Plan Ordinare.......

When I think of the time and effort I have spent on this
ungrateful, ungrape-ful vine this year, it's enough to make me weep into my wine....were I allowed any.

I've done everything by the book - pruning, thinning, training - and although it does have marginally more bunches than it had last year, they are still all fiddling and small. Grapes about the size of your little fingernail. Too small for eating, and too few for bottling.

There are a few scenarios that might explain this:-

i) The shock of being reduced by 50% in mass has affected its output, and it might be better next year.

ii) It's just not a big graped variety, and will always be more ornament than acheivement.

iii) It hates me.

Kew Gardens (iii)..........

Some of the tropical, sub-tropical and desert exhibits.

Kew Gardens (ii)....

One of the most impressive and popular attractions at Kew, is the swelteringly hot Water Lilly House..... Very much a case of "all of the colours in all of the sizes". The giant Vicotoria Cruziana waterlillies are removed and grown from fresh plants each year, as although heating is no problem, the British Climate does not provide enough natural sunlight to sustain them through the winter.

Also in this elegant, listed building are bananas, taro, manioc, Sacred Lotus, & Papyrus plants.

Kew Gardens.... (i)

Despite once having worked in London for over 10 years, and having paid numerous visits to the National Archives at Richmond, I'd never been to it's near neighbour, Kew Gardens. This was an oversight that I managed to rectify earlier this week, as part of my "staycation". I went partly to see the the place, and partly as an excuse for a photographic expedition. It's a huge site, with acres of parkland and arboreatums, as well as seperate themed garden areas.

It was a rather overcast day, with poor light a lot of the time, so several of shots that I would otherwise have taken, of classic Kew views like the huge Tropical House, and the ride down to theChinese Pagoda, didn't really lend themselves to the conditions. Other shots worked better though, and here are a few of them.

This is the Davies Alpine House, a fairly recent addition that opened in 2006. In the Background is the Princess of Wales Conservatory, housing 10 different climate zones, and currently home to the "India 250" display.
The Rock Garden contains Alpines, Mediterranean plants, and seperate sections for plants from each continent.

The Japanese Chokushi-Mon (Gateway of the Imperial Messenger) is four fifths the size of the original in Kyoto, and was originally built for the Japanese-British Exhibition in 1910.
It was reconstructed in the 195o's and extensively renovated to it's current impressive standard in 1995.

Kew Palace was built by a Dutch merchant in 1631, in the traditional Flemish Style. It first became a royal palace in 1728, was officially bought by George III in 1781, and housed various members of the extended family until well into the 18oo's.

Season Of Mellow Fruitfulness?.........

.... OK, so perhaps it's a bit early for all that. But the blackberry that has been trespassing over the wall from next door's garden is clearly keen to get on with it.

I have been assiduously hacking it back for two years, on the assumption that it was a common (or garden) bramble. Not until I looked up from the sun lounger today, mid-chapter, and spotted a clutch of huge berries half way up a large bush, where I had missed it, did I realise that it's probably some kind of cultivar. The berries are much larger than I recall from the hedgerows of yesteryear, and exceptionally sweet.

Rather wish I had not been so eager with the secateurs now.

Be Careful What You Wish For...........

Having formerly bemoaned the lack of excitement in my life just lately, I suppose that I ought really to be grateful to the fellow motorist whom, whilst attempting to turn right yesterday morning, failed to see my bright red Fiesta of Doom bearing down on him.

The emotions I experienced in the split second between seeing him appear two car lengths in front of me on a major road, and then suddenly being face down with a mouthful of air bag, certainly fit the general description of "exciting". In retrospect at least.

Fortunately there were no serious injuries. (Although today my neck feels as if someone took it apart during the night and reassembled it without reference to the instructions.)

"Mon voiture" on the other had, has finally executed its last three point turn, now being a least a foot shorter than the designer intended.

The other party's insurers were on the phone to me within the hour, accepting full liability, and the normal formalities are in chain. It goes without saying of course that the "book price" of my 11 year old but very well looked after, low mileage motor, will not do justice to it; and I shall probably struggle to find a like-for-like replacement after the pay-out. But considering that I am still in a position to need another car, (i.e. breathing) this seems like a comparatively minor gripe.

I picked up the courtesy car they supplied today, and purposely drove past the scene of the accident on my way home, in order that no demon should remain unslayed. Considering it is the latest model of hatchback, built in a different century to my previous ride, I can't say that I'm very impressed with it. It has around 20 adjustable seat positions, none of which are quite right, suspension stiffer than a dead cat, and accelerates as if the engine were full of treacle.

The air-con though I will concede, represents a major technological advance.... As does actually being able to hear the engine, over 300 plastic door panels vibrating in dreadful symphony.

Somehow I expected something more though..... Something more.... "exciting"?

Nothing To See Here.....

Don't worry folks, you are not missing anything.

Work. Eat. Sleep.... That's what I'm about just lately.

Yeah, I know I'm not really selling myself, in terms of your continued custom, but the moment something remotely interesting happens, you'll hear about it.

Promise.

Oh the suspense.....................................!

The Definition Of Frustration Is........

.......Driving past this field every day, on the way to work, but with no time to stop and do anything about it.

Thankfully both the poppies and the good weather held it together long enough on Saturday for me to scratch the itch.

Sun?....They Never Told Me There Would Be Sun!.......

I have been away, and it was HOT. The unexpected conjunction of these two unusual occurences is a very rare thing indeed, and may have affected my head.

This is my excuse for not posting anything for weeks, even though I have been back a fortnight.

When I say I went "away" it was only to Devon, but you could have been forgiven for mistaking Dartmouth for St Tropez, such was the harsh brightness of the mediterranean light, and the hotness of the, er...heat.

A day on Dartmoor with my father, consisted of driving miles to find views I wanted to photograph, only to find I should have gone in the morning, or the afternoon, or just after lunch. Any time in fact apart from the time we arrived, when the sun was always coming from the wrong direction. I can see I must get hold of a "sun-compass"...(hint, hint, Sis!)

We took sandwiches and flasks and had proper father and & son type fun nonethless, even if having one of my parents on board for the first time did subconciously make me drive around all day as if I was taking my test again... ... though equally badly no doubt.

The Church above, stands on Brent Tor, and is a severe test for the faithful on cold winter's morning's I have no doubt...... Below is the inner harbour at Dartmouth.

Off The Top Of My Head.....

On the rare occasions when mother nature can no longer be denied and I need a hair cut, I would normally expect to spend the time fending off questions about my plans for the weekend, holidays, or being asked my opinions about people on television whom I have never heard of. (And I am not making any stereotypical insinuations the hairdressing profession….It just seems to be the law that you have to talk about this stuff whilst in the chair.)

So it was an unexpected change as I had my ears lowered yesterday, to find myself in a detailed conversation about white rot in onions, the best time to thin carrots, and many other matters vegi-cultural. The more so since the girl cutting my hair was in her early twenties, and yet mad keen on having an allotment. She has been sharing one with her boyfriend’s dad, but is soon to take over a plot of her own on a new site that is in the final stages of preparation in Northampton.

Which brings me to the second surprising point of this post, after the cabbage loving crimper; the fact that this new site has been reclaimed from the clutches of Tescos.

The Harlestone Road site in Duston, had been derelict for about 8 years, and was proposed for a new Superstore (Kenyan and Egyptians french beans available all year round doubtless), or alternatively for planting of another kind, as an extension to the local cemetery.

Fortunately Northampton has a very vocal and seemingly well organised Allotments Network group, who have successfully lobbied for the new improved facility, with roads, sheds, piped water etc, as well as upgrades to other sites.

Truly we live in strange but encouraging times, when the resurgence of allotmenteering has inspired so many diverse people, and has the power to see off big business.

Not entirely sure how I will feel about pinks sheds, and human hair mulches though……

How The Best Laid Plans Of Mice And Men Often Go Awry......

1. Wash the Car
2. Go to Tesco
3. Cut the grass
4. Put the..........

......Oh bollocks to it!

Three Sheets To The Wind.............

Not an admission of failure relating to my lamentable beerless lifestyle, but rather, an approximation of yesterday morning's activity, in trying to cover a poly-tunnel in a blustery gale. (I say "gale", of course I mean "slightly stiffer than desirable breeze").

A couple of friends are in their first proper allotment season, and I have very helpfully been giving them the benefit of my deep font of knowledge, guesswork and general bullshit on all matters vegicultural.... Usually without even being asked! I am just that kind of guy.

They have also decided to erect a rather large & splendid poly-tunnel, using plans gleaned from the interweb, and materials gleaned from here there and every where.

So naturally, when it came to the tricky business of handling and fixing the polythene cover, I was just the man to turn to..... Not because I had impressed them with all the semi-plausible advice I had offered in the comfort of the pub, but because I had impressed them by being 6'3". As compared to their own joint altitudes of roughly five-foot-fuck-all.

After the potentially difficult job of unrolling a 12m x 7m sheet of polythene, and re-rolling it up along its other axis, in the "gale", getting it onto the frame turned out to be a doddle. All of the other lanky mercenaries they had on standby in the end were hardly needed.

Just at the critical moment, the wind got up, stretched the sheet out, flapped it up over the hoops for us, and then died away again.... exactly as I had planned all along of course.

The proud owners had already spent a lot of time, building the structure, and digging the trench to build the bury the plastic in, but the whole business of covering, battening and fixing the doors and windows only took 5 of us a little over 2 hours. (Including time-out for coffee and bacon sandwiches.)

The last picture is a carefully stage managed shot of me posing as if I know what I am doing, in a rather tallish way.

So if you want to build a tunnel of your own, rest assured that I have all the half-baked advice you could ever want.

April Skies.......

Went for a bit of a walk on Sunday.
Nothing to write home about, or indeed to blog about, (I am a dull old stick at the moment) but saw this view and mused my annual muse about the proliferation of oilseed rape in the landscape these days....

A good thing, or not a good thing?.....

.......Such are the workings of the idle mind.

How The Mighty Are Fallen...........

Along with a number of allotmenteers (or ex-but-hopefully-soon-to-be-again allotmenteers in my case) I'm normally utterly faithful to the creed of veg....and I DO NOT DO FLOWERS.

Very sensibly, Matron DOES NOT DO FLOWERS either!

However....... my tub grown veg turned out to be all work for very little reward last year, and I might just have an allotment before winter. (The council have relented on their previous rigid insistance on only letting full 10-rod plots, and have slashed the waiting list by suddenly handing out lots of half plots!) So I have decided not to bother with too much with veg at home this year.

Trouble is, I don't want to sit in a patio garden all summer, surrounded by barrels of bare earth, ringed with plastic netting to keep off the Phantom Feline Defecator. I need to put something in them to fill them up.

So along with some carrots, and a few ridiculously optimistic tomatoes, I shoved in some flower seeds today - in as brisk & manly a fashion as I could manage, whilst whistling the theme tune from "Match of the Day", to make me feel a bit better about planting Eschscholzias and....gulp....Sweet Peas.

So imagine my shock then, when I visited Matron's blog, to sheepishly confess the error of my ways, and found that she has only just gone and planted some bloomin' bloomers herself!

What is the world coming to?..... I blame Gordon Brown.

Oakley Races.....

The Oakley Hunt held it's annual Point-to-Point meeting today, just up the road from here at Brafield-in-the-Green. If you've never been to a point-to-point day, you ought to make the effort.There are dozens, all over the country.

They are generally very well organised, with trade stalls, things to do for kids, and get a good turnout of locals, country folk, the horse fraternity, and of course those who are only there for the betting.

They are invariably very easygoing family friendly affairs, without the rules and social regulations of formal Horse Racing meetings. The standard of racing is a little more agricultural was well, but that part of the fun I suppose.

I narrowly avoided losing my shirt by concentrating on my camera, and keeping away from the betting ring. And the beer tent, and the burger van.

I am a sort of abstemious, photographic martyr I am.

L'eau....Lescargot!

I was up and out at 4:30 yesterday morning, to drive to Oundle, and shoot the sunrise over the water meadows between Achurch and Wadenhoe. Well that was the plan anyway, but its execution turned out to be easier in the mind, than in the marsh.

First of all, before dawn, it's like reeeally dark and stuff .....And then when the sun does comes up, it doesn't hang about (metaphorically if not perhaps literally speaking) so the best moments to photograph it low over the fields, pass by in the changing of a lens.

And it was misty. Not in a pleasingly bucolic "mist rising gently over the river" kind of way, but just a plain old "30 yard, mess up your focus" kind of a way. Suffice it to say then, there is a lot more to this particular discipline of landscape photography that I need to master, before achieving the sort of results I was aiming for.

So no fiery sunrise pictures here...... But, whist I was kneeling by my tripod, in the half light, in some mud at the water's edge, I noticed that where the river had risen and receded at some point, the ground was littered with the shells of tiny water snails.

I suppose we could draw some kind of Zen like conclusion therefore, about not endlessly chasing the elusive, big dreams in life, without stopping to see the beauty in small things, right under your nose.


But frankly I can't be bothered with all that hippy shit, so you'll just have to phrase it yourself, if enlightenment happens to be big dream that you are seeking...... (Insert own Karma statement here)

It's A Small World, And A Weird One.....

So there I am sitting in my office in Northamptonshire, and I get a call from a bloke who has quoted to do some surveying work for us.... We've not used him before, and I've never even heard of him..... I don't know him from proverbial Adam.

But when I jotted down his phone number, I recognised the area code was for Maidstone in Kent - the area where I originally hail from. So just out of interest I asked him where he was based, and he named the village I went to school in..... So I asked him where exactly.....and he named the farm in the middle of nowhere that I grew up on...!

We lived in the farm house for donkey's years, and now this guy's office is about 25 yards away in the converted oast.

Of all the companies we might have chosen, and of all the people in my office who could have spoken to him etc, etc....

Well it's been freaking ME out all afternoon anyway....

Evil Genius.... ?

As more than a few of you who occasionally peer into this little space will know, being allotmenteers and gardeners almost to a man, 'tis the season for postmen to be groaning under the weight of unsolicited seed catalogues.

I've had a whole rake of them drop through my letterbox in the past few weeks. Kings, Marshalls, Suttons, T&M, Dobbies, in fact all the usual suspects. But currently being plotless (and potless) I just file them in the back of a cupboard, in case I should suddenly need to order some rhubarb crowns one day, or an emergency supply of fennel seeds.

Overall though, as a means for seperating me from my cash they have all been pretty much a waste of time on the part of their publishers.

Today though, I received another, from "J. Parkers", and this one is slightly different...

You know how they pump synthesised bread smells into supermarkets to make you feel hungry, ......well Parkers' seed catalogue fairly reeks of compost. And Bonemeal, and bits of old string. In order to check I was not mistaken I got the others out of the cupboard and sniffed them thoroughly, and nothing..... Just the normal inky, junk mail smell.

So, either Parkers is a small operation, and they really have kept the catalouges next to the John Innes all winter, or.....they have been deliberately impregnated with "Essence of Potting Shed".

I see it was delivered via those busy folk at DHL, and as I know enough of how high volume mailing works, from a former existence, I'm pretty sure they would go direct to DHL from the printers. I suspect therefore that I (we), are being practised upon by a piece of beautifully simple but brilliant salesmanship.... And it makes me want to plant something.

So if you have J. Parkers latest missive, give it a sniff and tell me I'm not wrong!

I've left mine out on side for the time being, within easy reach. Just until the musty thrill is gone.

...... Or perhaps I've simply just been snowed in here too long.

Photo Tagged.....

It seems that it's time for another of those inescapable blogosphere chain letter things.... and I have been "tagged" by Frankie, all the way from her rural idyll in Herefordshire....a county that is proud to be "gastronomically great at any time of the year"....not just at Christmas, or for a few heady days in summer, but at ANY time!..... Hardcore.

Anyway, the mission appears to be... "go into your photo archive, pick the 4th folder in the archive, select the 4th picture in the folder, and write about it. A person then needs to tag 4 other people to do the same".

This resulted in a mind numbingly banal photo of the back of my car wing mirror that I took for evidential purposes after it was vandalised. Not wanting to be labelled a dirty low down cheat however, I was all set to lie about it ( lying's not as bad as cheating right ?) until I realised it was only the numerically chosen one if my photo folders appear in alphabetical order.

A quick , wholly unconnected decision that I really ought to be filing stuff chronologically, resulted in this shot of Edinburgh Castle.

I remember that I took it balancing on top of the back of a bench in Princes Street, in order to see over the railings. It was World Cup Finals week in 2006, it was searing hot, and I had a heat induced rash all over my face, which made me look like The Elephant Man. I was staying in a cheap hotel, that was 99% full of foreign exchange students, and was built over a massive 24 hour bar.

As a weekend away, this photo is about the only half decent thing I have to say about it.

My four victims shall be:
Soilman
She Who Digs
Matron
...and right out of left field, as they allegedly say in those parts Jill Twiss who has nothing whatsover ever to do with growing vegetables (as far as I know) but is still very funny, despite this glaring oversight.

It's All White For Some.....

Too much snow to go to work today!......Who says there's no God?

Too much in fact to even get up the lane to the main road, which was equally blocked anyway.

I shovelled the path (another of those "grown up" moments) then went for a walk around the village.

This is the local pub, at about 10 O'clock in the morning. By lunchtime it was packed to the rafters with snowboarders, ballers, walkers, workshy skivers and the odd photographer.

And if there's one thing better in my book than an unexpected day off, it's when there is also a Test Match to watch......A chap could get used to this.

Patience, they say, is a virtue.........

Last April when I first put my name down on the local "Lottie List" (she's a busy girl is our Lottie) I was 36th. ... Out of 36, naturally.

Meanwhile friends of mine have secured a plot at another local site - after a very short wait- and have cleared it, cracked on, and been given a second one. Apparently I could get one there too.....But I don't want one there.

I want one at the OTHER (clearly more exclusive) site that I visited first, and which is conveniently on the way to and from work.

Having phoned he Council's "Allotment Office", which I bet is not really an office, but just a phoneline in some conglomerated department, I find that I am now 16th out of 54.....

So this time next year.......!!!

(Actually I'm rather glad they didn't say "Lucky you, one's just come up!".... It's far too bloody cold for allotmenteering just now... Or much else.)

Recession Bites....

"A crisp, clean sheet of the finest quality stationery..... Carefully handwritten in the deepest blue ink, signed with a flourish, and lovingly wrapped in a handmade designer envelope.

This is no ordinary P45........

.........This is an M&S P45."

Baby It’s Cold Outside………….

....And it’s none too toasty inside either at the moment.

No sign of Global Warming in these parts then, which is nice, as it’s one of the things I’m currently fed up with hearing about. There are quite a lot of these, too many in fact to ever list here, but global warming is right up there. The main reason for my disinterest is not that I don’t believe it’s real - I do as it happens - but rather that I just don’t really care any more. I seem to have green fatigue.

There are of course as many theories both for and against the warming phenomenon as there are worthy writers and credulous readers. Just pick your polemicist of choice. But for my part, as far as I can make out, I might just live long enough to see olive groves and palm trees around the M25, but not long enough to die in a horrible ball of fire, or drown whilst walking on the Pennines. Having no kids to fret over, I can happily live with that scenario. I don’t go about needlessly polluting and wasting energy for the sake of it, but I’m dammed if I’m going to let populist paranoia make me feel guilty for turning the heating up a couple of degrees.

When I was child I worried about going to big school. Then about getting a job. Now I worry over how I will be able to provide for myself in old age. As an individual, and as a people, we have enough to be anxious about already. I don’t make New Years resolutions but if I did it would be to do my living in the here and now.

You may think I actually doing my living in a state of denial of course, and maybe you might be right, but unlike a large part of the UK one place I will definitely NOT be living in the next couple of weeks is a Gangsta’s Paradise. (Go and google on “Coolio” if you are not up to speed with your faded 90’s Rap artistes.)

Yes…. hard on the heels of “Strictly Pointless”, TV now brings us “Celebrity Big Brother”! …… Your latest mind altering dose of cultural Mogadon!

Is this really what 3,000 years of evolution, education and artistic endeavour has brought us to? Seems to me that the overwhelming quasi-religious rise of celebrity driven, populist hysteria IS actually something worth worrying about. Something we SHOULD collectively feel guilty about.

Don’t obsess about other peoples lives, do something with your own for fucks sake…. Go for a walk, grow some seeds, read a book…anything! (Although on the subject of books, I do like the irony that those people who will hang on every utterance of Coolio, Ulrika et al, and allow a TV program to shape their free time, their conversations at work, and their personal value systems, probably have no idea where the name Big Brother comes from or what it implies.)

With systematic social dumbing down occurring at this rate, even if there is a terrible climate driven dénouement to our existence on this planet, at least we’ll be too fucking stupid to notice.

Global warming may or may not have played a part in the extinction of the dinosaurs, but I suspect it was really because they were too busy sitting on their leathery arses watching “The T-Rex Factor” to go out and get a life.

(….. So all in all then , I’d say the no drinking thing is going quite well wouldn’t you?)

Despatches From The (Sofa)Bed Of An Invalid.....

Pity me gentle reader for I am ill.

My limbs ache, my head throbs, my breathing is wheezy and I cough like a car backfiring…. In short I have Man-Flu.

I undoubtedly contracted this most dolorous of maladies from one of my co-shirkers at the office. All week he has been coughing pathetically, and rolling his eyes in a most irritating and overly theatrical fashion, as if at death’s door. I have been tutting and flashing him dark looks intended first to convey “Pull yourself together man it’s only a cold”, until Wednesday I switched scowls to a “If your really that ill why are you still here infecting all of us” grimace. But to no avail, nothing would satisfy him but that we too must all feel his pain.

Although not a proper doctor, I feel I can state with some certainty however, that the disease has mutated in transmission (flu does that you know) as I clearly have a much worse strain than him. I shouldn’t wonder if it is not actually new to medical science. In fact, I do have a shred of supporting evidence for the seriousness of my condition, as the new drugs I’m taking for arthritis, work by suppressing the immune system, thus leaving me at increased risk of infections. Therefore I’m bound to be worse off than other folk aren’t I?

I have not presented this interesting case to my doctor yet, as in the past he has been, frankly, quite unsympathetic. Once when laid low by what any fool could see was a life threatening chest infection, he told me to “go home and rest” and added that “there’s a lot of it about”….as if becoming a statistic was likely to make me feel better!

I’m not at all sure he has found his proper vocation, but I don’t like to say anything.

Another thing that irks is the abject failure of modern science, in an age where Walt Disney can put men on the moon, and small Asian men can deliver pizza hot to your door in a matter of minutes, to find a cure for such a common complaint.

Or if not a cure, then why can’t Britain’s much vaunted National Health Service, the second largest employer in the world, (beaten only by the Indian Railways system) at least provide a little palliative care. Surely Myleene Klass in a nurse's outfit with a concerned look on her face is not too much to ask…...... I pay my taxes dammit!

Cutbacks, Cutbacks......

Having read up on my viticulture, and discovered that now is about the right time to do it, I drastically "reduced" my grapevine today.

Actually, as I have no truck at all with the forthcoming Season of Stupidness, I was originally planning to do it on Thursday the 25th, if for no other reason than to freak out the neighbours.....

"Why are you doing that today?...It's Christmas!"

"Not in my house it's bloody not!"

Unfortunately you can't rely on weather these days, so seizing upon an uncharacteristically clement spell, and harnessing my new found interest in pub avoidance strategies, I took my courage, and my secateurs, in both hands, and set to with a will.

This (embarrassingly slapdash) picture shows the mound of material I removed, by rule of thumb, following the main vines, and cutting back the side shoots to two buds....God only knows if this is right, but it's about the only sense I could make of all the conflicting information on the Interweb.

As it had grown 30' up the fir tree on the right and was scaring airline pilots, some of it was quite thick, and most reluctant to be parted from the tree at first. Fortunately however, the task proved to be one of the few occasions in life, where having eaten more than ones strict personal allocation of the pies could be considered to be an asset.

Using my ampleness as deadweight, I hauled on the ends in a bell-ringing style-ee, until gravity finally won out over friction, and I got it all down.

I guess I will have to wait until March to find out if I've killed it or not, but given the vigour it has hitherto displayed, I am reasonably confident it will be OK.

All I need now, is to find something else, both mundane and yet suitably eccentric, to do on the Bank Holiday while you lot are all getting pissed and pretending to like pullovers.

Drugs Good, Beer Bad..........

So there I am at the hospital, listening to the (very pretty) Rheumatologist tell me how my immune system is attacking my joints, and therefore trying to choose my medication of choice from the menu they offered me (I kid you not!) when it suddenly dawns on me….. I could swear she just said “ No alcohol”.

Actually she was talking, and I was reading, so what I was hearing was “Blah, Blah, Liver... Blah, Blah, No Beer…Blah Blah, Blah Very Bad”

This distracted me a bit, as the likelihood is that when we hit on the particular drug that works for me, they will become a permanent fixture.

“I’m sorry, did you just say that once I start taking any of these I can’t drink again…..like…..at all?”

“Oh yes, if you take alcohol you’ll feel quite ill, and you risk serious liver damage. Why, is that a problem?”

“Er no..... not a problem exactly…. It’s just…. well it just seems a bit …… a bit depressing really”

“ Oh, don’t worry you’ll get used to it!”

Sigh……

PS. Don’t ever be tempted to waste £1.65 on trying so called Alcohol Free larger. It tastes like diluted sick.

Strange Fruit.....

The grapes on my rambling grapevine were very late ripening this year, due to the miserable summer-that-never-was, and now we have had some severe frosts, all the leaves have suddenly fallen off the vine this week, but before the grapes have all gone.


This has given it a sadly bedraggled appearance, but no doubt one that will appeal to the birds.

Over the winter when the sap is dormant, the vine is in for a very rude awakening, as I am going to chop it back dramatically, and cure it of its wild ways.

Henry, Nellie & Miss......

At the weekend, between the turning of the leaves, and the turning back of time, I went for a walk in Salcey Forest.

Situated near Towcester, just outside the village of Hartwell, this is a landscape with real history in it's sap.

It was first created, or "emparked", along with other areas locally, by no lesser rambling enthusiast than Henry VIII himself, for use as a hunting forest. King Henry came to the the Grafton area of the East Midlands frequently, and made a number of "improvements" to things, most of them not at all to the liking of the rebellious local populous who were suddenly excluded from the new royal parks, with the possible exception of rights in some areas to gather wood for their fires. (In fact it's thought that the phrase "by hook or by crook" stems from the wording of this legal permission to scavenge dead branches.)

More recently, during the Second World War, when timber, labour and petrol were all at a premium, circus elephants were conscripted to work in the forest, felling and dragging out logs. After work they were turned out to swim in a woodland pool now called, fittingly, if not very imaginatively, "Elephant Pond". This got me to wondering if there had been other elephant's bathing in the wild in Britain before this, and it turns out that there have indeed been remains found of "proboscideans-straight-tusked elephant Palaeoloxodon antiquus, woolly mammoth Mammuthus primigenius and also a smaller mammoth, unique to this interglacial period and often referred to in Britain as the 'Ilford' mammoth". Now Salcey is actually about 2 hours north of Ilford, but it is pretty much straight up the M1, and therefore quite easy to find; so whilst I can't absolutely prove it's the only spa in the country to be patronised by prominent Pachyderms for several millennia, it seems entirely possible woolly mammoths could also have rinsed out their trunks here......Perhaps on a day trip from the Essex marshes.

Nowadays, the main attraction in the forest is the Tree Top Walk, a bridge-like structure that twists and turns its way up into the canopy, and offers great views, both down on the trees, and out over the landscape towards distant Northampton. It's not the biggest wow factor in the world to be sure, but it is a bit different, thought provoking, and free.

My morning stroll was also enjoyed by the Deputy Head, who has been staying at Hotel Quotidian recently, and can be seen here, neatly demonstrating two very important messages....

1. Get your arses outside people. It's fun!

2. Though you may be a successful, thirty-something, professional, you are never too big to be a big kid......

.........Or somebody's little sister.

"The Dog Ate My Homework Sir".......

Rather a quiet couple of weeks recently, without anything very noteworthy to blog upon I'm afraid.

I've been trying to rack up the brownie points at work, by introducing a few new ideas, and new systems, as we are dependant on the construction industry, which has been completely paralysed by this ridiculous banking furore, and things are not looking so great. Having been caught out before, I now a very strong self-preservation instinct when it comes to dodging the axe of redundancy....Or at least I hope I have. So as the newest of new boys, I'm trying to demonstrate my potential, in case there is to be a reckoning, which unfortunately seems likely.

On the domestic front, Spannerman has been back few times, and the boiler now produces heating AND hot water.....but only when it feels like it. So still a work in progress I guess.

My sole goal this weekend was to do some guitar practice, which I am currently putting off by writing this. It's a stupid situation really. I mean, I really DO want to learn the guitar, and I enjoy going to lessons, but I don't seem to have much commitment to practicing between times.

It's a bit like being back at school, where you had a whole week to do your homework, but still ended up trying to cram it all in on Sunday night. Except this time I am paying for the privilege.

The fact that my tutor lives a few doors up from me, and was outside polishing his new TVR yesterday, ought to act as some kind of spur for me to get my money's worth I guess!

I am currently supposed to be learning "Why Does It Always Rain On Me" by those be-kilted northern funsters, Travis; but if it turns out anything like my previous attempts at "Wish You Were Here" by the Floyd, or "Stairway to Heaven" I suspect a noise abatement petition from the neighbours is fairly imminent.

Incidentally, I had to tell my guitar guru, I was not going to undertake any more denim clad, drug fuelled, 70's rock classics, on the grounds that I was hoping to become a guitarist not an archaeologist.

This caused some consternation as it seems his teaching repertoire is pretty heavy on dinosaur rock. But at least I am now allowed to pick my own targets, which basically results in me trawling the web for catchy sounding songs without any bar-chords in them. My fingers were simply not designed for bar-chords.

But in answer to Fran Healey's plaintive enquiry ""Why Does It Always Rain On Me", I'm pretty sure it's not because "I lied when I was seventeen"..............It's because you live in Scotland mate!

Coton Manor Continued.....

Also at Coton Manor (see previous post) there were lots of butterflies and moths, out in the late afternoon sun. .......And if tea-rooms are your thing, which they aren't mine, I'd say the one here looked pretty top notch.

I just had a coke.... and got snubbed by a parrot.

Great Flaming Flamigos Bruce!.......

After all the rubbish weather of late, and the bru-ha-ha with my boiler, I decided a quick trip to Africa might be a welcome diversion, and so am now just back from the Okavango Delta in Botswana, home to famous massed flocks of flamingos.

Don't believe me?.....No, thought not.

OK, so I just went to Cotton Manor Gardens near Northampton, home of the altogether less massive flock of 5 tame birds. So tame in fact that you can get right up to them, while they stand on one leg, in formations, and obligingly pose for the camera.....I'm a cutting edge wild life photographer me!

The garden itself is beautiful, and very tranquil, although fairly small, so I was just beginning to think the £5.00 entry fee was a bit steep really, when I met the residents. Not everyone’s cup of tea perhaps, but enough to keep me there nearly two hours, trying to get a good result for my money.

The Boiler Man Cometh…And Cometh….And Cometh….

Things are slowly hotting up around here!.... Not so much Global Warming, as Local Warming.

Whilst I‘d like to claim that this phenomenon is due to the white heat of my industry, or a sudden excess of scorching passion, it’s not.

It’s due to a bloke with some spanners from Milton Keynes (Bloke that is. Not sure where spanners from, and not convinced it matters.)


Ever since I arrived here the heating system has been idiosyncratic to say the least. It has a personality all of its own, and frankly its not that of a very popular person…. A sort of hyper-caustic version of Simon Cowell if you will......... ( I’m so pathetically proud of that bad pun it’s untrue.)

Whenever I want heating or hot water, it either sulks, growls, or roles over and plays dead.

I’ve been complaining about it for six months to the letting agents, and in truth they have been awfully nice about it, for they are awfully nice people. So much so in fact that they appear to devote almost all their time to being nice, and very little to being in any way remotely efficient.

I am usually fairly nice too, but in a sudden burst of “efficiency” I recently wrote direct to the owner of this pile, and made dark mutterings about tenants rights and breaches of faith, and this seems to have partially done the trick. (One of the signs of being a proper grown up I feel is that as you mature, you learn to sleep on hot-headed letters and e-mails, and lower the level of dudgeon in the morning!...After all, as they say, ”publish in haste – repent on someone else’s sofa”)

So the boiler man eventually came, with his spanners and stuff, and changed a load of electrical bits, pronounced the patient cured, and left me with a half-day off work on my hands and some soon to be dashed expectations of a hot bath.

No sooner had he set off again to Milk ‘n’ Beans, than “Simon” hitched up his metaphorical trousers and threw a hissy fit.

Spannerman came back a couple of days later, and changed virtually everything else, so that by default I practically have a new boiler……but with the same old bad habits as soon as his back is turned.

It runs better now, and for longer, but still disappoints at irregular intervals. I am supposed to be keeping a log of its malpractice, in order to present a diagnostic body of evidence to Boiler Bloke, who I’m pleased to say seems to be taking this case to heart. A bit like Doctor Who battling the Darleks.

He’s due back with his sonic spanners sometime soon, though as I write, things have been positively balmy all day.

Instead of being glad of this however, I am experiencing the strange sensation of nearly, almost, actually, quite wanting it to go wrong again, so I can say “I told you so!”

Disclaimer: The author of this post freely accepts that worse things happen at sea, and that poor people in Africa probably would indeed be glad to have my boiler, but finds that a sense of perspective is a hard thing to maintain whilst shaving in cold water.

On Getting Into The Olympic Spirit.....

Whilst spending a dissolute Sunday afternoon in the pub last weekend, with The Barbarian and The Cockney Rebel, (we originally had tickets for the cricket but it was called off for reasons that I will leave you to guess at...) conversation turned to the recent Olympics.

Or more specifically, Women’s Beach Volleyball.

Both these gents are fine upstanding sports enthusiasts whose views, rather like my own, become more insightful and enthusiastically put, in direct proportion to the amount of ale consumed. So when I contested that whilst not without some artistic merit, WBV is not a proper sport at all, but merely one that makes you feel that you are just watching it for all the wrong reasons, there was much controversy.

We then debated exactly what the wrong or right reasons might be for confusing sport with bikinis, before wondering where in the UK it was going to be held in 2012.

Now I happen to know that it will be staged in Weymouth, along with the sailing, windsurfing and general messing about in boats. (I learned this quite innocently I should point out, from watching ”Country File”, not through any in depth research.)

If this recent “summer” is anything to go by though, it might well be a bit nippy in Weymouth in August, (no pun intended) but that’s their lookout I suppose. At least a chilly drizzle will, at no extra expense, lend the quintessentially British flavour to the games that Seb, Boris and their chums at the IOC are reputedly seeking.

Which brings me to the point of this epistle….. How can we make The Games more British?

The assembled panel thought long and hard about this, and are able to proffer the following recommendations.

1. The track relay events should held on Southend Pier, with athletes having to get an ice cream cone to the end, and back, before it melts.

2. In order to curb the golden excesses of Michael Phelps, and create a more level playing field for other countries, the swimming events should be held in the sea, with all contestants having to change into their skin-tight swimsuits after the gun has gone; hiding their modesty behind a large stripey beach towel, before negotiating 30 yards of sharp shingle in order to reach the water. (Lane choice in this event will be a significant factor, as those nearer the pier may be affected by the submerged sewage outfall)

3. Beach Cycling would be a real test of skill and sinew, and would encourage other seaside states to take part, and thus make a contest of it, after the frankly rather embarrassing drubbing we handed them in the traditional format this time around.

4. Beach Sprinting was ultimately rejected as we were reliably informed, by one of the barmaids who once went there on holiday, that there is quite a lot of sand in Jamaica, and Usain Bolt is probably quite used to it, thus it would not add anything new to the event.

5. There absolutely must be a Donkey Derby!

6. In fact, we believe there are few Olympic sports which could not be improved by the addition of a few donkeys. Like the Three Day Eventing for example.

The Modern Pentathlon could easily be expanded to include Donkey-Back Jousting, with large sticks of specially manufactured Blackpool Olympic rock.

The subtle technical difficulty in the Synchronised Donkey Diving events, presumably lies not in persuading your mounts to leap off the high board, but in getting the beasts up there in the first place. Another chum (who in the best traditions of Blogspace anonymity we shall nickname The Bean Counter) has since pointed out however, that the Spanish would be favourites for this event, as they have been cheerfully tossing donkeys off of the top of bell towers for years.

5. There were several other helpful suggestions that the 2012 organising committee would doubtless have been keen to receive, but curiously, and for some inexplicable reason, I cannot now remember any of them. ……

I can’t help thinking that the oversight on my part, in not writing them down at the time, represents a great cultural loss to the nation.

In Which I Am Told Off......

.....albeit quite gently, for dereliction of duty.

Amongst those who have remarked on my recent cyber-sloth are The Deputy Head, The Fruity Analyst, Banking Chick (currently counts 2) and various veg-bothering folk with dirt under their finger nails.

Here then is a placatory offering, in the form of an abbrieviated highlights package, in editied version, of a brief summary, of what I have been up to.

- Went to Devon. Where it rained.
- Drove to Cornwall, in the rain.
- Came home and went fishing - caught fat fuck all again, and got rained on.
- Went to Stowe House & Gardens, in the rain, natch!
- Visited Rutland Water where they obviously get quite a bit of rain it seems.

Let the following damp and squidgy scenes be admitted into evidence M' Lud......


Dartmoor, between downpours, and the drowned Church at Normanton, on Rutland Water....


More Miserable Motoring Memories


Stowe, near Buckingham, where they are clearly no strangers to the wet stuff..........


And this is Start Point Lighthouse, in Devon. Although taken on the one day of my holiday when it miraculously did not rain, I contest that its very prescence, points to a wild and stormy tendancy in these parts.



By the way.... I got sunburnt.


........Bloody weather!

" Hello......Is There Anybody Out There?"......

Rumours of my demise have been greatly exaggerated...... I just kind of lost my mojo for a while there...ha,ha, ha,ha, ha....Sheeeeesh.

Primarily I blame the weather. I tend to go into mental and creative hibernation when it rains too much. Some people get S.A.D in the winter months (Seasonally Affected Disorder) I get W.A.P.P.O. when it rains.........Wet and permanently pissed off.

I had two weeks holiday, and it rained 12 days out of 14. I went back to work and it rained, I planned to do stuff at weekends, only to have to cancel because it rained.

As I look out of the window it is raining this minute.

Prozac anyone ?

Mr. Greenmantle Goes Fishing.... **

** With apologies to Bernard Venables!

Mist rising off the river just after dawn, cattle coming down to the water to drink, swans gliding past like white ghosts, and later on, as the sun climbs into the perfect blue sky, a peal of church bells from a distant village.

Sounds great doesn't it. Good enough at least to inspire me to go fishing again for the first time in many an old donkey's year.

Since getting over my operation, and getting back to work, I've been itching to do some proper walking, shooting, or play some golf, or do anything to get outdoors. But the truth is I'm still struggling a bit with secondary foot and achilles related complications, and whilst much more mobile than I was, there are some things I just can't risk, and may indeed have to give up altogether I fear. So it struck me that fishing might be a good outdoor hobby to resurrect, involving as it does, a good deal of sitting down.

I used to fish with my Dad as a youngster, but haven't been seriously in about 20 years. A bit of old tackle migrated up the M1 with me here to Northampton, and some additional, rather more modern kit was acquired from a good local shop.

So, despite it being somewhat after dawn when I arrived on the riverbank this morning, more like 7 o'clock in fact, it was still early enough to feel like I was achieving something, and getting in touch with my wild side again.

I've joined the local Northampton & Nene Angling Club and am accordingly now allowed to drown maggots in a huge variety of lakes , canals, and rivers all within about a 20 minute drive of my home..... And it was very idyllic. And if I can think of a few more sentences I can pad this out for ever, and won't have to answer the obvious question.

Did I catch anything?...

No I did not.

Despite trying all sorts of bait, and dimly remembered rigs and tackle set ups, I could not catch a cold. (Well I did get two small perch, but I don't really count these are they are like a pest on the Nene, and were no bigger than a fairground goldfish)

I could see decent sized carp rolling, and some roach; and other anglers were keen to tell me of shoals of bream, and whole colonies of dace. But catch them I could not. Depressingly, it was exactly the same when I went for an unblogged "practice" session last week!

As I can't go anywhere without a camera though, at least I have a pleasant watery picture for you, which you can look at whilst imagining all the fish down there, doing fishy things.

Either they have got smarter in since the 1980's, or I need to buy Bernard Venables iconic book "Mr Crabtree goes fishing" which...Ahem...more seasoned readers, may recall being serialised in the Daily Mirror way back when, when summers were longer and shorts were shorter.

I am encouraged to learn however, that Venables was actually the gardening correspondent, and only persuaded the paper to let him write about fishing one winter when things in the garden were a tad quiet.



So perhaps there is hope for me yet.... I can almost hear the fish shivering in the deep.

The Yellow Peril

One of the things I'm learning about growing in containers, is that results can be quite different to normal soil based cultivation.

Take these courgettes for example. Although the plants are every bit as vigorous as they would be in the ground, the fruits absolutely refuse to grow any bigger than this..... Is this due to the constraint of the tubs, or perhaps more likely a nutrient deficiency of the compost medium?

Either way it's not a major problem. At this size they are perfect for slicing lengthwise, and grilling or dry frying, with just a smear of butter.

And, of course, there are bloody loads of them.

Veg growers can be divided into two groups on the issue of courgette production.

The uninitiated will plant too many plants and then say "Christ, what do I do with all this lot", whereas the experienced growers will still plant too many saying " Look at all these courgettes I've planted, What am I like?... I'm mad me!"

And what might be the collective noun for the little blighters.....a "frenzy" of courgettes, or perhaps an "embarrassment" of courgettes"?

Suggestions welcome.....

There's Something Lurking In The Depths......

As you may have heard on the news (in the UK as least) a quarter of a million people in the East Midlands are having to boil their drinking water, due to an outbreak of Cryptosporidium in the local supply.... A quarter of a million, and me.

Pitsford reservoir is just up the road from here, and supplies the two main towns of Daventry, and Northampton, (the largest town in the UK, not to actually be a city) as well as all the outlying rural areas.

Anyone who should be unfortunate enough to contract Cryptosporidious, can look forward to 2-3 weeks off work, with violent stomach cramps, fever, vomiting, and "watery diarrhea"...... Nice way to spend the summer!

Having to stay by the loo for days on end, whilst being forced to watch Wimbledon, would be my ultimate idea of hell.

Also it takes a week to incubate, so everyone is waiting to see what happens next!

Fortunately I always drink bottled water anyway, so apart from remembering not to rinse the lettuce under the tap, or brush your teeth with it, it's not so bad.

The one galling thing is not having a dishwasher. Admittedly I find this a pain at the best of times, but had I had one now, it would be safe to wash up with it on the hottest setting. But for washing up by hand, you have to boil the water first. To fill my sink it takes two kettles and three large saucepans of water, which of course you then have to leave for half an hour before you can put your mitts in it. This is far too much like advanced planning to fit easily into my domestic routine.

Work is also in the affected area as well, so it's not even as if I can pile the dishes in the boot of the car and do them there.....

Criminals Thwarted By Beer....

In response to the sporadic molestations of some local martial arts enthusiast, with a grudge against door mirrors (as previously blogged upon here), I have devised a simple, but thus far devastatingly effective countermeasure.

I leave my car at the Pub......Genius!

Bruce Lee does his best work at the weekends it seems; so on Friday nights after work, and Saturdays before bedtime, I run the car the 100 odd yards up the road, and tuck it up for the night in the pub's car park, which is then eventually locked. During the rest of the week it has to fend for itself, out on the mean streets, but unless Bruce takes up mid-week club going, things seem to be OK.

The Landlord, who is a very obliging fellow, doesn't mind my use of his yard a bit, as long as I move it the next day before paying punters want to park. In fact, you could take the view that it's a shrewd move on his part, as out of gratitude, I usually feel obliged to pop in for quick one when I drop it off.

And as we all know, the legendary "quick one" doesn't actually exist.......

The Local Damsels Are A Frisky Lot....

Close to where I live, about 5 minutes up the road, is Sywell Country Park.

Created in 1902 when a shallow, pastoral valley was flooded to provide a reservoir to supply water to High Ferrers and Rushden, it is now a very well maintained nature reserve, based around the lake.

I went for a look-see yesterday, and quite without intending to, ended up walking right round it. Very Slowly. This turns out to be a fraction under 3 miles,and considering this is the first time I've been able to walk more than a few hundred yards in almost a year, I was feeling pretty chuffed with myself.

There's a lot of wild life at the lake, and several bird watching hides, for folk of that persuasion;
but yesterday the most striking thing was a massive hatch of Damsel Flies. Everywhere I walked, I stirred up great clouds of little, electric blue, darts. All hell bent on mating before they die. A short life, but a happy one!

Not having the right lens with me to photograph them there and then, I went back again today, better equipped, and got some fairly respectable results. It would have been better on a brighter afternoon, with less wind, but I learned a few tips for next time.

The male is universally blue it seems, whilst the female, although drabber, comes in a variety of shades from pale, almost transparent yellow, though greens and browns, to some who have a distinct pink tinge.

The only downside to photographing them, is the myriad insect bites I have aquired from lying in the grass for two hours...How I suffer for my art!

I'm not sure who the last chap is, but he's colourful enough, and was sitting obligingly still.

Shades Of Tenko........

I've been fairly busy this weekend, having driven back down to Tonbridge to visit friends, and also to gain some motorway driving experience, whilst I had the opportunity of taking someone with me who knew the route. As it happens The Barbarian was pleased of a lift down. He still plays cricket that way, despite now living in Daventry, though he'd been out on the ale the night before and was looking a little bit jaded when we left at 07:00 yesterday.

Other people use Sat-Nav when they are not sure of where they are going, but always keen to go one better I took "Fat Nav" instead.......Well it made one of us laugh at least!

When I got back this afternoon (all personnel and vehicles unscathed) I cut the grass, before deciding to build a fruit cage for my strawberrries. I had a rough idea in my head of how to do it on the cheap, with some plastic netting and some spare canes I had in the shed, but needless to say it was easier to construct in the imagination than it was in garden. In fact it wasn't right until the end that I was confident it would hold together at all!

Halfway through it looked more like something from a Japanese prisoner of war film than any kind of horticultural structure.

It's certainly not a thing of any great beauty, but it will do the job well enough I think, and thus has a certain practical elegance to it at least..............

...............So rather like my good self then.

Lawnmower Man..........

Here at Quotidian Towers, our compact and bijou properties, and their associated gardens are laid out in a large 'L' shape. My cottage is at the top end of the long side, while my garden is at the extreme end of the short side. Most of the area in between, consists of a patch of communal grass, that frankly could never be properly called a lawn.

Previously, out of the five cottages, only one of us had a lawnmower. An electric hovering jobbie of limited power and ability. Also the couple who own it are two of the busiest people I have ever seen, with about 3 jobs each, and hence little time for gardening it would seem.

When they do get chance to cut the grass, it's a real battle, and I can see why no-one does it more often.

Now not only do I like to trot down to my garden a few times a day, but I also have a deeply ingrained and really rather sad obsession for neatly trimmed grass and stripey lawns....So it irks me to have to beat a path through the undergrowth, expecting at any moment, to see the heads and swaying bundles of Livingstone's African Porters, coming the other way.

Hence I have been tracking second hand petrol lawnmowers on E-bay for ages.

There have been several I've bid on, but they always go higher than I think is reasonable for a second hand, and therefore probably temperamental machine. Lets face it, Lawnmowers are not an aspirational lifestyle purchase to all that many people (self excepted) so if the old one works just fine, then why get a new one..... If however the old one is knackered, why then, clean it off a bit and flog it on e-bay for a nice little profit.

Yesterday however, whilst looking for something completely different, I found the envelope of Homebase vouchers that friends and family gave me when I moved. (Having spent a year being a bit sheepish about what I bought with them.)

Given that it was also 10% discount day at Homebase as well, I discovered that I could buy a cheap, ticky-tacky, but SHINY NEW RED lawnmower, for relatively little outlay of proper cash money. Less than half price in fact.

On getting it home, I carefully located the instructions, and put them to one side, in order to assemble it the "man way", relying on my innate mechanical genius and vocabulary of choice expletives. I then took it apart again, read the manual and re-assembled it the "proper way" relying on the manufacturers dubious diagrams, and flexible grasp of English grammar.

It appears to be made of recycled tin cans, but does have a respectable Briggs and Stratton engine, and I am pleased to report it started first pull, and made a very good job of our grass. It only took me about 10 minutes, by which time I was warming to the task, and so wondered if the bloke across the street would like his lawn trimmed. I decided not to ask in the end. Partly because of the possibility that I might have come across as a bit weird, and partly because he may well have expected me to carry on doing it all year.

It's maiden voyage completed then, the lawnmower fitted nicely into the shed, where it sleeps quietly, while I shout at the grass to grow faster.

I too slept soundly last night, warm in the knowledge that I have a Lawnmower, in my shed.

Lawnmower, and shed.....

Lawnmower. In the shed.............

If anyone has some half full tins of old paint they are thinking of selling on e-bay, my happiness would be complete!

Berry Good.....

The Strawberry Urn is going well, and already has small fruits forming. I need to get some netting quick, before the birds spot them as they ripen.

Chop Chop!

In a cutting edge experiment to see if the power of suggestion might encourage my tomato plants to get cracking, I saved some tin cans to plant them in. (I only need 4 plants so it wasn't hard to eat the requisite amount of Spag Bol.)

I did wonder afterwards if it might have slightly sinister undertones though. A bit like being raised in a coffin.

Scientists among you will not be surprised to learn that it made no difference either way, and therefore I have not applied for the Nobel Prize for Biological Research.

They are now outside in baskets where I suspect I will need to spend most of my waking, non working hours, watering the darn things.

When Cars Go Bad.....

Some tedious motor troubles have occurred over the last week, which frankly have bored me almost as much as they have frustrated me. In an attempt therefore to extract some positive, rather if paltry comedic value, I shall make a list below....(As is often my wont!)

1. I sort of half hear a bang and some shouting outside in the street at 11:45 pm last Tuesday. Due to drowsiness, nakedness, and comfiness of bed, decide "its probably nothing" and go back to sleep.

2. I wake up in morning to find a wing mirror hanging off the car. Seems clear that someone must have driven round the corner a bit tight, and clipped it with their vehicle.

3. I Am late for work after some very un-mechanic like hacking and taping, but resign myself to forking out for a new mirror.

4. I sacrifice my intended weekend away, to go see "Reliable Ron", my local car doctor, to get it fixed on Saturday, as I cannot take time off work.

5. I Arrive home on Wednesday to be told by a chap across the way, that it was not accident, and he saw it all. Seems two "lads" in a "darkish car" were driving down the Old High Street, and suddenly stopped in the middle of the road. The passenger got out, and began working his way down a line of parked cars, (starting with mine) gleefully kicking off wing mirrors, a' la Bruce Lee. When my neighbour suggested loudly that they Foxtrot Oscar, they jumped back in their car and sped off.

6. I phone it in to the police, "just for the record" as we don't have a car reg, or a very detailed description from the witness..... Who in fairness was yelling out of his bedroom window at the time.

7. On Friday, I get a call from an Ossifer of the Law, who absolutely insists on coming round to take a statement. On Sunday, thus dealing the coup de grace to the remains of my weekend.

8. Go to see Reliable Ron on Saturday, who is having an uncharacteristic off day on the reliability front, and has ordered the wrong part. Agree to come back early Tuesday morning on the way to work.

9. Sacrifice Sunday morning waiting for the very polite but depressingly young looking policeman, who then declines to take a statement after all, and says they probably can't do anything as we don't have a description. ....He's smart this lad.

10. Tuesday, go to see Plain Ordinary Ron, to find that the new part did not arrive , due to some sort of comedy mix up involving two garages with the same name in neighbouring towns. Rather than tip me off the day before, Ron decided to wait until I was 200 yards away before phoning me to tell me not to get up early and drive over.

11. After work I find I have received several leaflets in the post from the local Police Station advising me what to do after being a victim of crime, and advising how I can "access victim support".

12. Wednesday.... Beat a weary path to Ron's again. His neighbours must think we are having an affair I've been there so often. Finally get to admire myself in the new mirror though, and Ron patiently explains how I should go about fitting one myself another time, while I stand around feeling inept, and slightly foolish.

13. "Young Detective of The Year" phones to confirm that they cannot take it further, as we don't have a car reg or a description. I swear that I can hear his biro ticking a "completed" box on a record sheet over the phone. Actually I just swear.

14. All that remains now of course, is to await the inevitable re-appearance of Bruce Lee......... Like all good movie stars, he blends action with suspense.

Tote That Barge, Lift That Bale...............

I am sorry to have been so remiss and slack of update this week, especially as literally a whole one of you have been clamouring for news.

But look at it from my angle...........I am still in shock......This work business takes up your whole day!

I have to leave home at 8:30am, when the self respecting unemployed are all still abed, and I don't get back until 6:00pm...... Or sometimes even as late as 6:10.

And they don't let you watch telly!

At least the work itself is going well. On the one hand, admin, is admin, is admin.....As long as you can turn up on time, look alert, and knock out a few spreadsheets, you can fit in to most companies.

On the other hand, there is a lot of technical terminology I'm trying to master, and also a lot of detailed procedures to be assimilated.

My boss however, who seems to be a pretty genuine sort of chap, professes himself pleased with my efforts to date, so I'm confident things will work out fine. He clearly likes to run a tight ship, with old school attention to efficiency, accuracy and detail. Fortunately I don't find that sort of thing a problem. Especially at the moment as I am still chock full of "first term" endeavour...... My desk is like that beautifully pristine page in your new school exercise book.

Names though, are a bit more of a tussle. As someone who once worked with a lady called Helen for 7 years, and continually forgot her name, or called her Christine, you can imagine how I am struggling with a lot of new faces at the moment. (It wouldn't have been so bad had I not been her manager at the time.)

But before I close, and drag my weary body up to bed, I have a moment to ponder the single greatest dilemma in the world of commerce.

When to make your sandwiches......... In the morning, or the night before?

Voodoo Garden...........

The woman at the Council Allotment office says there are actually 32 people on the list ahead of me, and I'm not very likely to get a plot for well over a year.

I should have asked her for their names and addresses.

Windows On The (Old) Soul......

It seems that I have "ageing eyes".

Perhaps this should not come as a surprise, as the rest me is definitely slowly maturing, but my eyes have always been tip-top bits of kit. Real 20:20 grade peepers. I am therefore a little sad to be told I have "ageing eyes".

Apparently they are not quite pulling together they way they used to. Some might say that my left hand has not known what my right hand is doing for years, particularly anyone who has seen me play golf, but it's the first time it has been said of my headlamps.

The very efficient optometrist in Vision Express, made it all sound so matter of fact.... "You have ageing eyes. It's to be expected now you are over 40."

She might as well have added " The rest of you will be conking out soon I expect, so don't start any long books."...... Then she relieved me of £180.

I decided to have an eye test before I start the new job, as I'm aware I've been straining to see fine detail on the computer screen, which after a while, makes me feel decidedly sea-sick.

The resultant glasses are very mild in prescription terms, but do seem to be doing the trick so far, although with their help I can foresee the need for second pair, to avoid inconveniently leaving them at home or work all the time.

I only need them for VDU work, or prolonged reading, but all the same, it still feels like a slur on my youth and vitality.

Thank God I still have naturally dark hair..... Not a solitary hint of grey there!..........Yet.

Stoke Bruerne Trip.....

As mentioned previously, I made a quick trip to the village of Stoke Bruerne the other day, to look at the Blisworth Basin & Lock on the Grand Union Canal. There is a museum of narrow boat history there, but I didn't pay to go in. I'm not particularly interested in canals or narrow boats per se, but just went to see if there was anything worth photographing.

This is what I made of my lunchtime visit.

The two boats side-by-side in the lock are proper working boats, that were carrying a load of fabricated steel from Birmingham, down to London. Apparently this length of commercial trip is very unusual these days, and lots of narrow boat fans had come to see them go through the lock.

Not something I would have travelled on purpose for, but I thought it best to let sleeping ducks lie.......

Jam Tomorrow.......

I went to have a look at the potential new allotment site today, which is about 4 minutes drive from my house, on the route to and from work each day. And guess what.............. It's a cracker!

I turned up about 10:am, when I thought most of the committee might be likely to be there, and sure enough, I was quickly introduced to the Chairman, Secretary and Treasurer. And very nice friendly people they were too.

They have a good trading hut, heavy equipment for hire, and a tea room. Water is laid on all over the site, for which there is no charge; and from talking to some of the plot holders, there doesn't seem to be too much trouble or vandalism. The local Neighbourhood Watch drive round the site every night, and there have only been 2 or 3 instances of petty vandalism in the last couple of years.

The soil looks fantastic too. A rich dark loam, and not too heavy.

And the downside?........The local council hold the waiting list, and it's thought there are at least 20 people on it. But even this is not so bad, as they are starting to offer half plots, which gets things moving faster, and is probably about as much as I would need to start with. Also I don't really want to take one over until the Autumn when I am fit enough for all the digging etc, so the timing could work to my advantage.

I took a few snaps, just with the camera on my phone, but I think they give a reasonable impression of what the site is like.

I'm really looking forward to eventually getting back to the land, and also of course to dusting down my other blog......

Greenmantle Blah Blah......

Seems that I have been "tagged" again in one of these ubiquitous cyber-circulars. I find myself exhorted to reveal details of the man behind the blog..... As I said to Soilman, (for it were he who were the tagger). "What, talk about myself?... Oh well, only if I absolutely must! "

What was I doing 10 years ago
Probably the same thing that I am now. Sitting in the lounge in a bathrobe, drinking coffee, and inventing ever more elaborate justifications as to why it would be the sensible thing to do, to go back to bed..... Oh you mean in life, in general. Sorry.

I was just on the verge of leaving one job in London, as a manager in a large photographic darkroom, (pre-digital days) where I'd worked for about 10 years, for another closer to home in Kent, with a business publisher. They gave me a team of 7 people, and then told me they were being replaced with a sub-contractor, and I was supposed to manage the changeover. So I knew their fate before meeting them, and about six months before they did. Which was "interesting".

My To Do list for today / diary of what I actually did
Although it's only 7:20 am, it's fairly clear that I'm not going to be a Captain of Industry today.
There is a large pile of dishes, upbraiding me from the kitchen, and the hoover could probably do with an airing. After which I plan to go to the narrow boat museum at Stoke Bruerne, to see if there is anything much there to photograph. I start another proper job next week, so I'm making the most of my final days of freedom.

Snacks I enjoy
Not really a snack man to honest. Packet of plain crisps in the pub sometimes, or cheese and biscuits of an evening, if I'm still hungry again after dinner. Buffet pork pies - do they count as a snack?...Or toast? Actually that said, although I eat very little chocolate (for one so generously proportioned) I am working my way through a pack of Kit Kat dark, this week. But only because I can't resist a special offer on the Tesco website.

Things I would do if I were a Billionaire
1. Give West Ham the funds to buy back all their decent players.
2. Buy out Manchester United and immediately close them down.
3. Ditto Arsenal.
4. Fill a long wheel base Land Rover with tons of camera gear and disappear for years on end to remote parts of the world to pursue landscape photography......
5....And have the buffet pork pies flown in by private jet.

Three of my bad habits
1. Throwing food away that might be a teensy bit passed its eat-by date, in case it kills me.
2. Interrupting people mid-sentence if they are boring me.
3. Attempting witty banter with shopkeepers and bar staff. It never works. They hate it.

Five Places I have lived
1. A womb.
2. A cottage in a field just off the A26.
3. A farmhouse, on a farm, just off the the A26.
4. A flat in Tonbridge, at least a mile from the A26.
5. This cottage near Northampton. Actually quite close to the A45. (Is this what they mean by "upwardly mobile"?)

Five jobs I have had
1. Saturday Incompetent at Dixons. (1 year)
2. All and every kind of summer farm work (On and off )
3. Photographic Technician (13 years)
4. Publishing Mediocrity (7 years)
5. Lamb to the Slaughter, on the front desk of a youth advisory drop in centre (6 months)

Five people who write interesting blogs whom I shall now tag
(Usual disclaimers apply. If you've already done it, or can't be arsed, don't bother)

Frankie at Veg Cottage
Petunias Gardener across the pond
Matron, down on her allotment
Antipodes Girl, somewhere in France
Gnome, in wild and woolly Caledonia

Bigger, Faster, More!...................

Now things are a bit more secure on the job front, I went out yesterday and bought a few more bits for my container garden. I'd been holding off for a while until I knew whether I would be staying here much longer, but now I feel confident enough to put down some roots. (Sorry - bad pun.)

This strawberry planter was going for half price in the local garden centre, and with 9 plants cost less than £30. I'm not 100% convinced that this will be a very productive way of growing them, but I'm willing to test it. I have a range of varieties, which will hopefully spread the cropping season a bit: Cambridge Favourite x 3, Pegaus x 3, Florence x 2, Pandora x 1.

I also bought some plastic troughs to increase my tiny acreage a little. I was tempted to by nicer, bigger, wooden or terracotta versions, but the plastic ones have the advantage that even when fully grown, I can pick them up easily and move them around. A distinct benefit in a small space, particulary as the sunniest spot where they will produce best, is also where the barbecue has to go from time to time.

In two of them I have sown carrots, and some "cut 'n' come again" lettuce, the other two I planted with Dill, Parsley, Rosemary, Corriander and mint, which I bought in pots ready to go straight out.

The tomatoes will go in hanging baskets, from brackets on the large post you can see in the background. I went for the bog standard variety for baskets called "Tumbling Tom"...or, as my allotmenteering mate Steve Seagull called them " Those ones that always look good on the packet."

Indoors I have runner beans, Climbing beans, Spring onions, courgettes and tomatoes just germinating. Although it may turn colder again in May, I don't think there will be much chance of frost, so this lot can go out in a couple of weeks.

I could fit in some more tubs, but I'm clearly making a rod for my own back when it comes to watering in the summer. I know people like Lottie manage their allotments with little or no water at all, but containers, filled with multipurpose compost, will dry out very quickly. As I have to carry cans of water from the kitchen, through the lounge, and down the far end of the garden, there's probably a sensible limit to how much I want to be irrigating every other day.

The jury is still out however, on planting some charlotte potatoes in sacks. I know I can buy them in Tesco "as cheap as chips", but they would be interesting to grow, taste better, and fill up an untidy space by the pigsty (as once was).

It looks as though the grapevine is just about to burst into life again as well. Ideally I had intended to chop it back a lot harder over the winter, when it was dormant, so that we'll get better fruit this season. But the best time to do is late Jan - early Feb, before the sap starts rising, and I was in Devon then, so it will just have to wait until next year I guess.

You Can't Keep A Good Man Down........

As regular perusers of these pages will be aware, I have not been overly exerting myself on the work front of late…... where “of late”, ought perhaps to read “for more or less the last three years”.

This incorrigible state of laxity is set to come to and end very soon however, as shock of all shocks….. I have only gone and got a job!

On May 1st I will start work as an administrator for a company near here, who report on environmental issues for the construction industry.

An alarm clock and a lunch box need to be acquired, as do a couple of new suits and a shiny corporate smile.

This startling development is certainly not before time. The first (planned) year of ease and indolence was very nice, the second not sooooo bad, as I was focussed on the house move, and still had expectations of a swift return to work..... Even if my finances did disappear down the Swanee in the meanwhile.

These last eight months of niggling injury and frustratingly slow recovery though, have been tortuous, so I am mightily relieved to have finally turned a corner…... Knowing verbatim, the script of every single episode of “Homes Under The Hammer” and “To Buy Or Not To Buy” is no doubt a singular achievement, but compares poorly against having an income I find.

My new employers are based in a delightful rural setting, a mere 15 minutes drive away, and on a route that also has one other advantage ……

It passes an allotment site.

Hmmmmmm……………………

Oundle Bound.....

I went to Oundle yesterday, for a day out, to take some photographs, and to enjoy my improved mobility, both on foot and in the car.

Situated in the rather under-appreciated county of Cambridgeshire, between Northampton and Peterborough, this market town is one of the most pictureseque and architecturally pleasing in the region; if not the whole country.

Constructed almost entirely out of Oolitic Sandstone, the old part of the town has a wonderful, honey coloured facade, that despite weathering and traffic pollution still looks fantastic in any light.

Sadly however, like most places today, it is completely choked with traffic, and a forrest of ugly, unsympathetic road signs.

I managed to wander round for about an hour, taking a few shots as below, before holing in up in The Crown for "Ham, egg, & chips"....A rather late "breakfast of champions".

By the way, if you happen to be reading this from America, please believe me that everywhere in the UK is just like this..... There are buxom barmaids with foaming mugs of ale at every inn door, eldery spinsters on bicyles swerve to avoid retired army Colonels. Small boys playing at conkers run between fluffy white sheep that wander about in the lanes. Roses grow in the hedgerows twelve months of the year, it never rains, nobody ever swears, and everyone is on first name terms with Hugh Grant and the Queen!

Anyway, here are some pictures of Oundle......

The Money Pit.............

Things are currently going OK on the transport front you’ll be glad to know, but I am now starting to experience the expensive reality of being a car owner.

After motoring over to Daventry at the weekend, (I prefer describe it that way, as it conjures up images of flickery 1940’s “You Can Be Sure Of Shell” public information films) and over a couple of pints with my mate The Barbarian, he casually mentioned that given my car’s advanced dotage, I ought to think about changing the cam belt,….. whatever THAT is.

To be fair to him, he did query this with the dealer when we first went to look at it, but I was too busy thinking “Red, Shiny!, Red, Shiny!, Red, Shiny!” to pay much attention to it.

A quick e-mail to “Honest John”, the Daily Telegraph’s excellent motoring agony uncle, saw him reply overnight, advising me I should certainly get it changed. And moreover, also use the proper Ford “pulleys and tensioner”….Whatever THOSE are!

Now despite my self confessed engineering naivety, I still think it not unreasonable to assume that a modern 20th century Zetec engine, might have at its heart, something more advanced than a giant rubber band and some pulleys, but hey, I'm not an expert, and can only go on what I'm told.

I am further advised that whilst it might never happen, were the cam belt to actually fail, something mighty unpleasant of an “exploding spaghetti” like nature would happen in the engine, which would undoubtedly prove either expensive, terminal, or both.

So I suppose I should get it seen to, if only for the peace of mind.

All of which clearly demonstrates why the motorcar is often referred to as a “Money Pit”….. A vast black hole into which you regularly throw bundles of cash, never to see it again.

It also reminds me of another old saying, (which I quote here entirely tongue-in-cheek of course)……

…………“If it’s got tits or tyres it’s gonna be trouble.”

Yankee Doodle Dandy?..............

I'm trying a new variety of climbing bean this year, as on reflection, a whole wigwam full of traditional runner beans is too much for one person to endure.



I chose this one called "Kentucky Wonder Wax" soley because it looked good in the picture on the packet.

I'm quite shallow like that.

Perhaps Petunia's Gardener might have some experience or opinions on it?

'Anging's Too Good Fer 'Em.....

Well it had to happen....Last night some delightful individual tried to wrench the door mirror off my car. It's actually a quiet road, in a very "nice" part of the village that I park on, but nowhere is idiot free in the 21st century is it?

I knew that a new (as in different) car would attract attention sooner or later, so I can only conclude we are to assume two weeks is par for the course these days.

It was probably kids. Most of the low level car trouble round here is, and after all, a door mirror is not an item you can steal, or even have much fun with in the street....Just the "satisfaction" of knowing you caused someone else a problem.

I can get another one for £25 quid, so it's not a great loss, just a sigh provoking annoyance.

I blame the parents myself.......Not all parents obviously..... Just specifically those off whichever malcontent was responsible.

They should have had the good manners to have had a headache instead of a hankering, the night they conceived the little scrote.

A Fly In The Ointment...............

I’ll admit that I like to keep my home nice and warm, and have had the heating turned up again during this recent cold snap, but I hadn’t realised quite how hot it must be until a small mosquito landed on my arm in the lounge yesterday….

No hang on minute,…. it’s not a mosquito, it’s a fruit fly…..No, it’s not a fruit fly,…… it’s a sciarid fly .......Bugger!

The sciarid ( or "sciara") fly looks just like a fruit fly, to all but its own ilk presumably, but is an indoor garden pest. There are several different variations in the sciarid family, and they are often generally referred to as fungus gnats. The above picture makes them look quite scary, but in fact they are very small and midgey. Basically they love warm ,wet soil or compost, where the adults emerge from, and return to, to lay their eggs. These then hatch into tiny, tiny larvae, which feed on the roots and soft parts of seedlings.

A serious outbreak in a greenhouse can decimate tender plants, and it’s a particular nemesis of cacti fanciers apparently. Even a modest infestation can weaken a tray of veg seedlings and transfer the viruses that lead to “damping off”.

A quick inspection of the pots on my window sill unmistakably confirmed where the trouble was, and how I had contracted it.

A week ago I planted some climbing beans, courgette seeds, and spring onions in modules, and had brought them indoors to germinate. Not wanting to waste anything, and trying to be environmentally friendly, I had used up the remains of last year’s potting compost, from a bag in the shed…..Big mistake. ….Always use fresh, unopened compost each year, unless you are going to heat sterilise it first.

The flies had holed up in it over the winter, been smuggled indoors, and had suddenly sprung to life in my sub-tropical kitchen.

There are a couple of things you can do to try and control the problem, if confined to a small area or number of pots.

Firstly, remove any obviously contaminated containers and isolate them in another room where the flies can’t emigrate to other plants. I put the beans and courgettes in the bathroom, and shut the door on them, as they are now sprouting, and I don’t really want to chuck them out. The onions that had not yet germinated all got the heave-ho I’m afraid. I’ll have to start them again later.

Secondly I put down a saucer of cider vinegar in the window, which supposedly lures the adult flies to an appley death…. After going out for the morning however, I returned to find, not the fly encrusted bowl of doom I had hoped for, but merely a house that stinks of vinegar.

I have now replaced it with a saucer of red wine, which whilst being a criminal waste, is at least not offensive to live with, and is supposed to have the same effect.

Now I have to wait a few days for existing adults to die off, before starting my seedlings again in new compost.

The only other problem is that they may have already laid eggs in the soil of rubber plant in the lounge. This is unlikely to hurt the rubber plant, as it is the toughest specimen in the world. (Purely on the basis that I have had it for over 25 years and have not killed it yet.) They could re-emerge to re-infect new pots coming in though, so I’ll have to keep an eye in it.

As they need moisture to survive, I’ll let the plant dry right out (No change there then) before watering it again, and put a layer of sand on the top of all the pots, as this dries faster than compost, and acts a deterrent barrier.

If all of this doesn’t work, I’ll just spray them……. Attempting to be eco-conscious got me into this, so chemicals can get me out!

Not Waving But Drowning............

I've been thinking a bit about genetics today, albeit in a very loose, sofa based, ceiling gazing fashion.

Take me and my sister for example..... Although a tadge bit younger than me, but she too only became a motorist relatively recently.(I stuck it out for 40 years before grasping the greasy gearstick of freedom, but then I always was more stubborn. Or maybe just more backward.)

Of itself, only a small coincidence I grant, but then there is also the business of hand signals to consider as well.

Lil' Sis is qualified in British Sign Language, or "Tic-Tac for deaf people" as I may have occasionally referred to it... In fact she's 2IC in a school for the deaf, very dedicated, a credit to our parents, and really knows her stuff.

I on the other hand only know that the international sign for "England" is the same as the sign for "Chips", and how to say "F**k off you W****r" in BSL.

(I'm a comparative novice then compared to this rather rude lady)
***Caution: Parental Guidance!***

Although these scant gesticular skills may not be of much practical use, nor very likely to endear me to the deaf community, I'm beginning to think there must be something in the genes, as in the space of a week I have become fluent in "Apologetic Driver".

Only this morning I was able, simply by waving a regal hand in the rear-view mirror, to convey all the following meanings....

1. Sorry I pulled out in front of you. I honestly thought it was my turn.

2. Sorry I stalled in front of you. It was the clutch who did it. I hardly touched
it.

3. Was that a mini-roundabout? It looked a lot like a crossroads.

4. Yes I am new to this Mr.Speedfreak, that's why I slow down for bends. And slight curves.

5. Actually I've no idea why you just honked me there. No... Let's not stop and discuss it in that tone. Let's just let bygones be bygones.

6. Hello pretty girl on a horse. Those jodhpurs do wonders for you! I just nearly crashed!!


........Just call me the McCririck of motoring.

April Falls Day.......?

Spring is here !!!

De Fence Against De Felines.....

Grrrrrrrr......!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

My efforts of yesterday seem only to have encouraged the Phantom Feline Defecator to further atrocities.....

Totally scorning my strategically angled sticks and generous dousing of cat repellent, it has raked over my seed bed in the night, and left all the soil in a mound in the middle.......But only in the one tub I had actually planted. It completely ignored the other two!

Knowing that when I went to salvage things I would sooner or later find the steaming booby prize in the bran tub of life, this was not the type of "find the lady" which I very much care to play.

So......As you can see, I have stepped up my countermeasures, and erected a fence around the tubs. I have also put down a much stronger smelling, granular chemical repellent into the bargain.....We shall see if this does the trick or not.

I was going to call this post "Escape from Catditz"......but I want to keep the little sods out, not in!

Mediterranean Stick Garden......

All weekend I've been reading posts from my friends in the allotmenteering fraternity, about how miserable the weather has been, and how they struggled to get anything done. So I am feeling rather smug that I eschewed gardening on the Sabbath, and went to the pub instead.

Today however saw a lovely Spring like morning in these parts...... The sort of day that makes you glad to be unemployed!...... And able to garden to your own timetable, rather than the one dictated by Mammon.

First (and last) of all I needed to tackle the tubs in my tiny plot, left empty all winter while I was away.

A mere 15 mins work resulted in this magnificent crop of sticks......!

OK, so I cheated, and planted fully grown sticks, in order to try and stop the all cats in the neighbourhood from using my veg patch AS A FUCKING LAVATORY!

After I had shovelled off and replaced the top ten inches of previously contaminated soil, I did also interplant the sticks with radishes, carrots and two varieties of lettuce.

I've decided, for this year at least, to accept that this mini-culture is not, and never actually will be, an allotment. And therefore, not to try and raise loads of stuff that doesn't really suit tub growing.

I plan instead to settle for salad crops, some runner beans, and maybe a few tomatoes in hanging baskets.... And perhaps a strawberry barrel......But in truth I suspect it all depends on how many seed catalogues I read.

I can't take on anything more at present, until I'm properly agile enough in the leg department to do the digging and grovelling an allotment requires; so this year will be an exercise in patience as much as anything else.

After I had sown the seeds though, the clouds parted, and turned my little corner into a veritable Mediterranean sun trap!

So there was only one thing for it.........

Life In The Very Slow Lane.........

I’ve been out on a few practice runs in the car, trying to acclimatise myself to solo driving. So far I’m happy to report that I’ve not hit anything, but have managed to reduce my personal stress quotient from Level 1 (white knuckled, jaw clenching terror) down to Level 2 (deeply concentrated anxiety.)…. So that’s something I suppose.

Today I filled up with petrol. A completely unremarkable, everyday (“quotidian” even) thing to all you experienced motorists, but another first for me. Walking into the shop afterwards to pay, and casually saying “Number 6 please”, was one of those little events that make you feel strangely grown up and sensible. No matter how old you already are. I was suddenly so full of manly confidence I could even have asked the woman for condoms! .....Had I needed any of course.

Things I have learned about driving so far…..

1) Aren’t the roads nice and quiet at 6:00am. If only they were like this all the time!

2) I am already beginning so develop “Motorists Gripe”. A syndrome that causes suffers to mutter darkly under their breath about speed humps and so called “safety cameras”.

3) I am rubbish at parking…. No, really Rubbish.

In my defence though, the clutch on this car is very different to the one I learnt in, and the engine, although small, seems much revvy-er (is that a word?). And it helps not a bit of course, that my house is on the apex of a sharp bend, on a steep hill, where everyone parks nose to tail in the street. My close quarters manoeuvring is not anywhere near smooth yet, and nestling neatly up to the kerb, in a tight space, without all manner of unseemly shunting and swearing, is completely beyond me.

Yesterday, as I made my final approach checks, I spotted my neighbour coming out of his house, so I’m ashamed to say I that drove to the end of the road, and went to the shop, buying a paper and a can of coke I didn’t need, in the hopes that he was going out, and would create a bigger gap in which I could safely abandon it. Fortunately he was, he did, and I could.

After I got indoors I gave myself a stern lecture of course, as this is clearly a ridiculous way to carry on. .........

Next time I’ll just get the paper.

Winter Weather.....

Once I could venture out and about it was not long before I was pestering to be driven to places of scenic interest, so I could photograph out of a car window instead.

All parents are vunerable to "pester power". The fact that mine are retired does not make the slightest difference.

Watch The Birdy.......

As someone with a serious camera habit, I had to find things to photograph whilst I was away.

During the period of time I was confined to the house, this meant hours and hours of "wildlife photography", otherwise described as trying to snap birds through the conservatory windows.

I will only subject you to a few of the more succesful efforts.

Costa Del Devon....

They certainly do have some serious sunsets down in the West Country. These were laid on for me by my parents last November.

Reminds me more of The Serengeti than the South Hams.

"2, 4, 6, 8, Motorway" ?

Bit of a busy week by my recent standards.

I finally arrived home in Northants last weekend, and immediately did what any enlightened 21st century man would do after a period of painful separation.... Spent 2 days of quality time with my widescreen telly, revelling in all the hot & cold running sport, playing my cd's, and gazing with a fondly tearful eye at my quietly glowing computer screen...... Who says love cannot endure.

Eventually I managed to force myself to deal with tons of post for previous residents, call the landlord about the poxy, temperamental boiler (which I do not love in the slightest) and generally catch up with all the stuff you have to do to keep life ticking over.

My patch of garden doesn't look to have fared to badly over the winter, and is remarkably weed free. Unfortunately it is not free of unwanted fertilizer, as it seems that in my absence one of the local felines has reappointed my three planting tubs as one vast "cat-lav". An unpleasant task awaits, when I am fit enough to grovel about on hands and knees again.

Speaking of knees, mine have had a pretty easy time of it lately, what with no stairs to climb, and very little walking to do. So now that the Achilles & ankle situation seems to be improving, and I am pushing myself to do a bit more, they have adopted a most unhelpful attitude, and are reluctant to bend down or scale stairs. The peculiarities of the human body never cease to amaze and vex me.

Good job I bought a car today then!.......Just in case you are someone who knows me in the real world, (and I know a few who do actually read this drivel) I'll repeat that so it sinks in....

Yup....HE BOUGHT A CAR!........Cue panic and despair, insurance industry hikes, and probable threat to house prices. But only if you read the Daily Mail.

I am possibly the worlds most untalented and unwilling motorist, and have avoided car ownership all my adult life. But needs must when the Devil drives....and believe me you'd be far better off taking a lift from him than chancing your luck with me.

It was made several years ago by some disgruntled artisans from Dagenham, and is as red as a Shop Steward's manifesto. It appears to have been cosseted and well treated by the old codger who owned it before though, so it should in fact feel right at home with me. (No, I will not be naming it. That's so a girl thing.)

The one plus point that I can see in being a driver, is that it gives me an excuse to buy more technology......... Who needs friends when you can have Sat-Nav!

Halfway Home.......

My sojourn in Devon is over. A quick four hour dash up the M3 on Saturday, has seen me both halfway home geographically, and "back home" figuratively, as I am in Tonbridge again.

I'm just loitering here for a week, staying with friends, whilst attempting to buy a car. As I have a) Never owned a vehicle before, much less bought one. b) Am on a budget. c) Am a complete mechanical fuckwit; it seems a much better bet to do this here, where I can call on the sage opinions of the "the boys in the pub", rather than try to avoid getting ripped off in Northampton.

After some serious research I have decided it needs to be a reliable runner, big enough for my legs to fit under the steering wheel, and prefferably not a putrid colour. Beyond these exacting criteria I am open to anything the the Honest Johns of the region have to offer.

Next week, when I am finally back at Quotidian Towers, with my own computer and all my funky sofware I'll have a mountian of Devonian wildlife pictures to upload. Meanwhile I am getting to grips with my host's laptop. This is proving a frustrating exercise, as despite being a tip-top, modern machine, the keyboard layout has my sausage fingers completely foxed. Give me a big clunky desktop any day. I keep accidentally turnING THE CAPSLOCK ON , AND REPOSitioning the cursor all over the shop. This post has taken me nearly an hour to type so far, and it's not even very funny.

Probably a good cue to stop wAFFLING, and start reading Autotrader.

Some Random Thoughts Upon Crutches......

1 . Spending any length of time on crutches provides an interesting insight into the British psyche. People whom you have never met before, in shops or pubs say, will leap aside with alacrity, beaming and gesturing to let you pass. It is as if being seen to do the right thing is almost as important as the actual doing of it. We are still, above all, a terribly “polite” nation it appears. There are clearly rules nonetheless. Attempt to enter a busy bar on crutches, and people will fall over themselves to open doors, or give up their seat for you. The latter though only AFTER you have got your drink. The average pub-goer will allow you part the Red Sea like Moses, but only as far as the bar. Thereafter you must expect to stand awkwardly on one leg, for any amount of time, whilst everyone who was waiting before you is served…… We British love to help the inconvenienced, but will not under any circumstances countenance someone “pushing in”!

2. There is no verb I can think of that adequately describes the forward motion of someone on crutches. Both “hopping” and “swinging” are not quite right, and the English language has not yet seen fit to recognise “crutching” as proper word. I’m currently favouring “ propelling” as a description of how I launch myself along, but only in the sense of imparting movement. To be propelling in any spiral context of course, might suggest that you have one crutch shorter than the other.

3. It’s marvellous what uses you can put crutches to apart from walking with them. The dedicated invalid will soon learn to turn lights on and off, open and close curtains, load video tapes, close doors, operate pedal bins, and indeed carry out any number of other acrobatic manoeuvres. After a little practice they are especially good for picking things up with, rather like an oversized and stylistically challenged pair of chopsticks. I struggle to pick up rice with proper chopsticks, but I can pick up a banana with my crutches no problem.

I have also fantasised that they would be ideal for tripping up escaping burglars, or fleeing bank robbers. Sadly though, the opportunity has not yet presented itself.

4. A quick googling shows that there is apparently great debate in theological circles about people sometimes using religion as a crutch. Not being of a particularly spiritual inclination myself, I am unclear on the efficacy of this idea. Being tall and of hefty build however, (and no doubt heavy with the weight of sin) I prefer to put my trust in reinforced aluminium at present, rather than a wing and a prayer.

Despatches from Devon...............

Just a very quick update from a suddenly cold and windy town somewhere in Devon, and a thank you for all the "get well" messages and emails.

Well I had my surgery, and all seems to be OK. Afterwards I was offered any colour of cast that I liked, so with season of social torture and crap TV fast approaching I naturally chose black. It suited my mood at this time of year, and looks very stylish.... In invalid terms that it is.

The leg is progressing fine though, it's just my sanity that is suffering due to being very limited in where I can go and what I can manage to do.... I never thought before now that I would ever tire of a life comprising lots of intensive sitting down, interspersed with bouts of frantic snoozing; but relaxation turns out not all it's cracked up to be.

It also transpires that I am a liability on crutches , and have, in Hollywood parlance, "been doing my own stunts". Hopefully however, I can get the plaster cast off at the end of his month, and start on some physio. Possibly I may get home to Quotidian Towers sometime in March.

Have to hop off now as my library-based Internet session is about to "time out"

Entering Hibernation.......

As of next week, posts to this blog will cease for a while, as I will not have internet access very often.

Unfortunately, my tiresome achilles tendon gave up the ghost completely last week and landed me in A&E for the evening. A trip through the MRI Scanner (which for anyone who has not seen one, is much the same as a going through the Stargate, but without any aliens) reveals I have 2.5cm gap where it should be connected to my ankle......Baaaad tendon!

The highlight of the evening was when the doctor asked me if I heard anything untoward as it snapped. This apparently helps them assess the exent of the damage.

"Afraid I couldn't hear anything over the screaming and swearing" I quipped.

The upshot is that I have to have an operation to repair it, followed by 8 weeks in plaster and several more of physio. This brings into play an "achilles heel" of another kind. One related to my cottage, which has two flights of narrow and very steep, twisting stairs. Not something I could ever manage on crutches.

Hence, until sometime in January probably, I shall be staying with my folks in their nice, level, totally stairless bungalow in Devon..... Far, far, away from t'internet.

Apparently, once I am hopping about again, I can log on at the library in the nearest town, (Oooooh the bright lights!) so I shall still be able to sniff the ether occasionally I expect.

Quotidian then, will in fact just be hibernating....

Cheers all.

GM

Fire And Brimstone.....(ii)

Fire And Brimstone.....(i)

Mobility, or rather, the lack of it, is still a bit of a problem at the moment. Accordingly I havn't been getting up to much of blogworthy note lately. I have however been champing at the bit, and bucking in the traces, to get out with the camera while there is still a bit of Autum colour left. So taking advantage of a modest improvement following my weekly physio session, I hauled myself off to Abington Park in Northampton, where I could wander around slowly on soft ground, and do something more creative than the Telegraph crossword for a change.

As city parks go it's a rather good one, with an excellent bistro style cafe, where swearing photographers can flop down for a rest. And a cappucino.

I've split my attempts at autumnal artisty into two posts, otherwise the sellotape and ticky-tack that holds Blogger together will burst apart at the seams no doubt.... How I wish those clever chaps at Google would please sort the fucking thing out!

(Click to enlarge - If it lets you that is.)

Night Vision......

The evenings may be drawing in, but at least my tub garden is yielding some useful little chantenay carrots, to enable me to see in the dark of course.

Although small, this variety have a distinctly sweet flavour, and are ideal for cooking as "Vichy Carrots".

This just basically involves par boiling the sliced carrots in mineral water for about 5 mins (originally Vichy water hence the name, but you can use any sparkling water, or indeed still bottled water with a pinch of bicarb) then transferring them to a pan with some melted butter a teaspoon of sugar, and some salt and pepper, and simmering them until they are soft and the liquid has reduced to a glaze.

Or, you can just bung everything in the one pan with the water, (but not too much of it) and boil it all down in one go. Either way, they are usually served garnished with a little finely chopped parsley.

It's by far the best way to eat carrots, and allegedly even kids like them, though thankfully I am in no postion to check.

Macro-a-go-go......

Nothing of any great event to report in the last few days - Just some physio, a spot of light job hunting, and a lot of armchair sport's viewing.

During the one sunny day this week (whichever it was) I did muster the enthusiasm to go as far as the back yard and take a few close up, macro photos of autumnal type stuff.

I'm guessing this is Belladonna or the "Deadly Nightshade". I can't tell for sure until the berries mature. There's certainly masses of it growing all along the wall between our path and nextdoor's garden. Good job no one has any kids!

CORRECTION: OK.....10 points for everyone who has been sniggering over my ignorance above!
Having just seen some Belladonna on "Ray Mears Does Blokey Stuff In The Woods" it's clearly not that plant. ( Which has bigger purple flowers.) Turns out, from a bit of intensive googling that it is Solanum Jasminoides or the "Potato Vine"...nonetheless it is still a part of the Solanum or nightshade famlily...so I wasn't as far out as I could have been. (man)


This chap is a Common Hoverfly.

Although there are several species that come under that general name, with very subtle distinctions in terms of geographical area and habits, the one thing that they have in common, is that they are all indeed, really frightfully common.








And despite looking like the skin of a some exotic reptile, this is actually a macro image of a grapevine leaf.

OK, so I boosted the colour of this one a bit in Photoshop.... So shoot me!.. I'm a photographer not a bloody botanist!





This however is definitely the slightly less
lethal cousin to the killer at the top of this post, the "Woody Nightshade" or "Bittersweet".

Not that I'd let that persuade me to try it though.











And this is a Cyclamen about which I know nothing.

It grows in a pot....In my yard.

......Did I mention I'm not a botanist?

This Week I Have Been Mostly..............

1. Eating things I should not.
I blame internet shopping for the kind of pointless, calorie laden, impulse purchases that arrived with my Tesco delivery the other day. (Look, Waitrose didn’t have a slot available and I was down to the last tin of foie gras Ok! I’m not proud.) They tempt you with all the special offers in one place, and I always feel somehow inadequate if I don’t take advantage of a good “2 for 1” deal. To wit, two bars of Lindt Exellence dark chocolate with bitter orange & almonds. I don’t normally eat much chocolate, but if this is what “getting touch in with your feminine side” is all about, on the basis of this delicious stuff I’m going to have to be very careful.

Fortunately Tesco inadvertently restored my ying yang balance by including a product I did not order, a pack of instant microwave “flamer” burgers, complete with ersatz buns. As frighteningly lazy a manfood as society has ever invented. Normally I pour foul scorn on folk who live of this sort of stuff, but knowing I was a mere 55 seconds away from an illicit chemical infusion, and in the privacy of my own kitchen, I confess I ate them out of morbid curiosity. They were particularly bland….But I’d be interested to know what the person who presumably really wanted them made of my missing Lincolnshire Plum Fruit Loaf.

2. Waiting for things to be delivered.
Namely food, as above, but also my new phone upgrade, which I secured after a bit of premier league haggling with Carphone Warehouse. For some reason a lot of stuff off ‘tinternet round here gets delivered by City Link, who's vechicles have a pleasingly visible yellow and green livery. It catches your eye out of the lounge window, and makes you anticipate all the technological purchases that might be about to knock on your door. The trouble is, this can get a bit out of hand. I now seem to have a Pavlovian twitching reflex whenever any kind of delivery van goes past the cottage.

3. Playing with my new phone.
It has tons of complicated features that I neither understand or need, like WirelessLan, GPS Mapping and Visual Radio. So much so in fact that I am a little frightened to call anyone for fear of accidentally re-routing a satellite or two. However it is shiny, and very flash, and I got it for free, so naturally I love it very much.

4. Reading other people blogs.
Dipping a toe into the wider world of blogging, beyond the regular output of my Allotmenteering chums, I can recommend the scribes behind Little Red Boat, JohnnyB’s Private Secret Diary and The World of Jill Twiss as very funny folk, and well worth the effort to RSS tag them. Not so much bloggers as humorists, and most deserving of the oxygen of publicity that sadly they will not get by me mentioning them here. Visitor numbers at Quotidian are very low at the moment.... Presumably as a result of me being more of a blogger than a humorist.

5. Getting one over on authority.
After 6 months of threatening to take me to court for money I never owed them, the local council where I used to live, have finally checked their sums, and are sending me a big fat refund instead!

……So reaching for a bottle of BOGOF lager I say “Cheers All.”

Eastern Promise.........

My first pak choi are ready, and these are two are destined for the the wok.

I have been puzzling over which little crittur has been munching small round holes in the outer leaves.

I was pretty sure that it wasn't slugs, as I have been inspecting them daily, and haven't seen many.



Also, I have used enough slug bait to fell : a) a whole lotta slugs, and b) an Ox.

When I cut these for cooking however, I found in the centre of each one a tiny, viridian green caterpillar.

They were easily removed without any damage to the hearts though; and anyway, as my old Grandad would say, "Them as eat's most pak choi eats most caterpillars"......Except it was probably cabbage.... I doubt he had ever heard of pak choi.

Salad Days?.....

The gro-bag raised radishes are still going strong.

No prize winners these, but a useful crop for all that, and a touch of unseasonal flavour in chilly Autumn.

In Hot Water......

First of all, my apologies for the slightly unsavoury nature of today’s photo, but it does illustrate a point….

….What do you do in front of the television?

Normally I put my feet on the coffee table, eat stuff, and shout at the vast number of incompetent referees, sportsmen, and politicians there are in the world.

At the moment however I am being encouraged to sit, up to my shins, in tubs of water.

To cut a rather long and boring story short, I’ve been having problems with my feet & ankles for a couple of months, and have been very restricted in terms of walking or getting about. Fortunately I seem to be over the worst of it now, but prolonged hobbling has left me with muscle strains in one foot, and chronic tendonitis in the other.

As part of the physio to get me going again I have to plunge my feet into cold water for about 15-20 seconds, and then into hot. (Both as hot and cold as you can bear.) You’re supposed to do this for about 10 minutes, twice a day.

The idea is that the cold water quickly constricts the blood vessels, and the hot then expands them again. By repeatedly doing this you create a “flushing” action that increases blood flow to designated area, and which is vital to the healing process for soft tissue injuries. It is also more effective than icing alone for stubborn problems.

Although the cold bit initially prompts a loud “Hooo Haaaa” moment, you very soon get used to it, and your feet really begin to tingle.

The point of this post is that as a instant painkiller of sprains and strains etc, it seems nothing short of miraculous....I’ve certainly never come across a prescription drug that even comes close. And the beneficial effects seem to last quite a few hours. So together with some normal ultrasound physio, I expect to be back to my rambling best soon.

I hope that having to look at my foot has not put anyone off trying this in future, should the need arise, as I can strongly recommend it.

Oh, and by the way, I am not really a dark hairy, gorilla-like man/beast/thing…..flash photography just makes it look that way, OK.

Crap Day Rant............

"Did you ever...
Did you ever have...
Did you ever have one...
Did you ever have one of those days boys,
Did you ever have one of those days,
Where nothing goes right from morning til night,
Did you ever have one of those days!"

So sung Elvis... And although we cannot know for sure if this was really a premonition of his demise, by "leaving the building" so to speak, during a hamburger related overdose while enthroned on the khazi, I like to think it was.... I certainly imagine he'd had better day's anyway.

He may of course still be singing it now in Tupelo or Tadcaster or Tel Aviv, depending on which conspiracy theory you subscribe to, but leaving the be-whiskered, jump-suited monarch aside for a moment, I had a frustrating day myself yesterday, although thankfully without any terminal, lavatorial mishaps.

Firstly a photographic gadget I'd ordered off 'tinternet arrived, but was the wrong thing. After I packed it up to go back, wandered the whole 50yds to the letter box to wave it off, and sauntered back, I saw one small but crucial component, still lying on the coffee table. I've now returned this as well, suitably cross referenced, but I can still sense a whole campaign of e-mail warfare ahead, in order to sort out my postal incompetence, and my refund.

I then spent the best part of an hour trying to get through on the phone to a real person in a public utility, which as anyone in the UK knows, is so fiendishly difficult it's in the running to be a demonstration event at the Beijing Olympics. Mission partially accomplished, (Real person: Yes - Competent & Informed: Fuck no!) I noticed I had not received an eagerly expected e-mail from about a bloke about job I'm chasing. Having phoned him, I found he'd just left to go on a trip..... About an hour ago, whilst I was pressing button 4 for the "If you have lost the will to live" option.

Realising that the Gods of progress we sneering at me, I decided to opt out for the afternoon and go to the cinema instead, to see "3:10 to Yuma". Not something I do more than once a year really, as I'm fussy about films, but I do like a good formulaic Western so it seemed a reasonable idea.

I got into town early, and found a pub to hole up for half an hour. Not really caring for their draught beers I ordered a bottle of Becks, found a seat, took a swig and discovered that it had nothing inside it except water.(At least I hope to God it was water.) This prompted a rather tense stand off with the barman who clearly suspected foul play on my part, and forced me to do the terribly un-British thing of "making a fuss". Happily though the replacement bottle he eventually offered was just the same, so we fell to mutually castigating the Germans for the shocking decline of their once proud brewing industry.

On then heading for the Cinema, I found someone had moved it. At least it was not where the online map, which being new to the town, I had optimistically consulted, said it could commonly be found. I finally located it after 15 minutes of tramping around, looking down side streets and whistling for it like a lost dog, which served only to aggravate my injured ankle.

Now is it just me, or is the lighting in movie house foyers really poor these days? And aren't those directional signs often very misleading?....

OK so it's me....I hurried into the wrong cinema, mistaking the cryptically signed theatre number 2, for number 3.

Although the film was later starting than I expected, as I said, I don't go often, so I was not sure how much promotional crap they allow for in the timings these days. I was quite surprised therefore to find I was not about to watch the tough, gritty, post Iraq examination of the American Cowboy legacy that I had anticipated, but instead, a supposed comedy about American teenagers, behaving like complete wankers, whilst talking about...well... mostly wanking really.... And High school high jinx, chasing girls, porn channels, and more wanking.

I admit this may be a slightly biased review of "Superbad", but I did leave after 20 minutes, so perhaps it turned out to be very poignant and Ibsenesque in the second hour. Other people seemed to be enjoying it, but I felt it lacked pathos. Or a plot. Or any really pissed off Indians.

Today, as a more cautious alternative to braving the outside world, I am staying in, and am considering re-wiring the house. I know nothing about electronics, but hey...It could be my lucky day!

Now what would The King sing for that?....... "All Shook Up!" perhaps.

Nothing To Whine About..... **

The grapes are ripe 'n' ready, and if you choose the best ones they are delicious...but very small.

This photo shows a couple of the best bunches, so as you can see they are not really going to win any bacchanalian prizes. There are however, dozens & dozens of them like this.

A quick five minute "google" discouraged me from any notions of laying down a few bottles of Chateau Greenmantle however, as it seems you need around 18lbs of grapes to make one batch of wine, resulting in around 4 bottles worth....On this basis I might just about manage a pint. (** Aplogies then, for the terrible titular pun ...)

So other than the few handfuls which I shall pick at with some cheese and biscuits, most of them will just get left for the birds and insects.

The big question is, what if anything, can I do to get bigger, better bunches next year. I'm sure the answer in part lies with pruning. The vine is huge, and very overgrown, and even rambles up a large tree. Surely if it was pruned back to a more sensible size, more of the effort would go into producing fruit, instead of canopy.

Also, I know that for decent size fruit you have to thin out the individual bunches as they develop, with special curved grape scissors. (Or plain old nail scissors.) It was not really worth the bother this year as they were all buried so deep in the foliage.

Thirdly there is of course the issue of what variety of vine it is. Maybe it just doesn't do big grapes.

Looking at my 19th century copy of Beeton's New Dictionary of Everyday Gardening, (which I have just liberated from within 40 boxes of unpacked books) I see that it has extensive and very detailed advice on "the management of vines" with near two whole pages devoted to pruning. This seems to start in early February, and continue at intervals throughout the year. The trouble is, it talks about "last year's laterals" and "newly emergent buds" and clearly assumes your vine is already in a reasonable state of cultivation. A sort of ongoing maintenance scheme. It's also a bit vague about the difference between outdoor and glasshouse schedules.

There is certainly no advice on how to tackle a great rambling, unpruned mass, that hasn't been touched for years.....So I believe I shall have seek advice from the professionals, and contact the RHS or a horticultural college of some sort.

It would be nice to try and reclaim and reinvigorate this vine, but I am a little nervous of doing so as it's not actually mine, I'm only renting the place after all; and I also share it with a neighbour as it forms the boundary between our garden areas. Consultation would clearly be required.

A plan in development then. More news later if it ripens...........

Answers on a postcard.....

My tub grown Pak Choi are doing very well, and look like they will be ready (all at once of course) in a couple of weeks. I suppose they are primarily an accompaniment to oriental dishes, but I've never cooked them before.

I have a vague image of them wilted or steamed, and sprinkled with sesame seeds or some such.....but that's about as far as my inspiration goes. I'm not really even sure what I might serve them with - fish or chicken I guess.

So, please deluge me in recipe suggestions that feature Pak Choi guys.....and I'll let you know which ones were best, or more probably, which ones I managed to mess up the least.

On yer bike!............

It's a longish while since I did any serious cycling, and although I used to clock up a few miles in my halcyon days of youth, the intervening years, and mysterious, superfluous poundage have rendered it a much more taxing activity, as I have just been discovering.

One of the first things I did after I moved, was to buy a bike. A hybrid cross between an out-and-out mountain bike, and a commuter street bike. Actually it's quite a good one, and pretty cheap too, due to the time I spent scouring the internet for a bargain.... But it's not any easier to ride up hill for all that.

I have been a bit limited on the mobility front of late, due to some pathetic ankle and hip related hobbling, but medical science seems to have finally decided what's up, and has started to get me going again. I still can't do much walking though, so have been feeling a bit like a caged tiger, and turned to the push bike as an alternative way of getting about, as it's easier on the ankles.

Hence today I was whizzing (on the flat bits at least) round some of the local Northamptonshire country lanes, just generally exploring, admiring the wonderful stone villages, and looking out for good country pubs (Yes...sorry Doc, I know that's NOT part of the the rehab, but sod it.)

The countryside here is glorious, in a sort of big sky, rolling fields, open vistas kind of way. Even on a very dull, blustery day like today it was most uplifting to be out on the back lanes, with very little traffic, and nothing much to rush for.

Sadly the weather was not conducive to photography, so the above pic is all I bothered with. It is of Church Lane at Mears Ashby, which is a beautiful village, but one that alas, barring the lottery (which I don't do anyway) I am unlikely to ever be able to afford to live in. This is of course symptomatic of the problem with rural housing all over this country though. Anything better than a cowshed is out of the financial reach of younger locals. As well as modest-meaned incomers like me.

Anyhap, it's still pretty to look at.......and I am happy to report that it does have a very nice pub.

"Eeee, It's Grand!" ........

This fixation of mine with watery landscapes seems to be growing. I had another 5 mile walk yesterday, not along the Nene this time, but along the towpath the Grand Union Canal, which is linked to the Nene, and also flows thought the town.

After you get away from the built up industrial sections, which now now of course all seem to be converted into trendy canalside apartments as below, it's really very peaceful.

There were a few barges passing now and then, but given the number of locks on this stretch - 13 in one half mile "flight" alone - I'm not sure it's the most relaxing mode of travel after all.

I was a bit disconcerted at one point to find the powers that be, builiding another huge elevated ring road over a particularly pleasant spot, but then the canals were never meant to be this rustic in the first place. They were after all, the motorways of their day, so I suppose there is some precedent for tearing up the land hereabouts.






These ponies seemed completely oblivious to passers by, and would not acknowledge dogs, people or boats.


Mind you, I have also been known to be a bit single minded whilst eating.

River Envy.....

Any followers of Frankie and Spouse's rustic idyll at Veg Cottage, will now be familiar with the River Lugg.

It must be nice mused I, to live so close to a river like that... until like the doofus I am, I realised that I do! ....Well maybe it's a mile or more away, but it's within easy cycling range, and has good footpath access.

The River Nene rises at Badby just on the other side of Northampton to me, and flows for 91 miles though Northamptonshire, Cambridgeshire, and Lincolnshire, and then becomes tidal as it joins The Fens, and runs into the sea after Wisbech.

The countryside it passes is mostly farmland, with low rolling hills, and stone villages, but there are a town or two en route as well. Hence the old nickname for this area as "the country of spires and squires".

I suspect these may be the first of many pics to come of the Nene Valley, shown here, at it's closest point to me, near Weston Mill.

And also, (so as not to be outdone by anyone else), a gratuitous blackberry photo.

Tiny Gardener............

Nope, not an Elton John B-side....nor a reflection on my dieting prowess.

Just an update on the "mini-culture" going on in my tiny garden.

Pak Choi, rocket, cut 'n' come again lettuce, and radishes are all in the grow bags. And there are iceberg lettuce, baby beetroots, spring onions (very spindly), carrots, (very patchy) and a single, valiant, but extremely over optimistic Romano tomato plant, in the tubs.

This cold wet weather recently has stopped everything in its tracks, so thank god for a bit of sunshine this weekend.

Also to hopefully benefit from the sun will be the grapes.

The vine round the fence is huge, and covered in hundreds of bunches of very small grapes, all about the size of a fingernail. They are staring to turn in colour, but I have my doubts that they will swell very much now.

Guess I'll just have to use them for making wine then.........er.........Damn!

Is this Senility?.....

I had a birthday yesterday...... One that ends in an "0".

Thing is, I didn't realise until nearly lunchtime.

It's true I was up at 4:30am to go to the Northampton Balloon Festival, in time to catch the morning take off at 6:00am, but this is a poor excuse. After taking some photographs, I returned home, had a cup of coffee, put the telly on, and after a while, noticed some unopened cards I'd propped up on the mantelpiece a couple of days before. "Cripes" thought I, "Better open them I suppose."

I've always been very anti birthdays, try not to let on at work, and never celebrate much....But I've never actually forgotten about it before.

Is this the beginning of old aged enfeeblement I wonder?.....................

Church & State....

The BBC in Norwich is housed in the Millennium Forum, another striking glass and steel structure, that also works quite well as a piece of architecture. There are shops and offices on the ground level, and a mezzanine restaurant running along the front of the upper floor.

You can't see it fully here as these are a bit close up, but there is a big forum in front, clearly beloved by busking students and roller skaters, and then St Peter's Church on the other side.

When the light is right, you get a weird abstract reflection of the church in the front of the restaurant... how arty!

Norwich By Night....

Some views of that most functional of municipal buildings, the main bus station.

Although I'm not a big fan of modern design, in this case the architect seems to have done quite well and I like this structure. I reminds me of a big fish somehow.

In any event, it's more interesting when it's lit up at night, than in the day time I think.






Clearly the 3rd shot is not of the Bus Station, it's the Central Travel Lodge just round the corner.

All I can say is that when you have finished for the day at 5pm, and don't want to spend all evening in a small B&B room, and there's nothing on at the cinema, and you can't have more than the odd pint because you have to have a driving lesson the next morning, you'll photograph just about anything to pass the time. Well I will anyway.

Wensum, Lose Some....

The River Wensum runs through Norwich in a big loop. It's wet, weedy, and flows quite fast.

There were a lot of people fishing for pike on most evenings that I was out and about. I've caught pike myself years ago, on a catch and return basis...these people were mostly all Polish it seems, so I guess they had other ideas in mind. ...Probably involving potatoes and pickled cabbage. And why not?

Norwich Cathedral...

Well you can't miss it......and you shouldn't.

It's most impressive.

On the outside certainly, if perhaps a little dull, as Cathedrals go, on the inside.

Norfolk 'n' Good.....

Well I'm back from "Naar'ge", and a fine city it is too, I have to say.

My primary reason for going was to undertake a intensive five day driving course there, as I have never had a licence, or a car in my life; nor ever been interested in having one to be honest.

But with the job hunting thing, and the getting back to Kent occasionally thing, I have now had to bite the bullet so as to speak, and have a crack at it.

Apparently, according to the DSA stats, the average person passes their test nowadays after around 40 hours tuition and practice, so I thought it worth the money to cram 20 odd hours into one week, as well as class room lessons, and also sit the theory test at the same time ( I'm "top man" on the old hazard perception test I can tell you!)

Having passed the theory on the Wednesday, there was an opportunity for me to take the driving test on the Friday, but in truth, I had to admit I wasn't really ready. I still need a bit more experience and confidence round those big "mad-as-a-fish" junctions they have in Norwich.

I knew there was no guarantee I would actually pass in five days, as I am an old dog, and this is very definitely a new trick, but overall I think it was money well spent....I'll have a few more lessons locally, and book a test asap in somewhere quiet like Wellingborough I think.

Any Hoo .... the other plus side of the week was that I got to eat out in nice pubs and restaurants every evening, and also fit in a bit of photography.

Yes.....you lucky souls!....here come the photos again !!!

All Quiet on the Eastern Front....

I'm going to be away for a week in Norwich, for reasons that will be revealed later, so there won't be any updates until next weekend.

Whilst I'm there, if I spot a woman out shopping, closely attended by a flock of chickens, I'll know who it is of course!

Oi Meatloaf !....Two out of three IS quite bad......

Hopefully this is the first and last post I will ever write about soft furnishings, but having had a simple sofa situation turn into a pain in the neck these last two weeks I am minded to observe how useless some retailers are.

On moving in I bought a new brown leather suite, which looks good and is very comfortable. However, room space limited me to the smaller two seater size, and due to my 6'3" frame, when I am in the preferred horizontal football watching position, my head is up on one armrest, and my legs hangover the other. This is OK, but necessitates a cushion or two under my neck, in order to avoid cramp and spinal distortion over the full 90 minutes Brian.

Having just spent silly money on the suite I thought the accessories ought to at least vaguely "go" with it, and you'd think it would be a simple task in a large town to buy three brown(ish) cushions.... Well not in Northampton it ain't.

Despite not being overly fussy about exact colours or patterns etc, nowhere had three the same in stock..... So step forward the following stores who all seem to think that people only need cushions one or two at a time.

Debenhamns, Littlewoods, BHS, M&S, Beatties, Roseby's, Harveys, Wilkinsons, Woolies.

And a special mention goes to the lady in one posh furniture store, whose name I immediately and deliberately forgot, who offered me the above Meatloaf inspired excuse!

Now take a bow Dunelm Mills in Wellingborough, which is a sort of secret cushion silo for the western world.... Man do these guys have cushions!..."Three of the same or twenty of the same - not a problem Sir."

So mission finally accomplished, and whilst the actual item in question is immaterial to the point - for cushions you could read any other consumer item - it leaves me wondering what the purpose of these big chain stores is, if they are crammed with loads of stuff to look at, but no stock to actually buy?

Return To The Land.....Sort Of.

The new place comes with a small "garden", which is really an outdoor space, away from the house, down a short path, at the other end of the row of cottages.

On the plus side, although still quite compact, it's the largest one of the five, and is walled in on two sides, and fenced with a trellised grapevine on the other two. It's actually very secluded, and the grapes seem to be swelling nicely.

On the downside, as it's a rented property, for ease of maintenance the landlord has covered it with decking, and poured granite chippings around the edges. Any small strips of soil that there are, are completely overhung by mature shrubs, and so no good for the cultivation of vegetables (If you are one of the very few people reading this blog who are wondering why this is important - or indeed one of the few reading it at all - then go here, and my former vices will be revealed.)

But, nil desperandum, a couple of trips to the local DIY-cum-garden-centre, chauffeured by my good mate "The Barbarian", allowed me to get some containers. Just a few at least, just to get started.

It's too late in the year to plant anything of any great account, but salad stuffs do well all summer so I have been able to sow dinky amounts of lettuce, radishes, spring onions, beetroot, pak choi, carrots, and a pepper. I also took pity on the last two tomato plants they had. Even though I doubt there's time to get much of a crop from them, it cheers me up to see them trying.

So here is my veg plot at the moment then, although since taking this picture I have further augmented my acreage with a couple of grow-bags, and planted some golden hostas under the tree.

Growing on this small scale is all about successional sowing, and cramming as much as you can into the space. The high nutritional value of the compost, and the optimal container environment mean that you can plant stuff much closer together than you could get away with in open soil. Nonetheless, it does feel a bit like the sort of mini "sowing and growing" lessons they used to get you to do in primary school.........Perhaps I should also put some mustard and cress on the kitchen window sill.

But I took a deck chair, a book, and a beer down there for the first time this evening, and all things considered it's not too... Not too bad at all.

Tempus Fugit.....

I can't believe it's almost three weeks since I moved!

The journey itself went OK if you overlook that the M1 was logjammed, and we couldn't cut across country from the M40 as someone had incoveniently staged a Grand Prix downstream from our destination, and closed the roads to all through traffic. A scenic detour through Banbury and Daventry eventually got us here, albeit in just over 4 hours instead of the usual 2hrs 10. Add to that an hour in the letting agents signing multiple lease documents in triplicate, (I'm now afraid to even fart in case I break some sub-clause in the tenancy agreement) then 2 hours unloading, and it made for a long day. At least every single item in the 7.5 ton lorry arrived intact and undamaged. Fortunately after we miraculously crammed it all into the front room, all I had to do was lead the boys to the pub and pour beer down them - not a hard task at the best of times.

Since then I've been pretty much flat out everyday, either doing something to the house, or waiting around for someone else to turn up and do something to it, or deliver something for it...One day last week I had a plumber, the SKY TV guy, a bed delivery van and an IKEA delivery van all here at more or less the same time. It's a good job that the cottage comes with two sheds, or barns as they are euphemistically called, (actually I think they are old tack rooms) as I have already filled one with cardboard and polystyrene packaging waiting to go to the recycling centre.

The most ardous job was lugging boxes up to the 2nd floor - or "the garret" as I have taken to calling it, where I have a spare room that I have set up as part storage depot, part office. As I type this I am surrounded by so much stuff in and out of boxes that it looks rather like Steptoe's yard. The stairs are very narrow, and ridiculously steep and winding. It might be considered as "characterful" I suppose, but when you have to heave 40 packing boxes of books to the top it's more a test of patience, as well as of wind and limb.

Still, bar waiting for delivery of the lounge suite, I'm now just about done, and finally got the broadband hooked up again this morning.... I had to admit defeat in the end and have a man from the Yellow Pages come and sort it out for me. Or rather, sort out the spaghetti wiring I need to run a telephone, a digibox and a PC on this floor, all off one phone socket. It seems that I had cabled it in "parralel" when any fool knows I should have been in "series", whatever all that means. The price of my enlightenment was thrity quid, but it was one that I was happy to pay, just to get my trembling hands back on the superhighway again.

Oh yes.... there is actually one other thing I still need to do......get a job!

Woo Hoo & Hallelujah!....

So I am back on line at last!... If I were not so annoyed with myself about how much I have missed having e-mail and the web, and how twitchy I was getting over it, I'd be a'whoopin' an hollerin'. As it is though, three weeks cold turkey should not be a big deal, especially when you consider my addicition is to something I never had at all until a few years ago. With this in mind I'll just confine myself to a small "Yeeehaw!"

More fulsome and rational updates soon, after I have checked around a trillion e-mails, and sorted myself out a bit.

That London....

I had to go up to that London this morning, to my solicitors, to sign my end of the sale contract. If all goes well she expects we will exchange this week, and probably complete by the end of the month.... What has taken ages to come to pass, now seems to be happening all at once, but that's definitely a "good thing" though.

As their office is right behind St.Paul's Cathedral, I walked past it en-route back down to the river, taking a photo on the way, and then another later on from the South Bank, near Tate Modern and the infamous Wobbly Bridge (which no longer wobbles of course.)

This route back to Waterloo also afforded the opportunity for a quick pint in The Anchor at Bankside. Despite being a tourist trap of course, (it was actually quite quiet today) it's still a pretty decent pub, and does a lovely pint of Wadworth 6X, the King of bitters in my book.

Now I'm supposedly "off the sauce" at the moment, and have been these past few months as part of my quest for greater slenderness and beauty; but on a hot day, on the riverside terrace, after you've traipsed halfway round the City, allowances must surely be made. Besides, succmbing to temptation once in a while is a "good thing" too. It prevents us developing an overblown sense of our own virtuousness...and I did avoid the ice-creams after all.

Herewith my afternoon in pictures.

Pacman....

....Or rather "Pack Man"......And that's me at the moment.

After a flurry of e-mails with my solicitor yesterday, it seems I'm likely to exchange contracts on the flat in the midle of next week, then be able to complete and move away by the end of the month.

Despite the ever present risk of delay, I've made a start on the packing, to try and get a bit ahead of the game.

I knew I had a few books, but I wasn't expecting to end up with a scale model of the Great Wall of China in my lounge - almost 40 boxes of them.... And that's after I had a sort out.

I ought to learn to be less materialistic I suppose, but I can't see it happening. I like aquiring new "stuff" far too much.

I've also been giving things away on Freecycle, which is a very effective way of locally re-cyling your unwanted goods; or to put it another way, dumping them on someone else to avoid having to move house with them. There is a scheme for almost every town in the UK and US, where items of genuine use or interest to other people will get snapped up in no time. You can either get or give, anything from a set of steak knives, or an unwanted telly, to a fitted kitchen; on the proviso that no money changes hands..... And the recipients have to come and collect, saving you the hassle of going to the dump/charity shop/e-bay post office.

Various bits of old camera equipment and other items have been gratefully snapped up this week, and so far I've been able to resist re-stocking with anybody else's offerings myself.

Statesmen And Sprouts.....

I had Mum & Dad staying with me the other week, and for a day out, we went to look around Winston Churchill's home, Chartwell, which just outside Westerham, and is a National Trust property these days.

The house itself is an interesting mixture, with some rooms set up to look as if he and Clementine had just popped out for cocktails, while others, more like museum displays, are stuffed with Churchillian belongings, uniforms and memorabilia.

The grounds are very well maintained, and they are also in the process of restoring the walled kitchen garden, using the planting records of the Head Gardener of the period. All the produce seems to be used in the cafeteria/restaurant on site, which looked pretty good I have to say.

It was also Biggin Hill Air Fair the same day, and whilst we were standing Winnie's vegetable patch, a Spitfire flew low over us, which was most apposite of course.

Here are a few pics for the curious...






I doubt somehow that the folks will thank me for showing the world a shot of them hiding underneath a large gunnera, but some things of course are just beyond my editorial control!