oak – Page 2 – derrickjknight

Deceptive Appearances

Orlaith Beth came in at 9lb 5oz. She is expected home with her Mum today.

This morning I walked along Seamans Lane and through London Minstead to Shave Wood, turning right there and back to Minstead, emerging at Football Green whence I walked back home via the Village Shop where I bought tickets for tonight’s play at Minstead Hall.

Although there is still much colour in the forest, many deciduous trees are now almost devoid of leaves. Their branches fan out, one, for example, tracing the outline of a Spanish senorita’s fully extended cooling accessory.

Driving along this route a couple of days ago our way had been blocked by six cattle, four of whom had their front halves buried in hedges, in the manner of the one pictured on 12th November. Today I think I spotted the reason for the fascination of hedges. Much of the land on the far sides of these hedges lies at a higher level, and the lazy cows don’t have to bend down for their fodder. I assume the tag on the pictured animal’s ear indicates to which verderer this protected wanderer belongs.

Further on, Jackie had pointed out another primeval creature she had seen the day before. The pony which had been grazing alongside this relic of pre-history seemed to have crossed the road and was now consorting with a giant Galapagos tortoise.

Leaving Minstead behind as I approached Castle Malwood Lodge I met the man I am due to impersonate on 1st December. He was in civvies, of course. He encouraged me to persevere with my less prolific growth and suggested I gave his picture the caption: ‘This is what I aspire to be’.

Early this evening the bed we bought yesterday was delivered by IKEA. A next day delivery as promised went some way towards improving our feeling about the company. All we have to do is assemble it. Coincidentally, we learned from Becky that the wardrobe we left behind for her in Links Avenue has been collected by Mat and Ian. Jackie and I had assembled that when we moved in there eighteen months ago.

It was touch and go whether we would be able to attend the performance of ‘Dish of The Day’ by Christine Woodhead, for which I had purchased tickets this morning, because we had to wait in for the deliverymen. But we made it, after Jackie had produced a meal of omelettes and baked beans. We finished the wines begun two days ago.

The performance was an hilarious one by the local Minstead Players. The piece was well written, set in an Italian restaurant run solely by a woman clearly modelled on Julie Walters’ Mrs. Overall who did, indeed, turn out to be the cleaner. The three tables were occupied by a couple with an elderly mother, three young women on a hen night, and a dating agency rendezvous. One rather clever moment was when one person from each table simultaneously received a call on their mobile phone, and the individual conversations fitted together as if they were all three speaking to each other.

A Pikey

Taking my normal route to Cannon Hill Common; with the exception of entering it through Joseph Hood recreation ground alongside; I paused in Maycross Avenue to chat to Keyline paviers. Proud of their work, the man in charge told me how, with a membrane and a layer of concrete, they eradicated the weeds which I had seen a homeowner in another garden killing off, during a period of several days, earlier in the year. This carport is there for good.

In the recreation ground, the grass was experiencing what is probably the final cut of the season.

As usual, alongside the lake, the vase attached to Allan William Marshall’s memorial bench was full of fresh flowers; ducks were being fed; and fishing was in progress.

Another grand oak had lost a limb, segments of which now encircle the tree, ensuring that there will be no need to manufacture benches in that part of the common for a long time to come. Squirrels were racing up trees getting in supplies for the winter.

Walking back along the lake I chatted with Jordan and his friends. Having the occasional difficulty with his line, there was great excitement when this boy was thought to have caught another fish. His first catch, swimming around, as if in a goldfish bowl, in a large orange bucket, was being gleefully inspected by his two friends. There was some banter about who might be scared to touch the slippery scales. The young lady, whose shiny patent leather handbag lay alongside other containers on the bank, was convinced the catch was ‘a pikey’. The young angler was not so sure. Having explained what I was doing, I had no need to worry about whether they knew what a website was. Jordan’s male friend pulled out his Blackberry so I could enter the address in it. I was somewhat relieved it was the same as my own mobile device, otherwise I probably wouldn’t have been able to do so. His companion told him he just had to e-mail it to Jordan and he would have it too. Looking back over the years spanning today and my junior exploits described in my post of 30th. May, expanded in Chris’s comment on that of the next day, the advance in children’s equipment and communication skills was mind-boggling.

Hi, folks.

Hoping to avoid the rush hour traffic Jackie and I set off for The Firs earlier than usual, to be met by a snarl-up at the far end of Hillcross Avenue. This had been caused by another taxi breaking down (see 26th. September). This time, actually on the roundabout. We got through this quite quickly, but the journey still took almost two hours.

Jackie, Elizabeth, Danni and I ate at the Eastern Nights. Eventually. Jackie drank Bangla, I had Cobra, and the other two shared a bottle of Cote du Rone. Eventually. The food was as wonderful as ever. Eventually. As we waited for an hour and a half for our meals we became aware that the two staff out front, both working their socks off, both very pleasant, yet rushed off their feet, were prioritising the takeaway service. The phone was going all the time, and one or the other of them was rushing to answer it and take the order. People who came into the restaurant for takeaway meals long after us, were being presented with their food long before us. I had decided I would speak to them about this the next time we went in on a quiet night, but after this length of time I had had enough. I went up to the bar and leant on it waiting for one of the men to come. At that moment, out from the kitchen came our hot-plates. As our waiter left those on the table and approached me, I had a quick rethink. I asked him for another pint of Cobra. It still seemed best to speak quietly about the problems at another time. The others all agreed.

Grandparent Duties

On this splendid late summer morning I took myself, via Martin Way and Cannon Hill Lane, to Cannon Hill Common. In Maycross Avenue an elderly couple were struggling to get a large canvas bag into the back of their car. I crossed the road and volunteered to help them. The bag contained pruned branches. As I easily lifted my end into the vehicle, the man exclaimed: ‘Blimey. You are worth ten of us’. Given that they were probably no older than me I counted my blessings and told them how I had spent my weekend. A frog had taken refuge in one of the recycle bins awaiting collection. There was a lot of fishing going on in the lake, and Alan William Marshall’s memorial bench (see 31st. May) bore a fresh vase of crisp roses. There are now official notices informing piscators that they must be members of the eponymous club in order to fish. I didn’t ask anyone whether they belonged to The Wandle Piscators. Numerous ducks were swimming on the water, and a group were having a camouflaged rest on the bank. There were clearly a number of grandparents fishing or feeding the ducks with small children. This took me back to one day when Emily and Oliver were both under three. I cared for them for the day. Wondering what on earth I was going to do with them all day, I readily agreed. As it was a pleasant afternoon I took them to a playground and spent the time pushing swings and trying to keep my eyes on both of them at once. I have to admit I looked at my watch every half hour or so until the time I could give them back. Only, joking, kids. Gramps having a laugh. On another occasion, when Oliver was about three, I had a laugh with him. I entertained him for a good hour without having to move from my chair. He had one of those small bows with rubber tipped arrows, and fired it at a white spot on the wall. Soon the spot began to move around the room, giving him a moving target. He occasionally hit it, when it momentarily became stationary. What I had noticed was that the white spot was the reflection of my watch face. The smallest movement of my wrist was enough to provide hours of jolly fun with the least effort from me. For as long as the sun was at the appropriate angle, anyway.

Ten month old Barney was also being babysat. His carer was calling him the stupidest dog in the world because he was trying to lift half a tree. This reminded me of the time when I, too, had bitten off more than I could chew. At a zoo in Australia in 2008, a jam-packed crowd was peering at a gorilla. What I thought was a small boy in front of me couldn’t see a thing. I asked his mother if I could lift him up. They both readily agreed. Unfortunately the lad turned out to be very fat, and I wasn’t as strong as I had once been. I grasped him under the arms intending to hoist him onto my shoulders. I couldn’t lift him further than my chest. I settled for a bear hug at that level. I had to grip him so tightly I think he was probably very relieved when I put him down. I was certainly rather embarrassed. At least he saw the gorilla. Maybe I was lucky that the bag destined for the municipal dump earlier only contained sticks. Mind you, a thorn sticking through the canvas did leave its mark on my hand.

Some of the trees, including a mature oak, had been damaged by the strong winds we’ve experienced this year. The tree bore a large scar and had lost a huge branch, giving the scene an autumnal appearance. This reminded my of the centuries old Major Oak in Sherwood Forest which we sometimes visited when Sam and Louisa were young. The long low limbs of that tree are now propped up by struts, and the area is fenced off.

This afternoon I began reading ‘Count Belisarius’ by Robert Graves.

This morning I extracted from the freezer the ingredients for a sausage and pork casserole. Jackie popped in at lunchtime with salad items for our evening meal. Double result. I got the satisfaction of being prepared to cook, and then the pleasure of not having to. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I enjoyed Vina Araya, 2010 reserve Chilean red wine. Here is a picture for Danni