rain – derrickjknight

The Voyage Home

I didn’t take the extra hour in bed that heralded the end of British Summer Time this morning. Instead, I reset the clocks, watched a recording of last night’s grinding rugby World Cup Final between South Africa and New Zealand, and set about my customary work on blog comments.

On this, the first day of a period of lessening light and earlier darkness, we experienced further changing, mostly wet, weather. With an enticing spell of of blue-sky cloud we were about to drive out for a sunset when thunderous rain poured from above.

I pushed open the kitchen door, met gusts of wind sending streams through the door, upon the patio paving, and from next door’s guttering. In just two clicks I caught a warm, wet, blast.

I had spent the rest of the day completing my reading of the third volume of Charles Church’s autobiographical trilogy.

This is the blurb from the first edition of 1964 printed on the inside of the jacket:

I would accept this as a good outline of the man and his work, while adding some additional observations on this episode.

The quality of his flowing prose with its fine poetic descriptions continues largely as reported in my reviews of the earlier volumes, https://derrickjknight.com/2023/10/20/over-the-bridge/ and https://derrickjknight.com/2023/10/26/the-golden-sovereign/

He certainly demonstrates honesty and insight.

There is, however, one central section in which my interest wanes. This concerns the portraits recounting of his Civil Service and literacy acquaintances which lack his usual roundedness and would need more knowledge of the subjects to fully appreciate. I wonder what some of these characters would have thought of his sometimes less than flattering descriptions.

Soon after this we learn of his despairing breakdown, which may have a bearing on his writing here. He acknowledges the help of loved ones to aid recovery.

He names neither wife nor children, mentioning the latter rather peripherally; perhaps wishing to protect their privacy.

This evening we all dined on tender roast lamb; crisp Yorkshire pudding; creamy mashed potato; perfectly cooked carrots, cabbage, cauliflower, broccoli, Brussels sprouts, mint sauce, and tasty gravy, with which Jackie drank more Zesty and I finished the Garnacha.

From Thunderstorm To Sunshine

With thunderstorms raging outside and my having been the last to succumb to the common cold that has worked its way through the household, I stayed inside and watched World Cup rugby starting with a recording of last night’s match between Wales and Tonga; then live matches between South Africa and Romania and between Australia and Fiji.

This evening the sun emerged and Jackie photographed

the hour before twilight. Each image is entitled in its gallery.

This evening we all dined on roast lamb; boiled new potatoes, firm broccoli, cauliflower, and carrots, mint sauce, and meaty gravy, with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the GSM.

“Would You Like To Look At Some Waves?”

While The Big Bad Wolf huffed and puffed at 60 m.p.h. overhead, battering our windows with driving spittle, and blowing open our front door in attempts to gain entrance; and I had just sat down to write an A Knight’s Tale post, my Chauffeuse asked me if I would like to look at some waves.

So off we went.

Once I had struggled in Paddy’s Gap carpark to prevent my passenger door from being wrenched from its hinges as I prised myself out of the Modus I managed just a few minutes facing the wolf’s huffing, puffing, and spitting

over the sea wall as it lashed the waves and strove to uproot breakwaters

Safe behind her windscreen Jackie’s only problem in photographing the scene was the sweep of her wipers, without which she would have been focussing solely on raindrops.

When I could stand the onslaught no more I turned just in time for a wave of water to slap my back rather than my front,

and to retreat into the car with the same difficulty as that which I had experienced on disembarking.

I spent the afternoon preparing https://derrickjknight.com/2021/12/07/a-knights-tale-75-trips-around-the-neighbourhood/ which I posted later.

This evening we dined on an excellent Red Chilli Takeaway meal. Jackie’s main course was Saag Chicken; mine was Tandoori King Prawn Naga; we shared Paneer Tikka, special fried rice, garlic Naan, and Saag bhaji. Mrs Knight drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Rioja.

A Dreich Dundee Day

Cowering trees swayed before the breath of the Big Bad Wolf raging overhead huffing and puffing in his attempts to blow down little pigs’ houses; pattering trotters tripped across the roof; bejewelled yet disconsolate blooms bent their weeping heads; precipitate rivulets raced down the window panes, as we awoke to a pleasantly cooler bedroom breeze succeeding last night’s heavy humidity.

Jackie braved an early supermarket shop in this weather, which did not desist throughout the day, so

apart from those photographs produced during a brief period while I was unloading the shopping and soaking my shower-proof coat anyway,

the rest of these rain-spattered images were gained through panes of glass. As usual, individual titles may be gleaned by clicking on any image to access either of the galleries.

Elizabeth joined us for tonight’s dinner which consisted of Jackie’s succulent cottage pie; crunchy carrots and cauliflower; tender cabbage, and meaty gravy, with which the Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden and my sister and I drank Coonawarra Cabernet Sauvignon 2020.

Flooring Day 2

Connor began the day by sanding yesterday’s dried screed.

He topped the level up a bit and turned the dryer on it

while smoothing more by hand. The spirit level is regularly applied to achieve a perfect finish.

While allowing the corner to dry once more, our craftsman tacked down sheets of ply at the further end of the room. Note the ear muffs to protect his hearing from the noise of his equipment.

Elizabeth arrived late in the morning for the second of our secret trips. Leaving Connor to his work and Jackie in her kitchen refuge we set off

in steadily pouring rain depositing pools all over the roads and, even at that time, requiring motorists to keep their headlights shining into the ripples. Spray constantly cascaded over anything that passed. This continued for the next four hours.

On our return Jackie produced a photograph of the final corner of fresh screed which dried while Connor began to lay the

Karndean Pale Limed Oak flooring,

making his usual meticulous joins with the skirting boards. The bodged cut through the second board was made long before we came here.

Each time he shifts his work area Connor shifts furniture and equipment.

We will soon be dining at Lal Quilla, but repeated flickering of lights is causing us to fear a power cut later on. I am therefore publishing this post early enough to deprive me of tempting our readers with more mention of culinary delights.

London War Memorials

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Paul Clarke will tell you that my Streets of London series appears on a rainy day. It has surprised us all that today is one such. The garden, after such a long heatwave, has enjoyed the heavy rain we have received, but not the 50 m.p.h. winds.

Here is the view from the kitchen window this morning. Pauline’s light catcher did its job with what little there was.

Now to the Streets of London. Normally I scan the slides a dozen at a time. There are only eleven today because I thought I had lost those from after these of July 2005. Happily, afterwards, I remembered where the rest would be. They were among quite a number I had not yet put into storage files when Jackie came back into my life 10 years ago. The ex-librarian labelled their small processor’s boxes and I put them in a safe place. And we all know what happens to items that are put in a safe place.

My friends who lived in Islington’s Mountfort Crescent, told me that the shaded area at the pivotal point on this private drive concealed a medieval plague pit.

Barnsbury Park N1 contains a number of interesting architectural features, like the entrance porch in the first picture and the elegant doorway on the corner with Thornhill Road. You’d need upwards of £3,000,000 to buy a complete house in this area.

Belitha Villas is equally up-market.

Parliament Street SW1

leads to Parliament Square.

The Red Lion’s own website gives the following information: ‘The Red Lion stands on the site of a medieval tavern – known in 1434 as the Hopping Hall. The tavern passed through various hands and traded under many names in its early years, before it was bought by the Crown in 1531.

Centuries later, with the inn trading as The Red Lion, a young Charles Dickens became a regular visitor. Dickens’ noted that the pub’s landlady was a kind-hearted soul, whose attitude towards him was ‘admiring as well as compassionate’.

Standing so close to Downing Street and the Houses of Parliament, The Red Lion also became a popular haunt for British Prime Ministers. Indeed, the pub served every British Prime Minister up until Edward Heath in the 1970s – welcoming the likes of Sir Winston Churchill and Clement Atlee for a drink.

Situated between 10 Downing Street and the Houses of Parliament, the Red Lion is probably the best pub in the city for lovers of political history. There’s every chance you’ll catch a glimpse of some of our Government’s elite in the bar, too.’

‘This pub was established in around 1749 and rebuilt in 1899. ** It stands on the east side of Parliament Street, at the junction with Derby Gate (formerly Derby Street). The original pub is the one where 12-year old Charles Dickens asked for “a glass of your very best ale” – an incident immortalised in “David Copperfield”. The pulling-down of the old pub was widely regretted in the press, because of the Dickensian associations, and a bust of the author was placed above the second-floor bay window in the new building.’ (https://pubshistory.com/LondonPubs/WestminsterStMargaret/RedLion.shtml)

Downing Street needs no introduction from me. Our Prime Minister resides at No 10, while the Chancellor of the Exchequer occupies No 11, next door.

Further along Whitehall ‘The Monument to the Women of World War II is a British national war memorial situated on Whitehall in London, to the north of the Cenotaph. It was sculpted by John W. Mills, unveiled by Queen Elizabeth II and dedicated by Baroness Boothroyd in July 2005.’ There is much more information about the creation of this memorial on https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Monument_to_the_Women_of_World_War_II

Around the corner in Whitehall Court we find the Royal Tank Regiment’s memorial bearing on the base their motto ‘From Mud, Through Blood, To The Green Fields Beyond’.

I am indebted to the post of Sura Ark on Flickr for the following information: ‘The Royal Tank Regiment Memorial Statue was unveiled by their Colonel In Chief, the Queen herself, on 13 June 2000. Created by sculptor George Henry Paulin it features the five crew members of a Comet tank, the model introduced towards the end of World War II and which saw service right through until 1958. The Regiment itself was formed in 1917 – this fact is acknowledged in a small plaque that sits at the base of the statue depicting the Mark V tank which was used on the battlefields of Flers, the Somme. Amiens and elsewhere.’

This evening the three of us dined on Jackie’s excellent cottage pie; crunchy carrots, cauliflower and broccoli; and fresh runner beans. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and Elizabeth and I enjoyed Camiono del Angel Cabernet Sauvignon 2016.

Waste Not……..

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Although I didn’t have to grapple with the mortgage issue until late this afternoon, I’ll deal with it first to get it out of the way. The latest nonsense is that, after almost a month of procrastination and prevarication on behalf of the solicitors in the case, we learned two days ago that one of our documents must be signed in face to face contact with a solicitor acceptable to the lender. The firm that the building society originally approved is in Manchester. We were not prepared to travel up there for a ten minute encounter. Our independent adviser found one in Southampton who withdrew today on the grounds of sickness. Jackie and I will have to trail around tomorrow to find another prepared to witness our signatures.

Happily ignorant of this, we began the wet and rainy day taking the bags of garden refuse to the dump, then drove on to MacPenny’s garden centre in Bransgore, where I wandered around the garden while Jackie plundered the plant sales and waited for me in The Robin’s Nest cafe.

Autumn has applied its rosy tints to many of the potted shrubs on offer.

Being the only person daft enough to enter their garden on such a day, I had it to myself. This giant hosta gave me a gleaming greeting.

The dismal weather could not deter the shrubbery from doing its cheery best to brighten the day.

Cyclamen,

fuchsia,

and this flower I cannot identify, splashed colour around. Susan Rushton, in her comment below, has suggested this: ‘The mystery flower looks like hesperantha coccinea.’.

Hydrangeas were a little more muted.

Almost fluorescent green moss coated tree roots;

small ferns punctuated log steps beside which asters, or Michaelmas daisies, clustered; splendid Pampas grass perched on a terraced bank.

Other logged steps were deep in shade;

where William was laid to rest.

A few trees were in the process of shedding their leaves; some clinging stubbornly on;

others decorated damp sward.

Winding paths are already being carpeted.

A loosely coiled hosepipe lay dormant.

Eventually the rain increased and drove me inside where we enjoyed good quality brunches before returning home.

Regular readers will know that it is rare for us to leave the recycling centre ( the dump), without making a purchase from the sales area. Today, Jackie bought a child’s multi story car park for the use of grandchildren and great nephews.

Someone had tossed apples along with branches into the green refuse container. They were rescued and brought home with bags of bulbs from MacPenny’s. As the saying goes, ‘waste not, want not’.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s exquisite beef and mushroom pie; tasty gravy; new potatoes; and crisp carrots and cabbage; followed, of course, by stewed apples and vanilla ice-cream. The Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the malbec.

Streets Of London With Diversions

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Torrential rain and gale-force winds were again the order of the day. Soon after noon, the French windows onto the patio

and the view from the kitchen were like this.

Naturally I took a trip back to my photographic archives from October 2004. The colour slides were primarily the next batch of the Streets of London series.

The 2011 census informs us that there are 175 purpose built flats in Culworth Street NW8 which runs into Prince Albert Road and is therefore a stone’s throw from Regent’s Park. A fair number of them must be in this block.

Lodge Road NW8 lies parallel to St John’s Wood Road which houses Lord’s Cricket ground, the world famous test venue and headquarters of Middlesex County Cricket Club. Across the Lord’s roundabout, stands St John’s Wood Church, of which Wikipedia tells us

‘St John’s Wood Church started life as a chapel of ease to St Marylebone Parish Church, and was constructed in 1814 by Thomas Hardwick, who was simultaneously constructing the current St Marylebone Church.^[2] Although the church originally had extensive burial grounds, these were closed in 1855 and opened as a public garden, St. John’s Wood Church Grounds, in 1886.^[3] In 1898 the building became a chapel of ease to Christ Church on Cosway Street, and increasingly became the centre of administration for the parish.^[4]

After bomb damage during the Second World War rendered St Stephen’s, Avenue Road unusable, St John’s Wood Church became a parish church in its own right in 1952.^[5] As well as holding regular services for the community, the church has hosted the wedding of Peggy Cripps to Joe Appiah in June 1953,^[6] the blessing of the marriage of Paul and Linda McCartney in 1969,^[7] and the funeral of Ursula Vaughan Williams in 2007.^[8]

A Church Hall complex was constructed in the 1970s, the completion of which was marked with the erection of a statue of the church’s patron, John the Baptist, by Hans Feibusch.^[9] Restoration of the church interior took place in 1991 under the supervision of Michael Reardon, when the chancel pavement was relaid in limestone and the present central altar replaced the high altar at the east end of the church.^‘

Canon Reverend Francis Holland, an Anglican clergyman, who was keen to advance and extend the provision of single-sex education for girls established his eponymous Trust in 1881. The Francis Holland school in Ivor Place NW1 is one of two managed by the trust. Ivor Place runs from Park Road to

Boston Place NW1, lying alongside the platforms of Marylebone Station.

From St John’s Wood and Marylebone I walked on to Camden Town through Greenland Road

and Georgiana Street NW1.

These family groups were, on this day, the first of my diversions from the theme of including street names in the images. The bench offers a view of the Little Venice canal basin, on the other side of which stand the erstwhile Council blocks of Warwick Crescent which were largely sold off to tenants in the ’80s and ’90s, and on further to others during the next decades.

Narrow boats travelling along the canal surface at a maximum speed of four miles an hour glide past the park. I forget the name of the man who lovingly tended these gardens for 25 years. Upon his retirement he was replaced by sessional, irregular, maintenance staff seconded from other Council gardens.

The other diversion that attracted my camera lens was a double rainbow over the Paddington Basin development. The wrapping on the buildings in progress reflected the colours of the meteorological phenomenon.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s sumptuous sausage casserole, crunchy carrots, crisp cauliflower, and boiled potatoes. The Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden, and I drank Parra Alta malbec 2016.

A Murmuration

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An underground problem with installation of the new phone line required further attention today. This necessitated a visit from another engineer who completed the task.

Jackie then drove us around the forest in a very wet late afternoon.

Much rain has fallen during our weekend away. Familiar pools have returned to the forest floor.

The moorland in the rain took on a dramatic aspect as the clouds unloaded their precipitation.

Between Brockenhurst and Beaulieu, the River Lymington has burst its banks.

Sunset is early at this time of the year;

it is a reflection of the different light today that this is the same clump of trees beside Hatchet Pond that I photographed at virtually the same time from a slightly different angle yesterday.

As we waited at the level crossing on the approach to Lymington, an elliptical disc that was a murmuration of starlings slid around the skies.

This evening we dined on roast lamb with roast potatoes and crunchy carrots and cauliflower. I drank Clervigny Arbois, 2014

Happy Christmas, Mum

A wood pigeon’s plaintive mating call filled the air this mild morning. When, at mid-morning, he ceased his mournful cry, it seemed to be more to do with the steady downpour of rain that set in for the day, than to do with his luck having changed.

Jackie and I made a start on Christmas cards, and, Ferndene Farm Shop having sold out, bought a tree at Redcliffe Nurseries.

This afternoon we joined Shelly and Helen and their husbands Ron and Bill, for the annual laying of a wreath on the sisters’ mother’s plot in the Woodland Burial Ground at Walkford. Rain poured down all the time. We had a few words, then wished Mum a Happy Christmas and repaired to Shelly and Ron’s nearby home where we enjoyed sandwiches, pork pie, canapés, cakes, mince pies, mulled wine, red and white wine, and coffee. We reminisced into the evening. I was still wet through when we returned home at about 7.30.

There was a general agreement that Mum Rivett would have questioned our sanity in weathering such elements.