Mollie has just wandered round the house looking for people but two of them have disappeared in the night by taxi to Manchester airport. K and A are off to Spain and the mountains for ten days. Lillie off to college, so we will be the only people around. Mollie retires to bed.
Yesterday I managed to change my contract on Vodafone, chuffed at my ability to do so, will save myself hundred pounds by doing so. All done with a very amiable person called Joe, by of course typing in the chat box. He agreed I was paying way over too much and arranged a much cheaper option.
To say that I am scared of not only my phone but actually confronting people is an understatement, quite happy to type words to them but give me someone on the phone and I become worried that I may not recognise their accent, and is it my imagination, or perhaps I am slowing down, people talk so fast nowadays, they never give you time to think.
So I am now drinking my coffee in peace. The silly email from the doctor's surgery filled in, tell me why at my age they need to know what sex I belong to or what religious belief I bow to. I did have some fun thinking about 'other' in what gender I am, but decided to be serious (and truthful).
“I worried a lot. Will the garden grow, will the rivers
Cardamine Pratensis. the most part in Aprill and May, when the cuckoo begins to sing her pleasant note without stammering. Gerard.
Lady's Smock at Langridge
The flower can either be white or pinkish
Such an innocent wild flower but with many, many names. Consult Geoffrey Grigson and you will find it named from one end of Britain to the other. It is blessed by the name of the Virgin Mary but that naughty word smock gives you a clue to its more amorous connotations. A flower of the meadow as pratensis will tell you.
When the written word was gifted to only a few, flowers took on symbolic ideas and of course their herbal remedies were used as medicines. This little flower is rather short of any healing skills, its prettiness though cannot be denied.
According to Grigson, smock came from 'smicker', so though it could be interpreted as the milkmaids mode of wear, smicker could also be seen as looks of desire.
Now it blooms in a very few places and like its namesake the cuckoo may be becoming extinct. But I shall remember it as I walked along the Cotswold Way, with its bank of wild flowers through the seasons topped by a great shaggy bank of white flowered hawthorns.
Yesterday a painting came through on F/B, here it is....
Mildred Anne Butler (Irish, 1858-1941)
"The Delegates" (1923)
Immediately a name came to mind 'a Parliament of Crows'. We name a gathering of birds such as starlings under murmurations. Well the intelligent crow family can gather together to consult and that is why it is called a 'parliament'. Not factually true more a folklore tale:) the use of different terms to describe a group of creatures can be random, and in actual fact crows are described as a 'murder'.
But just sticking to my story for awhile. Once when walking over the Lansdown one early morning, Moss and I saw a gaggle (geese) of crows lined up on the railings of the racecourse, a good hundred and whatever they were doing it looked like they were there having a consultation! We did not disturb.
So what to title this next thought, it was Pat (Weaver) who triggered a memory. "Badger droppings are fascinating". As someone who has walked a fair mile over the same land for many years. I knew where the badgers lived.
In fact many years ago when I lived in Bath I belonged to a badger group to protect these animals. The white van with its men and dogs probably came from Bristol would be sighted, and though the police told us not to tackle them, a friend did and her dog was killed. Nasty brutes these men who set their dogs on badgers. It was a huge old badger sett alongside a rabbit burrow, a large enclave. Badgers love a bit of tender rabbit and hens of course. I remember getting up in the middle of the night to find a badger chasing a hen in our garden. Moss and I went out, the badger had pushed up the top of the nesting box of the chicken hutch and was chasing one very noisy chicken around. I set out immediately to rescue, Moss, being a sensible sheepdog, was so overcome by this strange creature he just looked on in wide eyed astonishment. Badger eventually stopped and half an hour later I found my terrified chicken cowering behind a plant. Badgers are carnivorous! First lesson.
There was another large badger set up on the Langridge, it was in a small protected meadow with orchids, cowslips and Ladies Smock in the spring.
It looked over the peaceful Saint Catherine's valley that had Freezing Hill in the distance. The sett of the badgers was again fairly large perhaps a kind hearted land owner had left this field for them, it was off the Cotswold trackway. Of course there were also the two Langridge barrows in the field as well - a boundary marking between Gloucester and Somerset.
East Kennett the long barrow hidden by trees
There is also a badger sett in a long barrow, this is the East Kennett long barrow on private land though when I went I did not know. At the badgers entrance there is the white of stone, the barrow itself is enormous measuring itself against the West Kennett Long barrow, a mile away or so. East Kennett has never been excavated (except by badgers of course) probably keeping it for future excavation.
Badger entrance
There is one more badger sett I recall. This was in Normanby, not sure it was occupied but dear old Lucy, my spaniel, was always eager to get down the hole. And pulling her plump bum out was quite a struggle but luckily I always managed. One thing to notice though, it sat at the end of a very long bank to a field, and in this bank lived lots of rabbits, the larder was attached to the sett!
“How much better to sit by myself like the solitary sea-bird that opens its wings on the stake. Let me sit here for ever with bare things, this coffee cup, this knife, this fork, things in themselves, myself being myself"
think I might have picked that Virginia Woolf quote up from Rebecca Solnit on Facebook, Rebecca was waffling on about how men condescended to us women when we are unable to carry out things like mending the car. But don't worry this isn't a feminist rant - I am past that!
It has been a weird two days and mostly to do with F/B. Yesterday I put an old friends name into the search engine, and there she was. From four years ago, there is no current news there, only like many others has she put her name out there for identification. It made me sad, for I had lost touch around the time of my divorce. She could not believe that my ex and I were to break up and that I had been so unhappy for years - so be it. I cannot imagine what her life is like now, I know her husband suffered from dementia but she was such a long way away.
Then from out of the blue another 'real' friend posted an old friend had died and in the photograph next to him was my beloved Paul. They had fallen out over a website and became ex-friends and it brought back such a rush of memories that it stopped me in my tracks.
I had asked Paul at the time, will you ever forgive? and he had said there is no such thing as forgiveness, and I had thought some Buddhist way of thinking and left it at that. But delved a little deeper yesterday.....
So, from a Buddhist point of view, we wish for others or ourselves to be free of any suffering as the result of our harmful actions. But no one hasthe power to pardon someone from the karmic consequences of their misdeeds, so there is no danger of an inflated sense of a holier-than-thou self, like a priest or a court judge might have, pardoning criminals.
Perhaps that explains it, part the deed from the person but do not judge.
To return to more current thing things. Lillie has sorted her collection of books and went off yesterday to scouts carrying a very heavy bag of some of them. She is getting ready for university, she got her offer of the college she wanted in London, so all four grandchildren will have gone to universities in London. I would add that I think there are probably much better universities outside London but the lure of the city proved too much for them. She is to study drama, Matilda went for journalism.
Well my little cat, Mollie, age 19 years old went sick last week. Two days of being sick, two days of sleeping and not eating. Than all of a sudden she found her voice (very loud) and her appetite again, so we seem to have passed that moment of whether she could make it or not. She sleeps on top of me, which is comfortable for her but not me. So she once more rules the roost.
Like everyone now I hardly listen to the news, I see we might have a temporary 'Cease Fire' in Gaza. I also notice, that the destruction is so great, that culturally, the towns have been blasted into nothing. Will there be anything redeemable? Keir Starmer has now changed his tune, but can it be because in the cynical world of politics, winning is the only goal for his party. Is it time to get rid of party politics? I wish......
Well a lot of Tory politicians want out, do they read the writing on the wall and we are in for Labour rule. Thinking about politicians who are shunted through the various offices of government, with no or little experience, one wonders what would be an ideal form of government.
All I see is both sides castigating each other for the many failures that have occurred. Poverty is real on the streets, rents are high through greed and nothing much happens except the daily moan of despair.
On F/B someone puts through the varieties of roses that have been developed over time. They are beautiful, it gives one hope that someone somewhere is slowly year after year is cultivating roses with love and care, completely oblivious to world matters, long may it continue. It reminds me of Gregor Mendel and his experiment with peas and bees in the 19th century, and we now have the science of genetics.
There is a story I remember from childhood. In Holland a couple of centuries ago, not being exact here. There grew great interest in tulips, it was called Tulip mania. The tulip bulbs sold at a great price and the flowers were developed to be striped. There was this one nursery man who grew the most perfect, beautiful tulip but he grew poor in striving to achieve this. Then one day he was so hungry, he ate the prize bulb. He died soon after, and the next year a most beautiful tulip appeared on his grave ;)
Here is Ghislaine De Feligonde, a Hybrid Musk introduced by Turbat in 1916
Just a short note on my book which has appeared rather mysteriously on Yorkshire Pudding's blog. Well for a start the Fort Knox security behind his Google is so strong I cannot even comment anymore but some criticism of the front cover is called for.
The stars zoom round in a circular manner, and there was never such a B/A barrow with such elaborately curlicued stonework. IA has got it completely wrong!
Not quite of course contemplating Newgrange in Ireland, there are tell tale signs there, but the modernised stucco outer white wall leaves some archaeologists writhing on the ground in despair at this restoration. There are stones of course with the great maze pattern exquisitely carved into them. See below,both from Wikipedia.The Wiki gives you some idea of the width and breadth of folklore and stories that lies behind this great barrow.
Newgrange in Ireland - restored
Circular motif in front of doorway
AI worries me because it cannot really truly fake anything if the information fed to it is wrong but it can also give an extraordinary false impression. It becomes like those 'love' paperback covers, completely over the top, with heaving bosoms and manly chests.
Above my long gone collie are Priddy Nine barrows. Simple earth Bronze Age barrows thrown up over a period of time.
So thank you Neil for publishing my book I really am thrilled, though editing has been somewhat frustrated. It also made me remember this area of the Mendips, a rather beautiful place in the West Country and old Moss who accompanied me and always managed to find the right path through gorse or heather and steer well clear of bullocks and sheep.
I have just watched a very moving film on Norway-Songs of the Earth and its inspiring landscape. It was on Storyville on the BBC Iplayer. A loving tribute by Margrethe Olin to her parents and their home. It is a meditation of course; the mountains rear up, the glaciers melt, all the way through the film there is the sound of running water - it is perhaps a homage to Nature. Her father is 84 years old, still walking the mountainside up to the great spruce his grandfather planted, high up on the slopes of the mountain. People in this beautiful valley have felt the forces of nature, the mountain breaking up killing whole families but there is true marriage to the land here. Something we have all forgotten as we move around. You can find it on the BBC of course and it is a long hour. But you come out of watching feeling refreshed and being happy that there is a corner of the world that is peaceful.
What else my anti-surge socket is on the way, only ordered it this morning, but I suspect Amazon got the whips out. I was just saying last night to the window cleaner as he collected his money, that I feel so sorry for the drivers rushing around delivering stuff like slave labour, sometimes wrongly. As an aside you should hear the people of Tod get really upset if their parcel doesn't turn up. Photos of doorsteps show up and boy are some doorsteps scruffy! But I am just as bad ordering stuff as well.
Also caught our post lady trying to push a flimsy parcel through the letterbox this morning. She is new and I told her just to pop the parcel inside the door. It was my patchwork stuff, dark colourful materials, Kaffe Fassett and Brandon Mably materials that need a bit of planning. I shall make some lengths of things to put on the settee because Mollie occasionally has a throwing up fit.
Then lastly I am beginning to see more of Mary Oliver's poems going through, the following has a little twist at the end about Keats which took my fancy.
Well here I am again demoted to anonymous. I think apart from the Google warning it is browser configurations, I suspect it was more to do with me fiddling around with Microsoft. Well I managed before and so will probably find the magic formula soon.
A bit of a panic the other day, the plug beside my computer blew, a strange deafening silence hit the room as the radio cut off along with a black screen. I did panic for a second, mostly for my expensive newish computer but then went down into the basement, flicked the fuse and things worked. I am going to get a 'surge' multi-plug soon, though I think the little black box on the lead is one.
But such triviality is nothing compared to the now successful (well it hasn't landed yet) rocket sent to the moon, privately funded (Musk sadly you will have got too old before you colonise the moon), with, wait for it, 125 small, sculptures of the phases of the moon by Jeff Koons. Think about that one, why send representations of the moon to the moon. Is there a philosophical meaning behind the gesture? Well when the human race has finally settled on the South Pole of the moon perhaps they will build a museum to house these wondrous art objects. Actually I would have sent the Mona Lisa, and should any stray alien be passing the moon, would wonder why we spent so much money worshipping a faintly smiling female.
The old clock I bought for Paul's birthday has a very pretty face and a little moon that slowly moves through the phases, though of course it has got it probably all wrong because it has stopped so many times. But I think Victorian enterprise is something we should admire, the workings of a clock is just as difficult in its time as the genius of a rocket is today.
Raking up old music memories: Putting the photograph of the three youngsters the other day on my blog, bought back a memory, of when these three, Sarah, Ephraim and Mark went off to Ghana for a year or so. On an old external drive I have many, many photos of this expedition to Ghana. Ephraim and Sarah have had three children since then and split up - but that's life isn't it?
I think they were off to make their fortune but it didn't quite workout that way. Can I forget waiting for them to drive down from Bristol to me waiting outside the chemist shop in Weston clutching Mark's essential diabetic insulin to hand on as they sped onto the airport.
Or, a few years later when the boys confessed that on arriving in Accra Mark had to be hospitalised - news they kept from me for all that time.
They went clutching their new expensive computers to conquer Ghana but it did not turn out as planned. In the first few days Ephraim managed to run over his computer with a car. Mark had offers of jobs but he could not stand the heat.
Yesterday's shock announcement of Steve Wright's sudden death at 69 years old, his radio DJ spot on Radio 2 on Sunday having been so much part of my life, the realisation that the Grim Reaper has taken another figure from the past. Remember listening to a crackly Radio Caroline in one's bedroom as a teenager?
So I remembered the music of Peter Gabriel and Youssou n'Dour singing together in that rather naive way of youth - 'Shaking the Tree' an affirmation of female power so beautifully depicted in the graceful girls on the video. Then 'Birima,' not sure what the story is that lies behind, the probable chief strolling through his village handing out money but I love Youssou's voice. Gabriel looks so young at this time, time has flown but his song at a more mature age, should be played at my end because it is just full of the nonsense and happiness we sometimes feel when listening to music. What is it?
'Solsbury Hill' An Iron Age Fort just outside Bath, many the time I have climbed that hill, people have asked me are there really eagles flying up there. The answer is sadly no, but Gabriel who lives a couple of miles further on at Box must also have walked that way as well.
So you may skip the first two videos, but the third should set you dancing. Though I may add here it is a compilation, I could not find the original.
Saint Valentine is also patron saint of the bees. One bee will just collect one teaspoon in its lifetime, so be frugal with real honey.
There is a bright arrow in my heart speeding its way towards spring. Straight it goes for the moment only. Otherwise I have had a cluster of migraines that drain me of energy. I had thought to see the back of migraines several years ago but then like a bad penny they show up and render one useless. I think it is to do with the weather, mysterious forces and all that, well either low or high pressure!
What is the use of pulling the heart strings over the terrible tragedy of that six year old shot in the car whilst she waited for an ambulance to arrive in Gaza. It has haunted me all weekend, I haven't spoken out because of fear of upsetting others. But as I listened to an American Palestinian cardiologist recite the name of 90 of his relatives killed, and photos of young children flashed on the screen, I had to write something. Andrew said write but don't publish and that is what I have done. I weep for every Jewish, Yemen, Palestinian and so many other children in the world who have had their their lives cut short by war or cruelty.
By the same token I watched a rally of thousands upon thousands of Houthi men in Yemen - it was scary.
Well I have spent a fortune on patchwork material, and found my first handicap, I cannot cut straight, seem to veer off to the cutting line, this is due to one eye losing a certain amount of sight. Talked to myself about patience and am getting there. I love the colours of the materials, and watching Kate from The Last Homely Home, realise you can create a shading coloured quilt of many hues. But of course you need loads of material..... I will put her website on down below. She was very soothing when I could not do anything because of my head.
I cannot believe how dark it is this morning, but it says down below rain and snow at 3 degrees. My daughter has a free day come Monday, and a load of washing is being done. (It was after all wash day on a Monday).
Yesterday I made the favourite meal of everyone but not me. Pick the roast chicken of every edible piece you can find, add tarragon, mustard, cheese and cream and then bake in the Aga. My vegetarianism is not as good as it could be but I stick mostly to a vegetable diet and with one of those 'plant' burgers to be found in the supermarket.
As I came down this morning for my cup of tea, I caught a programme on the radio aboutBanksy, our homegrown graffiti lad. Though he must be getting older by now. Graffiti artist, political activist and even film director, he has made his fortune with the direct messages he puts on the wall. He is collected (yeah how do you collect a wall?). The person on the radio was relating the story about how people bought his prints and then sold them on Ebay for a bigger price.
Why is the world so greedy, and why do we spend horrendous amounts on art, or what is thought of as art? Heaven knows. I applaud Banksy for his ability through the medium of art to be able to show us our foolishness as humans but also his paintings of the terrible violent wars that go on round the world. The sheer stupidity of them.
He has always kept his identity secret, and there is much speculation as to who he is. If they have the right person (see the Wiki above) he was brought up in Yate just outside Bristol. He keeps himself secret because it is illegal to despoil walls but I fancy the image he has created helped towards his work.
It reminded me of Kelston Round Hill, my favourite walking area, I could spend a couple of hours walking just a mile from my home. Then of course I remembered this video, a gentle picture of this magic place, the walker and the farmer working together to make it a place where walkers were welcome. I can remember the slope of the hill being covered in, I think it would have been cowslips not primroses for it must have been a south facing slope.
Now my son walks up the hill to Beckford Tower, another place wherein the old gravestones slip precariously down into the soil, and primroses and violets still cluster in profusion. It was up to the tower that William Beckford would ride, somewhere from St.Edwards school to his tower - to do learned things! Perhaps I remember him most for Fonthill Abbey, which fell down not long after being built. A couple of photos below of Beckford Towerand a blog..
Enjoy the video below, a few scattered air balloons in the sky. Bristol is where these balloons are made, and every Sunday, if the weather was right, balloons would take off from Victoria Park in Bath and fly over the Lansdown.
I can hear the chatter of the older children going to school outside. The day is gray and we are all waiting in expectancy of snow. Three o-clock Thursday afternoon. can the weather people really be that accurate?
Matilda is here for the week, seems she has to do some work in her journalism course on Yorkshire, she talks of going up to Haworth to do something on the Brontes, but it is a tiresome two bus trek.
Luckily she did not know of me acquiring a sewing machine last week so didn't bring her mending down from London. She is talking about the latest fashion trend, which really to my mind, seems to be going out in your knickers;). We have a discussion on safety when out at night but both my granddaughters think they are safe.
My patchwork comes on apiece, two cushion covers and something else for Mollie. I really enjoy watching Kate on 'The Last Homely Home' doing her patchwork, it is almost like being at the kitchen table with her.
The nurse phoned yesterday to give me my annual review. I seem to have passed, my blood readings are alright, blood pressure a little high, but it has always been so. Cholesterol 5 something not sure if that is good or bad, but am not giving butter or cheese up yet. She said something about statins but I refuse to take more tablets then I need, so stick with my BP pills and the little machine that tells me where I am at.
I found some music this morning which I love, had it played at Paul's funeral, though I am sure he would have liked something from Jefferson Airplane but it was my choice to choose it and I wept as I listened to the music.
The recording is taken from the 'Top of the Pops' and it reminds me of Thursday evenings when my daughter taught her little brother to dance. For a moment in time my then husband was away teaching at the college and we just had a happy time.
And not to forget it is Tom's birthday today, we have all contributed money to their Japanese trip. Happy Birthday Tom!!!xxx
Funny memes, things that are not true. Will AI be like this? Silly little monkey found a way out, so the media picked up the story, and eventually the Japanese monkey was caught, tranquillised and taken back to its enclosure. End of story.
Looking to the future, and the first aliens landing on our denuded world. Then my mind begins to crack with giggles as I imagine them looking through our voluminous media.
So who runs this place they will ask? Those yellow ants or that funny furry thing sitting in water. We are leaving false and fraudulent evidence for the archaeologists. Those aliens will look on our beautiful landscapes and ask the question: why? did those humans manage to destroy all this. And I don't know the answer. Greed, self complacency. Perhaps in the knowledge we only have short lives, we don't give a damn to what comes after.
I shall get back to my sewing machine, sew a few more patches and shorten the kitchen curtains and be sensible. And once more think of the owl that woke me this morning hooting away, is it romance time for owls?
I wasn't going to write anything today but then looking at what the Guardian had to offer on its new Saturday Edition compiled by its political editor-in-chief, Katherine Viner, I just had to plug this marvellous compilation of photographs taken over time.
The journalist Jonathon Freedland in his article - People Say it did in his Career talks about how photography and specific photographs of some poor, unsuspecting politicians (shush at the back there) have been depicted by the photos taken. So enjoy the first link as you look through the photos, of mostly old or middle-aged males sadly, but my choice would be the following.
Rishi Sunak's wife Akshata looking wonderful in a blue dress celebrating Diwali in front of No.10 Downing Street door. It shows how much integration has taken place in this country. How much further we have moved forward.
The other photo is of Barbara Castle with compatriots - Equal Pay for Women. How long was that battle fought, and is still being fought?
It reminded me of something that I had seen this week. The celebration of 80 years of peace, for us, since the last World War. As I have reached that age, it was extraordinary to see the amount of change that has taken place over those years and how people of my time have adjusted and should not be overlooked and seen as elderly!
Interesting news on the Today programme, was the rather beautiful Rochdale Town Hall which has been restored unveiling the architecture of a remarkable building designed by William Crossland in the second half of the nineteenth century. It could rival the Houses of Parliament though on a smaller scale, so is this to be the new parliament of the North? Only kidding of course. The restoration is said to have cost £20 million but is part of a new wave of money Up North.
Though elegantly done and enough stone extravagance to please even the hardiest stone lover, I don't actually like it very much but do admire the workmanship that went into it. This is what is called 'levelling Up' by our government, eg; spending some money up North, the fiasco of the HS2 rail having been ditched.
Also yesterday I noticed this on 'The Smell of Water' The Doomstone to be found in York Minster. It is an intricately carved depiction of lost souls descending into the mouth of hell. Very gory, even more so if you actually believed it to be true. When the written language was not easily understood, carvings told their tales to the innocent minds. A small video into the horrors of hell!
There is something more I keep thinking about, but coffee calls...
