bee – Page 8 – derrickjknight

The Death Of The Heart

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Today, I have been mostly watering plants.

Nicotiana now soars aloft.

Several of our clematises, such as Diversifolia Hendersonii

and Queen Mother in the front garden,

and Duchess of Albany on the Rose Garden pergola bear hats of invisible pixies frolicking and turning somersaults in the sunshine.

This lily has taken two years to bloom.

Many, like this one, live just one day.

Bees are drawn to our nasturtiums.

The kniphofias have poked their way up through the soil,

as have the red hot dahlias in the New Bed. The first is Bishop of Llandaff. I’m not sure about the others.

This view from the Shady Path encompasses

Margery’s hollyhocks.

While I was watering, Ronan was fixing our boiler, not that we will need heating any time soon.

This is the blurb on the back cover of

which I finished reading this evening.

When my blogging friend, Lisa learned that I was embarking on this novel she remembered that when she had read it, a long time ago, she had found it sad. I would trust Lisa’s judgement ahead of the book’s publicists.

If this is a story of adolescent love in the thirties, I am glad my teenage years were in the fifties. In my view it was more a tale of isolation and loneliness. I agree with the ‘Passion, misunderstanding…..’ paragraph above, but if this an example of ‘sublime sense of comedy’ it is so black as to be invisible to me. Remind me not to try The Orchid Trilogy.

Having said all this, I must concede that Bowen ‘is a major writer’. The book is well constructed; the prose is elegant; she has a keen eye for detail; and she develops character well. But does she like any of her creations?

Finally, Augustus John’s model has far more spirit about her than the unfortunate Portia.

This evening Jackie enjoyed a meal out with her friend, Pauline (not our NZ one); and I dined sumptuously on scrambled egg on toast and Doom Bar.

Getting Started

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During a brief spell of sunshine this morning, I focussed on the front garden and the back drive.

Clematis Mrs N. Thomson, pink roses and honeysuckle still festoon the front trellis;

and in the beds thrive pink poppies,

the rose, a deep red Hot Chocolate, and red and white fuchsia Chequerboard.

Lavender, poppies, antirrhinums, and pansies are among the many plants along the drive.

Just before 2.00 p.m. my memory card was delivered. First I had to extract it from its packaging. This was no mean feat. With the aid of the indispensable downloaded manual I managed to insert the device into the camera, and, following directions, format it and bring up information on the display. I was even able to attach a zoom lens and take a couple of test shots.

Regular readers will recognise my old friend the bee who allows me to catch him on the wing.

Having taken these testers from a reasonable distance, I called it a day. There’s only so much new information that can be absorbed and retained by an elderly gent who began school life with a steel-nibbed pen you dipped into an inkwell set in the top of your desk.

Did I say ‘retained’? Forget that one.

One slight problem remained before I could publish these last two pictures. The memory card was too big to insert into the slot in the computer.

‘Now what?’ ‘Maybe that is what the USB lead is for?’ I fiddled around with the camera body and found a hidden compartment that would take one end of it. ‘That must be the link with the iMac’. ‘But I’d best seek confirmation on the manual’. That was on page 185.

Have I mentioned that the new kit weighs a ton?

This evening we dined at Royal China in Lymington. The food was as good as ever, and the service as efficient and friendly. We both drank Tsingtao beer.

A Devon Holiday

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On this pleasant but blustery day , I spent a while reading on the Ace Reclaim bench. My current novel is ‘The Death of the Heart’ by Elizabeth Bowen. Naturally, my eyes wavered to take in the views offered from this vantage point.

Straight ahead is the Palm Bed and beyond;

to my left the path continues past the Fiveways chimney pot;

and back to the house to my right.

Later, I scanned some colour negatives of a holiday Jessica, Sam, Louisa, and I took in Devon with a neighbouring family in September 1983. We are no longer in touch with these friends, so I do not have their permission to post photographs of them and their children. However, I am able to publish

the Dart Valley Railway train and platform,

including the steam dome from the historic engine.

I don’t remember exactly where we stayed, but our entrance into the guest house was never to be forgotten. We arrived when all the other residents were eating. As we trooped through the dining room, Sam announced to the assembled company, ‘I’ve got nits’. We then quickened our paces somewhat.

Perhaps it was on Dartmoor that we came across

heaps of granite boulders,

sometimes with streams running down them.

There was plenty of rocky terrain, as Jessica, Sam, and Louisa discovered.

Louisa needed her Mum to give her a lift occasionally.

Ever adventurous, Sam strode over an ancient stone bridge.

I was even photographing

Red Admirals

and bees in those days;

even a diseased leaf caught my attention.

Finally there was a portrait of Louisa in her customary finger and thumb sucking tired pose.

This evening I dined on Jackie’s perfect pork risotto.

Mothers’ Protection

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I watered the pots in the front garden this morning.

More pink roses bloom on the trellis each day;

and clematis Piilu

and a tiny solanum are now making their way across the garage door frontage.

New arrivals in the Rose Garden include Mamma Mia,

Rosa Mundi,

and Deep Secret;

and my favourite rhododendron is coming to fruition.

The peach rose is reaching its peak,

and attracting bees.

This afternoon we took Sheila on a forest driveabout to the North of the forest.

A group of ponies on the far side of Burley ignored a Give Way sign as they held up the traffic.

While we were watching another group, including a couple of foals, drinking in the stream at Ibsley,

an alarming neighing was set up by two other adults of these normally silent animals. There was a clattering of hooves on the tarmac to our right, and a thudding on the sward on the other side of the water, as the spooked ponies scattered. The foals clambered up the bank at the calls of their dams. This one nuzzled its relieved parent.

These creatures reconvened on the road.

Meanwhile others tore frantically around the field until a loose collie dog ran off and joined its owners out of sight. The horses then quietly regrouped under the trees.

Some homeowners leave carrots out for ponies. This mother crunched on one, whilst her foal satisfied itself with grass to the right of the cattle grid protecting the house entrance.

As I disembarked from the car, the youngster made its way back to its Mum,

and had a scratch under the protection of her flanks.

We stopped off for a drink at The Royal Oak in North Gorley, then Sheila treated us to a meal at The Plough in Tiptoe. We all chose gammon steak, eggs, chips, and peas. My drink was Ringwoods Best Bitter. Probably because I had also had a pint at The Royal Oak, I wasn’t able to fit in a dessert.

Perseverance Rewarded

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Until 2.30 p.m. when Jackie drove us to Brockenhurst to collect our friend Sheila who is staying with us for a few days, she continued sterling maintenance in the garden while Aaron and Robin continued with the fencing.

The erigeron outside the French windows featured as part of yesterday’s kitchen door shot. Here is a close-up of some of them.

Walking down the back drive to open the gate for our two marvellous garden maintenance men, I admired, on the bordering beds,

snapdragons;

wallflowers and valerian;

and rose Féliticé Perpetué, now draping the dead stumps.

The heucheras in the Rose Garden provide stiff competition for the roses themselves.

Here, the geranium palmatums lead us in,

and aquilegias front Schoolgirl and Golden Showers.

Ballerina dances with honeysuckle alongside the entrance arch.

The rose Hot Chocolate in the front garden is, however, just ahead of that in the back.

Festooning the front trellis are two different depths of pink roses.

Here is a view across the Cryptomeria Bed to Elizabeth’s Bed.

The peach coloured rose photographed yesterday is further open today.

The smallest hoverfly I have ever seen landed on For Your Eyes Only.

I have striven for a long time to capture a bee in flight. Today my perseverance was rewarded.

This evening we all dined on Jackie’s lemon chicken, mashed potatoes, peas, and carrots. Jackie drank Hoegaarden, I drank more of the Fleurie, and Sheila drank water.

Around Our Patch

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Yesterday, I took a tour around my Social Work patch from the 1970s and ’80s. Today I took several around the domestic one I share with The Head Gardener.

I began by stepping through the kitchen door into the patio. The large window box filled with mimuluses and pansies stands in earth which was so poor that we believed it to have been used as a midden in more recent times than one would imagine. Jackie did a very thorough job of getting rid of the rubbish and replenishing the soil under and around the planters. The plentiful erigeron plants have populated the rest of the garden. Between one clump and the window box can be seen flowers of one of the two thriving thyme plants I transplanted from the blue painted Butler sinks in our first year. The wall by the path to the right is crammed with an assortment of planters.

This little patio rose has responded to feeding,

as has this peach coloured beauty.

There were just two blooms on straggly stems when we arrived. They will soon be cascading from stronger limbs.

We have a new rhododendron in the Palm Bed.

Passing this on the way to the Rose Garden,

where Altissimo stands sentinel,

I was reminded of a visit to a perfumer in Bergerac. This was with Emily and Alice a few years ago. They spent ages choosing a present for their mother, Heidi. The scents were most enticing. But they couldn’t match those emanating from our living blooms.

Petunias and geraniums in the foreground urn lead us to the entrance arch bearing Summer Wine, Madame Alfred Carière, and honeysuckle;

Chris Beardshaw introduces Festive Jewel;

and Magic Carpet is beginning to fulfil its function.

Even these wonderful aromas, however, are not as far-reaching as the sweet, heady, scent of the Cordyline Australis. Anything smelling less like a cabbage, (it is also called Cabbage Tree) I cannot imagine.

One of Jackie’s major tasks today was further planting of Elizabeth’s Bed. She can be seen in the centre here working on this.

I have mentioned before that geranium palmatum has taken over from honesty in its ubiquity. It can be seen dancing in synchronicity with

clematis Rouge Cardinal and rhododendron;

with rose Compassion;

with clematis Natacha;

and with foxgloves.

Lazy bees were about this afternoon. This one dusted its rear in an antirrhinum.

The pieris I brought in a pot from Sutherland Place is thriving in the centre distance of this bed, that also contains heuchera, marguerites, geraniums, bronze fennel, and, further right, out of shot,

iberis.

We have a solanum under the dead snake bark maple,

and Félicité Perpetué is now opening in the front garden.

This evening we dined on pork rib rack and vegetable risotto followed by profiteroles. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank Patrick Chodot Fleurie 2014.

A New Fashion Print

Jackie spent most of another fine spring day working on her soil replenishment project. Can you spot her?

You certainly can now

that the sunlight has provided her with a new fashion print.

To the left of the eucalyptus can be seen one of the freshly planted mimuluses. Here is another.

The red Japanese maple stands at the bottom right of the opening picture. It is also evident in this view from the frog pond. Actually the pond is a filled cistern containing water lilies and no frogs. It acquired its name when Jackie unearthed the stone amphibians in the undergrowth.

I provided a modicum of assistance in the soil replenishment process; carted compost about; did some watering; and dug a big hole, filling it with more nutritious matter, for a lost label clematis. The benefit of such a buy is that you get much more for your money, and the fun of waiting to find the answer to more of what. Behind the plant is our insect hotel.

Different crane’s bill geraniums are coming into bloom,

as is the small convolvulus cneorum on the back drive.

The bees are still preferring the pulmonaria to anything else on offer.

Just as the morning light illuminated the start of Jackie’s final day on this particular soil transplant, the evening sun cast shadows across the finished job.

It was greenfinches, resting from feverish flitting from tree to tree, that overlooked our evening rose garden drinks; this one from the relative safety of a neighbour’s garden.

Jackie is beginning to worry that the splendid heucheras she planted as a border to the roses might overawe the main attraction.

Our dinner this evening consisted of Mr Pink’s fish and chips, and pickled gherkins and onions from jars in the cupboard, followed by Jackie’s apple and sultana crumble with cream. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I finished the cabernet sauvignon.

A Lost Shadow

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Ronan the Boilerman fitted a new thermostat to our hot water cylinder tank this morning. That means we no longer scald our hands and have to turn on the cold tap every time we want to wash them.

Jackie spent much of the day weeding and planting.

Once The Head Gardener had prepared it, I covered Elizabeth’s bed with compost. It took eight bags.

The gradual burgeoning throughout the garden can be seen, for example, along the Brick Path – and, yes, Jackie has smuggled in another owl since this was las displayed –

and along Margery’s Bed, in the foreground of which a geranium palmatum has pushed its way into the light.

We have varieties of tulip,

including tulipa saxatilis lilac wonder;

daffodil;

and aquilegia.

elegant leaves stretch their fingers out from this Japanese maple.

Pulmonaria crops up everywhere,

attracting equally hirsute bees clutching petals as they suck the nectar.

Butterflies, like this Small White flitting from honesty to honesty, are also back,

as are poppies, one of which, like Peter Pan, has lost its shadow.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s choice Ferndene Farm Shop chilli pork sausage casserole, mashed potato, carrots and Brussels sprouts, followed by chocolate eclairs. The Cook drank Hoegaarden, whilst I consumed more of the madiran.

After The Rant

I have mentioned before that there had only been two books in my life that I have not finished reading. The first was James Joyce’s ‘Finnegan’s Wake’, because I couldn’t fathom it; the second was ‘Mort d’Arthur’ by Sir Thomas Mallory because it bored me. I have now managed a third for a combination of the two reasons.

‘Meditations’ by Rene Descartes was so difficult and boring that I did not continue with ‘& Other Writings’ in my Folio Society edition. What I did seem to understand was that this philosophical thinker trusted no perception other than his thought, except that he accepted God as a given. He didn’t trust his senses until he had done them to death inside his head. It did my head in. In fairness, better brains than mine have kept the work in print for almost 400 years. I finally abandoned it last night and began Jonathan Dimbleby’s ‘The Battle of The Atlantic’, which at least promises to flow.

I spent most of the morning trying to unravel my phone problems without becoming too twisted up myself. Do you know, I think Descartes is more comprehensible than our conglomerate corporations.

After going through all the usual hoops, my first call to O2 resulted in my being informed that my long term phone number had been transferred to my new SIM and superseded the temporary one I was given yesterday. The conversation ended abruptly. I cannot say why.

I couldn’t use the new phone which now bore the legend ‘Not registered in network’. I couldn’t even call O2 on it. I wondered if a fuse had blown. It had. Mine.

Using the landline I went through the hoops again and, of course, spoke to a second advisor. He told me that the transfer from business to personal account would take 48 hours. In the meantime I could use the old number on the new phone. I couldn’t. One of the comments this man had made was that if I could try my old SIM card in any phone that it would fit, it should work. I took that card out of the broken phone in order to try it in Jackie’s mobile. I dropped it on the floor. In attempting to pick it up, my lady shot it under the sofa. It’s amazing how much fluff you find when you have to shift a sofa bed.

It didn’t fit Jackie’s phone. I tried a third call to O2. This, once again new, advisor, when quoting my numbers, mentioned one I didn’t recognise. You’ve guessed it. My number had been transferred to the wrong account. This was quite different to either my old or my temporary numbers. Having reversed all this, he told me this would now take four hours to activate.

I will acknowledge that it was difficult to do so through gritted teeth, but I observed that I had been an O2 customer for 30 years and expected better expedition than that. He promised to call me back as soon as he could.

This rant over, I gathered a few more prospective prints for The First Gallery Exhibition. Here is a sample:

This table top illustrates The Head Gardener’s propensity for purchasing suitable item’s from Efford Recycling Centre.

The end of September 2015 was quite wet, as shown by these raindrops on sweet peas.

On 19th January this year, a brief freeze gave an abstract quality to the Waterboy’s pool.

Sunrises, like this on 6th April 2015, are often wonderfully dramatic.

By 27th September 2014, The Head Gardener’s Rest had been installed;

on 29th June, when taking this photograph, she had set these poppy seed heads against the red Japanese maple.

Here a furry little bee plunders a cosmos.

Despite the O2 representative’s promise, and the fact that he knew we were leaving for the weekend after his call, he didn”t make it. I therefore made a fourth call and spoke to yet another advisor. Hee had to confer with someone on the other side of the business, and put me on hold for a while. I was put through to a young lady who explained that they were working on it at the moment, and it should be resolved shortly. I would receive a call when it was done. I could safely take the new mobile with me. I said this was the second such promise I had received today and asked whether I could trust it. She assured me that I could and that it had been a pleasure talking to me.

Later this afternoon, Jackie will drive us to Leatherhead for the annual family evening watching her cousin Pat O’Connell’s direction of Gilbert and Sullivan. This evening’s choice is ‘The Grand Duke’.

All I can tell you about dinner is that it will be taken at an Italian restaurant before the performance.

‘I’m Sorry About The Chip’

This afternoon, we set off on a series of visits in and around West End.

In order to prepare for the first, to Margery and Paul at Bitterne, I gathered up the before and after albums of the work on our garden, and made a random selection of close-up prints of the flowers and insects, in order to discuss my contribution to the next The First Gallery exhibition.

We spent quite some time with these friends, and John, who was also visiting. I left the albums and photographs with them, for further discussion nearer the exhibition planned for 1st April, co-incidentally exactly two years since we moved into Downton.

From there, we went on to Mum’s in West End, where we chatted for a while. I have already mentioned how our mother is preparing for the future by labelling all the belongings she has been given by us all in the past, so that we receive them when she dies. She has also begun to pre-empt this event by handing out items in advance. Today she presented us with a box of bubble-wrapped goodies.

There is a hand-painted vase bought for her by Jackie; a cut-glass silver-rimmed dish given by Jessica; and a Chinese teapot and lidded mug from Jessica and me. ‘I’m sorry about the chip’, said my apologetic parent. There was a chip in the lid of the drinking vessel. I replied that since she has owned each one of these treasures for at least forty years, she could consider herself excused.

From Mum’s we drove to Elizabeth’s. My sister followed us to Brockenhurst, where the three of us dined at Dynasty. In keeping with our intention to eat more lentils, we shared a side dish of dhal and vegetables. My main course was fish jalfrezi. Jackie and I drank Kingfisher, and Elizabeth drank a Chilean merlot. Despite the fact that the restaurant was packed out, we received the usual warm welcome and friendly service.