wheelbarrow – derrickjknight

The Mystery Of The Spanish Chest

We learn something of Hercule Poirot’s taste in women in this second story in the Crime Club’s Choice Collection “The Adventure of the Christmas Pudding” – a tale of an impossible murder into which his reluctant investigation was cajoled by Lady Chatterton, “…..one of the brightest jewels in what Poirot called le haut monde. Everything she did or said was news. She has brains, beauty, originality and enough vitality to activate a rocket to the moon.”

This “entrée” is introduced with a description of the famous detective’s efficient secretary who “seemed to be composed entirely of angles – thus satisfying Poirot’s demand for symmetry. Not that where women were concerned Hercule Poirot carried his passion for geometrical precision so far. He was, on the contrary, old-fashioned. He had a continental prejudice for curves – it might be said for voluptuous curves. He liked women to be women. He liked them lush, highly coloured, exotic….” This quotation exemplifies Christie’s humour and fluid prose. As usual she has complete control of dialogue.

Poirot can be “obsessed with beautiful women, crimes of passion, jealousy, hatred and and all the other romantic causes of murder” especially as this one appeared to have only one generally accepted possible solution which he found inexplicable.

We were led down a blind alley before Poirot proved what had really happened.

Agatha Christie’s own genius was to tie her plot into Shakespeare’s story of Othello with its themes of jealousy, murderous intent, and the naive innocence of a femme fatale.

Yesterday Jackie began transporting paving stones from the stack on the back drive to the side of the house for use behind the shed. She continued today, and I added a few. 21 of 28 have now been moved with the aid of sack barrow and wheelbarrow.

This evening we dined on Southern Fried Chicken and Jackie’s savoury rice with which I drank Collin Bourisset Fleurie 2022.

Insect Life Returning

Dawn skies over Downton presaged similar weather to yesterday,

especially when casting its light on Becky’s aptly named painting of a ‘Troll in a Storm’ – although when brightening Giles’s stained glass it appeared more optimistic.

The elements did follow yesterday’s pattern although without the rain which only threatened with the occasional forbidding frown.

While Jackie completed her work on the Brick Path

I concentrated my clearing and bagging up of refuse, my dead heading, and my weeding on the Back Drive where

day lilies, honeysuckle, and roses now look somewhat tidier; and

insect life, like Red Admiral butterflies

and crickets, seems to be returning.

Tired as she was, Jackie was able to bale out yesterday’s waterlogged wheelbarrow and continue her planting after lunch.

This evening we all dined on tempura and hot and spicy prawn preparations on a bed of Jackie’s colourful savoury rice topped with a thick and tasty omelette, with which she drank more of the rosé and I drank Moldovan Merlot, part of Becky and Ian’s Father’s Day set.

More Smoke Than Fire

Possibly because the washing machine is currently in constant use the grey water is not leaching into the hidden soakaway in the garden as it should. Greg Mouland of Mouland Drainage visited this morning to have a look at it. The solution seems to be to insert a small channel to the near manhole where the overflow will join the drainage pipes from the kitchen.. He will fit this towards the end of the week.

We are still without a car, for which a part has been ordered and will be fitted as soon as possible.

This inspired Jackie over the last three days to make some inroads into the piles of soggy garden refuse for burning.

I spent a good deal of time today reediting two posts from Classic to Block:

A Sad Sign Of The Times

A Day Of Two Casseroles

The first of these has been recategorised as Garden.

This afternoon I took my share of attempts at incineration – more like uncontrolled smouldering in an old wheelbarrow.

This is what the piles for burning look like.

Once I had the initial burst instigated by one match and one fire lighter, we enjoyed

more smoke than fire.

This evening we all dined on Jackie’s classic cottage pie; tender runner beans; firm broccoli and carrots, with meaty gravy. The Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Fleurie.

Murky

Late yesterday afternoon, we tried to print some lovely photographs Flo has taken of Ellie. This proved impossible, because the colours were very wrong. This is not a problem I have encountered before. I tried cleaning various settings and even changing inks, to no avail. All this takes a long time when you don’t know what you are doing.

A skip was delivered just after Martin arrived this morning, for four hours of which he raised a considerable sweat on this, the coldest day of the month so far – indeed prompting me to don socks for the first time since May. He works steadily and without a break, except to take the drinks we ply him with.

He prised, bashed, and dug out the solid lumps and loose hard core material;

loaded them into a barrow which he wheeled repeatedly along the Kitchen Path, up the Brick Path, to the skip placed half way along the Back Drive.

The filling of the skip was not the easiest of the stages.

By the end of the morning much of the levelling had been completed.

When I had begun to photograph the work I realised that I had probably left my 35 mm. lens in the car. I discovered it in its saturated case under the passenger seat of the Modus, clearly not waterproofed from the recent storms. I could barely see anything in the viewfinder and the pictures produced were decidedly murky. Very soon everything was fogged up, and I left it alone for the day in the hope that the condensation would evaporate. These pictures were all produced with a 55 mm. lens. By the end of the day all seemed fine.

We then visited Wessex Photographic in Lymington where we sought Luke’s advice on the murky photographs. He made some suggestions and offered to have a look at my set-up if we were unsuccessful.

We dined this evening on another of Jackie’s wholesome chicken stewp meals with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank Gran Selone Premium, Italian red wine.

Now I am going to watch the Football World Cup match between England and Wales.

Fashions Change

The sun greeted Martin this morning as he was able to make a start on preparing the patio for repaving.

Anyone familiar with this area will know that the current sections of squared blocks, intermittently separated by such as the red tiles and troughs of slate chips and a gravel, unevenly balanced, because, as Martin discovered there is only a thin layer of sandy aggregate lying on top of soil beneath them.

First our helpful gardener dug out the loose material, with which he filled a wheelbarrow,

then, with several trips, wheeled it to a temporary location behind the shed.

Next, he tackled the pond in an old cistern, perhaps an example of our predecessors’ repurposing. Until we first cleaned it out it had been a thriving kindergarten for mosquitos. Having removed the surrounding concrete blocks ready for another trip with the wheelbarrow,

he transferred the murky water to a bucket from which he could tip it away. This enabled him to manhandle the heavy container and transport it out of the way.

No doubt probably 50 years ago someone thought the layout we inherited was a work of art. Tastes and fashions change.

I made good headway during the afternoon on John Steinbeck’s “The Grapes of Wrath”.

This afternoon we dined on Hordle Chinese Take Away’s excellent fare with which I drank more of the Cabernet Sauvignon and Jackie finished the Sauvignon Blanc.

Flamboyant

As so often, this morning, the few minutes during which I sought my camera, was sufficient to turn

the gorgeously glowing lambent flames of the dawn skies

into pale pastel pinks and indigos.

Later, Martin, lighting a bonfire in a rusty wheelbarrow, no longer fit for purpose, now serving as an incinerator

stood between the flickering kindling and the flamboyant foliage of creeping Virginia vine,

stoking the open furnace with

a week’s clippings.

Becky brought Flo, Dillon, and Ellie back from Eastbourne this afternoon, stayed a while, then returned to her own home.

This evening we dined on a Red Chilli takeaway meal with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank Cariñena Monte Plogar Gran Reserva 2016. The young couple ate later.

Hod-Carrier Once Again

Yesterday evening Jackie produced two photographs from along the Shady Path and Dragon Bed beneath the strong evening light,

and later of the strawberry moon claiming the sky from the sun.

On a much duller morning she recorded the current progress of her replanting in the Pond Bed.

For more than a week now, the Head Gardener has been slowly emptying and sifting the contents of our centre compost bin. This process is made more time consuming because a full wheelbarrow is too heavy for her to shift to where she wants the material.

Now she has nearly finished I decided to lend a hand and

filled a barrow to capacity and wheeled it over to the Oval Bed which, like all the others, will require extensive weeding before its soil can be topped up. Once again I was performing the role of “The Head Gardener’s Hod Carrier”.

This afternoon we lifted the New Dawn rose that had been dropped by the recent storms, retied it, and placed the white aluminium bench in its corner.

Are your dreams worth waiting to bring to fruition at the expense of a more pleasurable earlier life? This is the essential question behind Anton Chekhov’s story ‘Gooseberries’. I was impressed with what translator Elisaveta Fen describes as the ‘evocation of the Russian countryside on a rainy day and the feelings of relaxation, cleanliness and comfort, experienced by the men after hours of exertion ….. conveyed with Chekhov’s characteristic directness and subtle power’. The author’s simple descriptive skill is so evident in this narrative.

For ‘Nikolai ate the gooseberries greedily’ Nigel Lambourne has depicted this man’s happiness which is questioned by the narrator.

This evening we dined on oven fish and chips, garden peas, cornichons with chillis, and pickled onions, with which we both drank Marlborough Sauvignon Blanc 2020.

“I’m Sure I Can’t Allow That”

CLICK ON ANY IMAGE IN THE GROUP TO ACCESS THE GALLERY, INDIVIDUAL MEMBERS OF WHICH CAN BE VIEWED FULL SIZE BY SCROLLING DOWN AND CHECKING BOX AT BOTTOM RIGHT

I dozed through the early parts of the day. At 4. p.m. Jackie set me up on Mum’s perching stool at a vantage point beside the bricked-in well, and I emerged, blinking, into strong sunlight to the sweet, sonorous, symphonies of vibrant birdsong.

While she continued to labour away in the sweltering heat, I perched and photographed what met my eye. When she caught me standing unaided and shifting the stool to give me a better angle down the Brick Path, she exclaimed: “I’m sure I can’t allow that.”

My choice of this evening’s ready prepared meals was suitably bland cod mornay with mashed potato and peas.

“A Lot Of Work For One Man”

CLICK ON ANY IMAGE IN A GROUP TO ACCESS ITS ENLARGED GALLERY, EACH OF WHICH CAN BE FURTHER ENHANCED BY CLICKING ON THE BOX AT BOTTOM RIGHT. THE TWO INDIVIDUAL PICTURES WILL ENLARGE BY CLICKING.

This morning Jackie drove us out to MacPenny’s Garden Nursery at Bransgore, where we brunched at The Robin’s Nest. Jackie mooched around the

sales area, where she learned how necessary were the signs asking people to keep their dogs on leads because they have chickens. Apparently more of their chickens are killed by customers’ dogs than by foxes.

I wandered along the garden paths and up and down the wooden steps.

A flowering cherry and several camellias were resplendent. Some of the latter soar amongst branches of trees, dropping their heavy blooms onto the beds of last autumn’s leaves.

Some spears of bulbous plants are piercing they way through the soil to join a few crocuses and hellebores.

I spoke first to a man collecting and delivering mulch to heaps beneath some trees.

These were for gardener, Rob, to spread around the beds. Rob himself told me that he was the only person who did all the plant care, maintenance, and weeding. “A lot of work for one man”, he proudly stated.

On our way home we stopped at Redcliffe Nurseries where Jackie bought two primulas and an ivy with which to supplement her planting in the iron urn and a new one just in front of it.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s stupendous sausage casserole; her pulverised creamy mashed potato; and toothsome Brussels sprouts and broccoli. She drank Hoegaarden and I drank Val de Salis Syrah 2014

The Latest Project

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This morning Aaron removed another shrub superfluous to requirements in order to make room for a larger than planned base for the West Bed bench. Jackie and I drove off to B & Q at Christchurch for six more bags of sand.

Aaron spent the rest of his time laying the base.

When he had finished he sat on the bench and surveyed the scene. As usual, I made him a set of A4 prints.

These are the views AP Maintenance’s finest could contemplate.

I enjoyed a fuchsia foray.

Delta’s Sarah defied the neighbouring geraniums to steal the limelight.

Red berries are forming on the ginger lilies;

a blue clematis drapes itself over the Phantom Path arch;

and roses such as Festive Jewel enliven the Rose Garden.

This evening we enjoyed a drink on the latest project.

Jackie had been rather dismayed that I should have photographed Aaron’s view of the Phantom Path before she had had a chance to remove the wheelbarrow and wash down the dry cement. It therefore seemed only fair that I should show what we were looking at then.

Beyond the chimney pot in the second picture, these diascias decorate a hanging basket.

This is our current view from beside the greenhouse.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s special special fried rice, chicken sag, prawn jalfrezi, and roast duck breasts. I drank Concha y Toro Cassilero di Diablo 2016.