey ficus fingers;

and deep magenta rhododendrons – all kissed by the evening sun which

pencilled patterns around the Copper Beech bole,

and imparted a gentle glow to Florence’s sculpted cheek.

Our subsequent meal consisted of Jackie’s perfect pork paprika, cayenne and three chillis speciality, with which I drank more of the Bordeaux, her Peroni having been consumed on the decking.

Where’s Aaron?

On another gloriously sunny Sunday, Aaron, of A.P. Maintenance, worked as usual according to Covid -19 practice. He kept his distance, accepted no refreshments, worked to Jackie’s hand-written list; and I paid him on line.

As is my wont, I popped out for a few chats to keep him company – normally this would have been with cups of tea and biscuits – in the circumstances I did this slightly more often than usual –

but we self-distanced.

Naturally a game of Where’s Aaron? ensued. I present a few rounds in increasing degrees of difficulty:

9. A Gold Star if you get this one.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s spicy chicken curry; turmeric flavoured mushroom rice; vegetable samosas, and fresh salad, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank Valréas Cotes du Rhone Villages 2016.

Sculpted By Prevailing Winds

Aaron is continuing to work as long as he can. This very sensible proprietor of A.P. Maintenance has taken advice and uses his plentiful common sense. We leave the gate open for him so he doesn’t have to touch it and he knocks on the window to announce his arrival. He keeps well away from us, doesn’t come into the house, and brings his own refreshments.

Jackie photographed him reading the list of tasks that she has taped to the inside of the kitchen window.

Blackthorn lines the hedgerows of

Hordle Lane, along which I walked after lunch as far as the paddock and back.

Because the overnight temperatures at the moment are close to freezing, the horses still wear their protective rugs.

Daffodils still brighten the verges, but

the drying ditches are lined with carelessly lobbed bottles, cans, and food packaging.

Arable fields flank the winding lane;

some are divided by hedges and trees sculpted by prevailing winds.

Pine cones cling to branches before eventually dropping to the ground.

It is now two or three years ago that a young teenage girl died in a car accident on this site. Her mourners keep her memory alive.

There wasn’t much reduction in traffic along the lane today;

a cheery cyclist kept his distance as we exchanged greetings;

I was slightly nervous about whether this group of four pedestrians and a dog maintained the requisite distance from me as we passed. I imagine they lived together.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s spicy hot chilli con carne with a mix of brown and white boiled rice. The Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Mezquirez.

Agriframes Destructions

Our Ace Reclaim arch in the corner of the Rose Garden has not survived the storms. Already rusting and having lost one of its important bars it was probably only being held together by the roses it was there to support.

Aaron this morning broke it up in order to replace it with an Agriframes bower.

Now, longer term readers may remember our struggle with The Agriframes Arch which had driven Jackie and me to distraction. Agriframes products are very good; they are resilient, rust resistant, and guaranteed for 15 years.

But – and a very big but – they demand self-assembly – not by the structures themselves, but by the buyers; furthermore their printed directions, termed like many, ‘destructions’ by Aaron are so difficult to follow that it has taken more than five years for us to contemplate buying another product.

This time, we have Aaron of A.P. Maintenance. He is a professional, had already assembled a few flat pack arches for us, and should surely be able to meet the challenge. Not so. His ‘destructions’ were both confusing and confused. He was thrown by the leaflet at one point stating that he should have six particular components for one section. He had only four. Later, the destructive instructions stated four. Some words had been omitted from the text rendering the meaning unintelligible.

A crucial clamp seemed impossible to apply. At one point the section Aaron is seen working on above fell apart and he had to start again.

Have I mentioned that he was beset throughout by light rain and heavy winds?

I thought not. This would never normally stop him working.

Our friend enjoys a challenge but at the end of his allotted time he was back where he started. The ‘destructions’ sheets were sopping wet and so was he. There was no option but to throw in the towel. Next week Aaron will bring a colleague to help.

This experience sent Jackie to research reviews on line. Those on independent sites were almost all negative. One from Facebook is relevant:

‘Three professional landscapers were unable to assemble your Sussex Bower in my clients garden and wasted 2 days trying to to so. They spent many weeks trying to negotiate a refund for this item and you have only agreed to give them a small fraction of the price they paid for it on the basis that it was ‘used’! Your assurances on your website do not bear out and your customer service is very poor.’

https://www.reviews.co.uk/company-reviews/store/agriframes is another source.

Here’s Mud In Your Eye

On another dull day Aaron, of A.P. Maintenance, completed his installation of a gate beside the house that he had begun last Sunday.

So hard was our house wall that he had difficulty drilling into it.

He then erected a frame on the opposite side,

attached hinges and a latch, and fitted the structure into place.

After lunch we took a brief drive into the forest, where

ditches, like this one on the corner of Woodcock Lane and Silver Street are beginning to flow over the roads.

Our familiar gimlet eyed pony, fresh from a mud bath,

awkwardly, as they all do, roused itself,

wandered over to see if I would offer anything to eat,

and settled for what was in the field, after wishing me good health with the phrase

“here’s mud in your eye”.

As, bound for home, I began to climb back into the Modus a pony and trap came

clopping towards us. I sat on the car’s bonnet instead,

exchanged greeting’s with the riders,

and waved them on their way.

Back home I watched the Six Nations rugby match between England and France.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s succulent sausage casserole; creamy mashed potato; varicoloured carrots; and tender cabbage, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Malbec.