This afternoon I scanned a batch of colour slides from a holiday at Iwade in August 1972. One has already featured in ‘The Hat’. Here are some of the others:
Pebbles on the sand at the Isle of Sheppey were quite thinly spread near the water’s edge, but covered the beach further up, where Becky trudged over them undeterred, but with great concentration; and Jackie made use of the car blanket to render the stones a little softer to the touch.
From a cafe in which we took refreshments I noticed a gentleman apparently in charge of a pram on the sea wall. Was the pram occupied? Had he turned his back on it for a purpose?
I cannot remember what these rows of stout barrels with rusting hoops were doing in Iwade, apart from providing an interesting subject. I don’t think they ever contained the wallies mentioned below.
Michael and Matthew, both with a certain trepidation, stopped to feed foliage to a horse in a field. First Mat hid behind his big brother; then joined him; and finally managed the task alone.
We took a trip to Canterbury where I photographed the cathedral down a side street in which Becky turns towards me, sporting her crocheted hat.
My final iPhoto project today was to crop a picture of the basking beach beauty and convert it to black and white. Which do you prefer? Jackie had, incidentally, made her own chokers, some of which were to be sold from her ‘Kingston Market Stall’.
Mr Pink provided this evening’s fish and chips, pickled onions and gherkins, with which I drank more of the Teroldego Rotaliano, and Jackie didn’t. Both the onions and the also pickled gherkins are sold in ‘chippies’ from large jars.on the counter. There may also be jars of pickled eggs. A chippy is the colloquial term for a fish and chip shop. The slang name for a pickled gherkin is a ‘wally’ which according to kgb answers ‘was a London slang corruption of the word “Olive”. When Eastern European immigrants arrived in the late 19th Century they carried a liking for pickled cucumbers which, like olives, were sold from wooden barrels and also began to be referred to as wallies (mostly in the east-end of London).’
Yesterday evening I received an e-mail from Mark telling me that it had taken all day to clear the cellar in Sigoules, and the job was still not finished. It will be continued next week. I didn’t think of this space when I checked the house, because I have to bend double to enter it and consequently am not in the habit of going down there. Much needed rain in the form of a heavy thunderstorm arrived this morning, giving me a watertight excuse for taking a break from digging up concrete. I stayed in and identified and scanned a batch of colour negatives from May 1982. These feature Jessica and Sam at a toddlers’ morning at Brixton Sports Hall, where it was great fun leaping off the gym horse onto the mattresses and trampoline; and cleaning up a pram for Sam’s new sister, Louisa. These photographs were taken in the garden of Gracedale Road in Furzedown, where we lived at the time.
May is clearly the month for spring cleaning, for, exactly eleven years earlier, Matthew had given the Amity Grove garden paving a good scrub.
Encouraged by the warm, dry, day that followed this morning’s downpour, and by Bev and John being away, I attempted to light a bonfire in mid-afternoon. After three quarters of an hour of profuse smoke and no flame, I was about to give up when I heard a faint, quickening crackling, followed by at first a glimmer, then a burst of flame. We had lift off. Jackie had continued her preparation for spring by completing the setting of hundreds of bulbs and various other plants, and, in the early evening she decided to make her own bonfire. Having been a Girl Guide, she produced flame in fast time and we soon had two pyres on the go. Thus we were able to make impressive progress in clearing the piles of debris. Observant readers will notice that the wheelbarrow brazier has lost one of its handles.
Dinner this evening consisted of chicken breasts marinaded in piri-piri sauce, crisp roast potatoes, and carrots and cauliflower, followed by egg custard. Should you be tempted to repeat this menu, you should heed a word of warning about the sauce. Dilita’s Afrikana Peri-Peri Wild Herb Sauce is not for those without an asbestos coating to their mouths. Do not be deceived by the single chilli image on the jar. No way is this mild. Even I took in a deep breath after the first mouthful. Apparently Dilita make one sauce which has three chillies on the jar and is described as hot. The medium one sports two chillies.
We both drank Pedro Jimenez Cimarosa 2013, which helped to cool us down a bit.