spider – derrickjknight

Prey To Spiders

My Chauffeuse was out today with her sisters.

I spent much of the morning reading more of “Clarissa” and took a walk round the garden this afternoon.

My intention was to focus on fuchsias, such as

Delta’s Sarah;

Army Nurse;

Magellicana;

and Hawkshead,

but I was distracted by various dahlias;

roses, for example Ernest Morse;

and sinuous Virginia Creeper’s varicoloured clothing.

As usual at this time of year I became prey to spiders hoping for something tasty to fill their winter larders. This one didn’t finish up about my person.

WordPress comments and likes seemed to run quite smoothly today, but when I came to write the post I realised that this had been a con by the gremlins.

This evening we dined on second helpings of yesterday’s Chinese takeaway with similar beverages.

A Knight’s Tale (101: We Are Quite Similar Really)

I have already spoken of my freelance work with groups of people, in particular the Coping With Violence course.

A meeting with two Eastern European mushroom gatherers in the New Forest in October 2013 reminded me of Anansi.

Sometime in the late 1980s I was facilitating a series of team building days with a staff group of residential social workers at varying levels in the hierarchy. I very soon realised I had my work cut out because most of these people only met during handover periods; no two individuals shared the same nationality, gender, racial characteristics or sexual orientation; and there were 17 of them. Deep seated prejudices prevented any meaningful communication.

By the end of the first day it was all in danger of going horribly wrong. Racking my brains overnight, I came up with the idea of the West African mythical storyteller, and Little Miss Muffet.

Abandoning the programme I had prepared earlier, I took a flip-chart and drew a spider hanging from a web on the large sheet of paper. I asked the group members to tell us what they thought and felt when seeing this drawing. As always, it took a minute or two for the first volunteer to tell us about her thoughts. Slowly, people began to rush to tell theirs. And eventually fear or reverence could be expressed.

Anansi, the spider, is loved for his storytelling; whereas it was a spider who ‘frightened Miss Muffet away’.

On another sheet of paper I portrayed a set of cricket stumps with a West Indian male wicket-keeper crouching behind them. I went on to tell of Tony Pinder, the best keeper who ever received my bowling, and how he and his brother Winston, who, when I began playing club cricket in 1957 had been the first black people I had ever met. I spoke of their influence on me, and, in particular, the father figure that Winston, known as Bunny, had struck.

I had their interest. This waned momentarily when I invited them to take their turns at drawing anything relevant to their culture or history that they would like to tell us about. That was scary. However, the floodgates soon opened. At the end of the day many people had not had time for a turn, but all wanted to spend the following, last, day finishing the task. Many brought their own art materials.

Then came what, to me, was the greatest, and most satisfying, surprise. A white Central European woman and a black African man both described mushroom gathering from their childhoods. They realised that they had, after all, something in common. I have always hoped that the team continued to build on the discoveries that emerged from these exercises. Once we accept our differences and look beyond them, we are quite similar, really.

A Dazzled Spider

With our dry heat now reaching 30C we carried out watering this afternoon before retreating indoors where I posted: https://derrickjknight.com/2021/09/07/a-knights-tale-29-early-interviews/ ,

read more of Dickens’s Our Mutual friend and scanned the next five of Charles Keeping’s Inimitable illustrations.

‘The objectionable Sloppy’

‘She folded her hand round Lizzie’s neck, and rocked herself on Lizzie’s breast’

‘Riderhood looked amazedly from his visitor to his daughter’

‘Limehouse Hole’

‘Betty Higden gravely shook her head’

Early this evening as we sat drinking water and Diet Coke on the decking the unrelenting sun beat down so hard that all was silent.

A wood pigeon confused its claws with fleur-de-lys.

Sunlight dazzled a spider which dropped its dangling prey;

after which Jackie photographed it on its trapeze.

This evening we dined on pork shoulder steaks; tasty gravy; fried onions and mushrooms; crisp Yorkshire puddings; boiled new potatoes; firm carrots and cauliflower, with which neither of us imbibed.

Sparring Sparrows

This morning I spent some time studying the various avian eating activities.

Garish goldfinches;

red-breasted robins – Ron or Ronette;

daredevil dunnocks;

squabbling sparrows;

great tits all balanced precariously on the feeders swinging in today’s cooler east wind.

I was fascinated by the various grips. The great tits grasped the mesh grid;

a goldfinch gripped the perching bars;

sparrows clutched whatever was handy, sometimes causing them to do the splits;

dunnocks fluttered their wings for fear of fdropping off.

Sometimes the flapping was quite frenzied;

sparring sparrows are especially vicious.

Ron, or Ronette, is shown above on a rare visit to a feeder.

Normally he or she, like bigger birds such as pigeons, collects spillage from the ground below.

When the stations are particularly crowded, even the sparrows wait their turn in the blossom trees above.

Jackie continued her considerable work in the garden, and reports that Nugget made several fleeting visits.

She photographed a young spider

from which Edvard Munch surely gained inspiration.

This evening we dined on the Culinary Queen’s wholesome chicken and vegetable soup with bread and butter, followed by flavoursome mixed fruit crumble and custard.

The Moscow Show Trials

There was not much sun breaking through the clouds today.

This is quite useful when photographing white flowers like clematis Marie Boisselot as I did on my way to open the back gate for Aaron.

Geranium Palmatums and their attendant red fuchsias caught a touch of it as I walked along the Shady Path.

Bees were out early. This one still visited the ageing Festive Jewel in the Rose Garden into which I had been enticed by the magical scents that permeated the air.

A spider preferred to walk on the Blue Moon.

White beauties enjoying their time out of the limelight included Margaret Merril and Madame Alfred Carriere, sharing the entrance arch with Summer Wine.

Special Anniversary, Zéphirini Drouin, Absolutely Fabulous, and Mum in a Million all contributed their intriguing essences to the perfumed blend.

Despite its name the Sicilian Honey Garlic makes no apparent contribution to the mix.

Oriental poppies; libertia welcoming visiting bees; yellow irises; and red peonies enliven the borders of the Back Drive.

From a gentle amble through the garden I turn to the terrifying Moscow Show trials of the 1930s.

According to Wikipedia ‘The Moscow Trials were a series of show trials held in the Soviet Union at the instigation of Joseph Stalin between 1936 and 1938 against so-called Trotskyists and members of Right Opposition of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union. There were three Moscow Trials: the Case of the Trotskyite-Zinovievite Terrorist Center (Zinoviev–Kamenev Trial, aka “Trial of the Sixteen,” 1936), the Case of the Anti-Soviet Trotskyist Center (Pyatakov–Radek Trial, 1937), and the Case of the Anti-Soviet “Bloc of Rights and Trotskyites” (Bukharin–Rykov Trial, aka “Trial of the Twenty-One,” 1938).

The defendants of these were Old Bolshevik party leaders and top officials of the Soviet secret police. Most defendants were charged under Article 58 of the RSFSR Penal Code with conspiring with the western powers to assassinate Stalin and other Soviet leaders, dismember the Soviet Union, and restore capitalism.

The Moscow Trials led to the execution of many of the defendants. They are generally seen as part of Stalin’s Great Purge, an attempt to rid the party of current or prior oppositionists, especially but not exclusively Trotskyists, and any leading Bolshevik cadre from the time of the Russian Revolution or earlier, who might even potentially become a figurehead for the growing discontent in the Soviet populace resulting from Stalin’s mismanagement of the economy.^{[citation needed]} Stalin’s hasty industrialisation during the period of the First Five Year Plan and the brutality of the forced collectivisation of agriculture had led to an acute economic and political crisis in 1928-33, a part of the global problem known as the Great Depression, and to enormous suffering on the part of the Soviet workers and peasants. Stalin was acutely conscious of this fact and took steps to prevent it taking the form of an opposition inside the Communist Party of the Soviet Union to his increasingly autocratic rule.^[1]‘

Several of the victims of these judicial farces were personally known to Arthur Koestler, the Hungarian born British novelist who penned ‘Darkness at Noon’ in their memory decades before Mikhail Gorbatchev, in the late 1980s, introduced Glasnost, thus beginning the democratisation of the Soviet Union.

I finished reading this important book for the second time today. Without naming either Stalin or the USSR the work describes the energy-sapping destruction of the will of previous leaders who were now out of favour and forced by torture to contribute to their own finding of guilt and subsequent execution. Koestler’s prose is simply elegant but he describes an atmosphere of destructive, erosive, terror in an incongruously readable manner. I don’t often knowingly read a book twice, but since Louis had been reading his copy on his recent stay with us, I was prompted to do so.

Daphne Hardy’s translation renders the book most accessible, and Vladimir Bukovsky’s introduction is eloquently informative.

George Buday’s belligerent, brooding, wood engravings brilliantly supplement the attritional ambience of Koestler’s work.

The boards are blocked with a suitably spare design by Sue Bradbury.

We are now driving over to Emsworth for a curry outing with Becky and Ian. I will report on that tomorrow.

Losing The Plot?

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The sun returned today. This set us up nicely for our trawl through local solicitors in order to find one acceptable to the Family Building Society and willing to witness our signatures on the Mortgage Deed and the Declaration of Understanding.

Starting off at Milford on Sea we hit the jackpot with Dagless and Whitlock. Almost.

For these forays Jackie remained in the car while I tested the ground. This firm were willing, but they only had one Partner. The lenders insisted on two. I therefore decided to phone Garry, our mortgage advisor to see if he could find a way around this. There was no signal. When, a little later, there was one, Garry was on answerphone. I left a message.

Returning to our car I had the opportunity to envy groups of carefree folk enjoying the sunshine on the green.

We drove round to the GP surgery to collect a prescription. A spider sunbathed in the car park. It was then that I remembered Anansi. Was this creature a good omen?

We decided to hedge our bets, and try more solicitors in New Milton.

Outside Roger Cobb’s farmhouse on the coast road, a string of starlings seemed prepared to take off on a murmuration.

Neither Dixon & Stewart

nor Heppenstalls were prepared to witness the signatures, because this would suggest that they had advised us, which they hadn’t.

I was about to enter a third legal establishment when Garry rang me back with the news that a firm with only one Partner was acceptable to the lender. Monogamy rules. Back we went to Milford on Sea where we made an appointment for the witnessing, to take place on 18th.

We had definitely earned a brunch at the Beach Hut Café at Friars Cliff.

Sunlight slashed the ocean,

and was borne by the waves

onto the beach where people walked their lolloping dogs and the red seaweed has almost disappeared.

One canine was keener to get to the water than was its owner.

On leaving the car, I had carried my camera, lenses, and the mortgage paperwork in a hessian supermarket bag. When I had finished taking the beach shots I didn’t have the bag. Thinking I must have put it down somewhere, I retraced my steps up to the carpark. The bag was nowhere to be seen. Back down the slopes and the steps towards the café I trudged.

Then I noticed Jackie, clearly wondering where I had got to.

Then I noticed what she was clutching. Having removed the camera I had handed her the bag. I was definitely losing the plot.

Suddenly I recovered my appetite. Now we could enjoy our brunch.

As we left the café I watched a young man allowing a little boy to be adventurous on a rocky breakwater while keeping a safe closeness.

It was definitely a day for ice creams. Despite his expression in this photograph the concerned gentleman shared his companions’ pleasure at the picture.

Another couple struggled a bit with the breeze.

Only a couple of days ago I had been told that I needed to send the report of the mortgage valuation of the house to the solicitors. The final task of the day was to return home, place this, with a covering letter, in an envelope and post it to the manager of the solicitors in Stockport, by recorded delivery. This involved a second trip to New Milton. At least it means I will know when they have received it, and they won’t get away with pretending it had arrived later.

This evening we dined on a spicy stuffed crust pizza and fresh salad, with which I drank Mendoza Parra Alta malbec 2016.

My New Haircut

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Today the temperature was unseasonably warm, and the skies overcast. Although we have a great number of flowers still blooming beyond their normal time, I chose this morning figuratively to pick

a bunch of dahlias from the garden.

On my way round my attention was drawn to a fallen leaf, twisting frantically in an attempt to free itself from the spider’s web from which it was suspended. This brought the arachnid scampering down its central line, only to be disappointed in what it had trapped.

I have recently featured developments in the West Bed, cleared of shrubs and an old rose by Aaron, and having two new roses set to climb the arch by Jackie. There is now a new bench ready for positioning on reconstituted stone paving.

Elizabeth came for lunch and dinner. This afternoon we all travelled to Friar’s Cliff Beach and visited the Beach Hut Café for refreshments.

A heavy haze restricted rendered the Isle of Wight invisible beyond a passing yacht.

From Steamer Point nature reserve I watched the couple seen in the above picture continuing along the beach in the direction of Mudeford.

Other dogs were frolicking on the beach;

one retriever in particular swimming like a seal,

its antics being filmed from the breakwater.

Even as far away as the clifftop car park we could smell the red seaweed that coated the sand

where a solitary gull wandered.

This bird was joined by another and quickly took off,

flying out to sea,

leaving the visitor all forlorn.

Bubbling eddies swirled around

the rocks swathed in green and red weed.

As the waves rolled in they were tinged with red.

The gull bobbing on the wave above leapt to avoid the next one,

and a wader flew off as I approached in an attempt to identify it.

I photographed my sister focussing on the water,

and she got her own back.

This served a dual purpose in that we could satisfy the request of LordBeariofBow to feature my new haircut so that he could pass judgement on it.

This evening’s dinner consisted of Jackie’s superb sausages in red wine, creamy mashed potatoes, and crunchy carrots and cabbage. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and Elizabeth and I drank Parra Alta malbec 2016.

The Great Escape

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With the return of the sunshine I carried out a little more tidying in the garden, especially dead-heading of roses, including

Absolutely Fabulous,

Crown Princess Margareta,

and a pink climber recovered by Elizabeth.

This wisteria occupied the Kitchen Bed when we arrived three years ago. Despite the Head Gardener’s best efforts it has never flowered.

The Chilean lantern bush, on the other hand, is once more producing blooms;

and new shoots are emerging on the pieris on the grass patch.

Although the agapanthuses took such a battering from the recent storms that they wound up in a vase indoors, some still line the Gazebo Path.

Little blue lobelias peep out from beneath rich red snapdragons and geraniums the Back Drive barrier,

while their taller relatives named Queen Victoria tower in the Oval Bed.

We have a number of ginger lilies.

The warmth of the sun brought out numerous insects. Hummingbird moths hovered among the pink phlox. I needed many unsuccessful attempts to acquire this less than wonderful image of a constantly flapping creature I think is new to our country.

Verbena bonarensis blooms attracted both stable, lightweight, Red Admirals

and bees that teetered somewhat.

Bees also plundered salvias,

bidens,

and geranium palmatums.

I could not identify some tiny creatures like this one on a cosmos,

or this one cleverly camouflaged by bronze fennel.

A fly was attracted by the ensemble of white sweet peas and gladioli.

Rudbeckia snaked from bed to bed in this picture for which I must apologise to the Head Gardener because I did not remove the fallen branch before making it.

This spider was in for a disappointment.

I could almost hear it licking its chops as it prepared its larder for the wasp that seemed ensnared by its web line.

The tiny spider perfected the trap as its larger prey frantically twisted, turned, and span in its efforts to escape being drawn in.

Eventually the prospective dinner hauled itself to safety, and sped off, leaving the hungry spider to creep into hiding and lurk in wait for another victim.

This evening Jackie produced an excellent dinner of chicken Kiev, savoury rice, tasty ratatouille, and crisp runner beans. She drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Bordeaux.

Blackberrying Donkeys

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I had an interesting conversation at my bank this morning. For some months now there have been placed several bowls of sweets on the counters, for customers to consume. I commented that they still had these on offer. ‘We do look after you’, was the response. ‘Hmm’, I observed. ‘Do you know what letter I received this morning?’ ‘No’, was the reply, ‘I left home before the postal delivery’.’The bank is no longer paying interest on current accounts’, I informed the teller. I was transferring money to France. I doubled the amount. My money might as well be under the mattress.

This afternoon Jackie drove us to Lyndhurst to buy birthday presents, after which we went on a driveabout.

As we left three spiders were waiting in the centre of their webs in the front garden. When we returned, almost three hours later, none had moved.

It is still hot and humid in our environment. With children back at school, the family holiday season is over, but Lyndhurst High Street was still teeming with older visitors,

many of whom were enjoying ice creams

purchased from one or other of the thriving purveyors.

The street is well stocked with gift shops, of which Goose Green is a fine example.

At the top of the High Street, on the corner opposite the church of St Michael and all Angels, stands the Lyndhurst Antiques Centre in which Elizabeth holds a cabinet. We took the opportunity to view this and were very impressed with the quality of her stock. We did buy one of the birthday presents from another dealer. It would be too much information on this post to reveal the details.

Next to this centre there is the double-fronted Down to the Wood, stocked with well-made wooden items. We have shopped there in the past.

On the road in the vicinity of Beaulieu, a number of elderly, stately, open-topped motor vehicles were taking the warm air. Some were going at quite a lick, but not as fast as this dodgy photograph suggests.

Also pictured through our car windscreen were some of the many donkeys blackberrying in the hedgerows. You or I might carefully select our berries, pick them off one by one, and drop them into a container brought along for the purpose. Not so these equine creatures. They just chew the whole branch. We had to stop and wait, so I didn’t need to rush the shot.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s delicious Lamb jalfrezi, parathas, and onion rice with an omelette on top. I drank Mendoza Parra Alta malbec 2016.

A Topsy-Turvy Season

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A wander round the garden in this balmy morning’s light diffused by wandering clouds above raised questions about what season we are enjoying.

An industrious web constructing spider, seeking camouflage in the spent marigold seedpods

must have been confused by the plants’ fresh blooms.

By early evening the predator had moved house and wrapped its dinner.

Like many of our bidens, these have self seeded from hanging baskets and tubs.

The Small White butterflies still light on them and many other plants.

Some of the clusters on this lace cap hydrangea have turned blue.

Several hibiscuses are filled with flowers.

Petunias,

phlox,

fuchsias,

and begonias go on forever.

Others, like these antirrhinums in the Weeping Birch Bed

and alongside the Brick Path, are having a new growth surge.

Pansies and geraniums refuse to cede ground to the autumn crocuses,

and the little orange poppies and persistent lobelias really do think it is spring.

Digitalis cavorts with gaura,

and robins and other little birds swing along with rosa glauca’s hips.

It is difficult at this time to find a view that does not include Japanese anemones. Even here, one glows like a coal in the background shadows beyond the Weeping Birch.

Most of the roses are budding again.

Ballerinas are back on stage,

as are Mum in a Million,

Gloriana,

Flower Power, and many more.

When admiring the view through the urn at the southern end of the Brick Path

I did my best to ignore the fresh pile of cut branches produced yesterday by Aaron, Sean, and Rory while cutting down the grizelinias.

Later this afternoon, Jackie drove us to Steamer Point, between Highcliffe and Mudeford. I will publish photographs tomorrow, because I think I have enough on this post today, and because, for reasons that will become apparent, we plan to return in the morning.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s luscious lamb jalfrezi, and omelette-topped onion rice, with samosas and onion bhajis. I drank more of the Fleurie and Jackie drank Le Héron Gros Manseng 2015.