Thoughts

This comment by email arrived yesterday, and it shows the 'power' of the internet, to draw close linking evidence from across the sea, I loved the little poem that Daniel Gumb  has as an epitaph on his grave, and would dearly loved to have more paperwork from this obviously intelligent man, living in his cave house under the Cheesewring Tor.  The problem with delving into history is that you can only go so far, but hopefully one day we will visit the Linkinhorne church.

It has made me realise that I need to gather together some of the many things I have written about over the years, the Cope family of Avebury comes to mind, again a poem written by an American visitor in the 19th century brought this to mind, as does at the moment the 18th century Iolo Morgannwyg,  'Druid' of Wales, and John Wood, the architect of Georgian Bath, who built his houses on fanciful notions of the Druidical nature of the great stone circles of Stanton Drew and Stonehenge.  I often refer to stories people make up for themselves, these stories live on in poetry, music and art.  They are gifts of the imagination and colour the world around us....

"Very interesting post about my direct relative, Daniel. He must have been a fascinating man and I've always wonder what he could have achieved had he been born into a family with wealth, he could have been a great man but he still has a very fascinating legacy none the less! Most of his descendants that I've been in contact with through my family history research have ended up in Australia rather than America. For my own line I'm descended through his son John 1744, Daniel 1778 and Elizabeth 1812. Elizabeth married Samuel Doney and my line eventually moved to Durham in 1871, no doubt for the work available in the coal mines. I was born in Durham but, strangely enough, emigrated to America when I was 27! What I like most about Daniel was the wry sense of humour exhibited in his own self-carved epitaph at Linkinhorne church. I think it says a lot about him personally."

Here I lie by the churchyard door

Here I lie because I'm poor

The further in, the more you pay

But here lie I as warm as they.

Thanks to Brenda Butler on Wordpress for the above, and also for bringing to my attention the scattered nature of my 'Magpie Miscellany'

Earlier blogs written elsewhere

Reading Tom Stevenson's blog the other day, about 'Haunting Holloway' the first impulse of my naturally curious mind was to investigate about the 'prehistoric stones' in a wall in Beechen Cliff, I actually did not believe him! This is a place I know well, my son went to Beechen Cliff school, a school of noble proportion set high above Bath.  The boys would take the very steep paths up behind the station, that were part of the 'cliffs' but I had never read or heard mention of prehistoric stones in a wall, though I don't doubt there very well could be such stones.  But proof is fact.....  But it led on to me thinking about Bath, and what I had written about it elsewhere.  So the next couple of blogs might be going back on old stuff.  There is also the fact that I am dipping into Ronald Hutton's - 'Mistletoe and Blood' book, fascinating and informative as it is......  I see more work could be done on Iolo Morgannwg as well, just love these eccentrics from the past......

John Wood the Elder – Stanton Drew Circle and Stonehenge.

Bath is famed for its neo-classical architecture but what underpins the thinking of the 18th century architect John Wood when he drew the designs for The Circus is a strange mish-mash of legend and myth, this of course is the age of the new ‘druidism’ that took hold when such figures as William Stukeley called such places as Stonehenge the Druidical Temple.

Fertile imaginations played with the ideas of sacrificial wicker constructions filled with victims, and Wood took it much further and in his book - A Description of Bath, he writes a history for Bath that is at once absurd yet full of that energetic imaginings that are still to be found in today’s new age books.

To understand why Wood designed The Circus as he did one must go back to the myths that formed the literature of the 18th century. Wood, though including neo-classical forms in the building, was not returning to a Roman past but a pre-Roman past steeped in the myths of a Britannic origin. The myth can be found in the 12th century writings of Geoffrey of Monmouthshire, and according to (R. S. Neal – Bath, A Social History) a 16th century edition of Monmouth’s book written in Paris was very much alive in the oral tradition of Bath. Putting stone circles and Druids together seems rather strange, but Wood thought that the chief ensign of the Druids was a ring.

So as he began to plan his city on paper, he incorporated the pagan elements, but also he was relating the pagan symbol of the circle back to Jewish symbolism, therefore Christian, and then British and Greek, which led quite nicely to the “Divine Architect” who was of course God. This is all creative flummery, a mixing of ideas, so when we look at The Circus we see classical lines, but with little touches of druidism – in the acorns that sit atop the surrounds of the roofs – and the frieze which incorporates specific symbols of Masonic details.

First  though must come the story of Bladud, the founding father of Bath, an exiled prince because of his leprosy, whilst out herding pigs one day happened to notice that the pigs loved to roll in the hot muds of the spring. Bladud also tried this and was cured, and then went on to found the city of Bath on the spot. Our mythical King Bladud is given a date of 480 BC, and as Wood saw it Bladud created the city about the size of Babylon. Bladud was a descendant of a Trojan prince, a high priest of Apollo and a ‘Master of Pythagoras’. Therefore this high priest was a devotee of the heliocentric systems of the planets from which the Pythagorean system was derived. That the Works of Stantondriu (Stanton Drew) form a perfect model of the Pythagorean system of the planetary world…………

At Stanton Drew it must have taken him many hours, with his assistant wandering round taking measurements of the circles, which were probably at this time partly covered in orchards. There was a precedence for this fascination with megalithic stones, Stukeley and Inigo Jones were all entranced by these heathen stones of an earlier age, and the development of myths round druidic religions were already forming and capturing imaginative minds – a bit like today.

Now Stanton Drew was, according to Wood, the university for British Druids, which thereby made Bath the metropolitan city seat of the British Druids. ‘And since there is an apparent connection between the ancient works of Akmanchester (Bath) and those of Stantondriu, it seems manifest that the latter constituted the University of the British Druids; that this was the university which King Bladud, according to Merlyn of Caledon planted; that it was at Stantondrui the king feated his four Athenian colleagues and that they were not only the heads of the British Druids in those early ages, but, under Bladud, the very founder of them‘ 

The Circus is based on a diameter of 318 feet, Wood’s rough measurements of the circumference of the stone circle at Stonehenge, the terraced houses form a perfect circle around a ‘timber’ circle of planted trees in the centre. There is an early drawing by J.R.Cozens which shows hitching stone post for the horses arranged symmetrically round the The Circus which would give the allusion of stones.

Wood also incorporated into his thinking the hills around Bath, giving them various titles such as Sun and Moon Hill, and The Parade is also aligned on Solsbury Hill which had an Iron Age settlement on top. The Royal Crescent built by his son John Wood the Younger, was crescent shaped representing the moon.

Where you might ask is the masonic symbolism, well it is only seen from the air, taking The Circus as the round part of the key walk down Gay Street to Queens Square which is square, and you will see the ‘key’ of Bath.

Ref - R. S. Neal – Bath, A Social History.

John Wood – A Description of Bath, 1765.

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Iolo Morgannwyg

Pontypridd Stone Circle (Victorian)

As the sun, so shy, speeds on to hide behind the western hills

I stand within this

Ancient circle with its rugged stones

Pointing to the sky

Like the digits on the clock of time -

The time that has refused to move,

As if the keeper of this heather hearth has gone to bed

Remembering not to lift

The fallen weights of Time and Space.

The first verse of one of Iolo Morgannwg’s poem, some would call him a fantasist who created an idea or vision of a Celtic Druidic order in the 18^th century.  

His first meeting of the bards was on Primrose Hill in London, where he had erected twelve stones called the Great Circle and a central altar stone known as the Maen Llog, this was in 1792. It is said of Iolo that he constructed an “elaborate mystical philosophy which he claimed represented a direct continuation of ancient Druidic practice. His use of laudanum may have contributed to this fabrication, though many of his writings  fall between a small truth and a large imaginative myth that he wrote!

In 1795, a gorsedd meeting took place at the Pontypridd Rocking Stone, near Eglwysilam in Glamorgan.  This was a huge slab of natural slate stone (the Maen Chwyf), and this stone became a meeting place, though the circles were yet to be put up.

The word gorsedd, which in Welsh means throne, but is also loosely used as a coming together of bards.  Julian Cope in his book The Modern Antiquarian says of this rocking stone ‘that it stands high on the ground overlooking the confluence of the two great sacred rivers Rhodda and Taff,’ and that this gorsedd stone must have had great significance in prehistoric times. The stone is surrounded by two circles   plus an avenue but the circles are   not prehistoric, and it now sits in a pleasant landscape next to a small cottage hospital.  

Miscellaneous

Life is somewhat busy at the moment, all the maps (4) arrived from the ordnance survey last week.  Map perusing is a favourite of mine, spread one out on the table or a bed, and I will be lost among the rivers and hills.  This time it is Cornwall, three maps are for the 'looking at houses' down there, and the fourth for the Penwith area, Lands End, as it is here that you will find the most prehistoric stone circles and barrows.  Will we have time to do everything down there I wonder.  Our friend has offered me the loan of his camera to try out before I buy another, there are LS's cousin to visit down in Ruan Lanihorne. LS also wants us to stay in Devizes for the night, to meet up with his brother, and maybe my son and Ephraim can make it for a meal as well.  Last time all this happened, we met up in a pub somewhere in a village, and the boys arrived late, our American friends, Loie and Bucky were with us and we were all going to Wales to find the fabulous 'sacred springs' of Carn Meyn.  Sadly we did not find them, Bucky complaining that the bogs went up the hill and it was too wet.  This Welsh visit of course included a visit to Bovey Belle, and I still have the photo of all of us sat round her large kitchen table in that beautiful kitchen, loads of cats everywhere, everyone chattering. 

House hunting is more difficult than I thought, and really this time we will look at the areas that appeal,  when using Rightmove and Zoopla the houses appear and disappear, so you can fall in love with one but a few weeks later it will disappear.  Yesterday I saw a rather nice semi-detached Georgian house set in a village somewhere, but it had a 'flying freehold' which sounded mysterious but I think it is to do with going on the other side's property when you want to put scaffolding up, and I also note it has been on the market for 7 months.

Sunny and drear photos

The Black spot, camera  of course!

Bilberries and plumbers

I would start with a rant against plumbers, mostly plumbers in Whitby but suffice it to say, the noise in the pipes in the cottage is still there, though a good two months have passed, and we have all nagged the plumber/s.  Perhaps that is the problem! Plumbers do not pick up mobile phones, they do not read emails properly, and according to my son-in-law this morning, don't like work anyway!

So to cool the air, and stop moaning, and getting ill in the process I shall turn to Dorothy Hartley's book - The Countryman's England.  Written in 1935, I occasionally thumb through to look at the photos of a less complicated England, pastoral in all its delight, though probably lacking in many of the energy conveniences we take for granted nowadays.

So what caught my eye was this passage describing bilberries....

"Bilberries, variously called "whortleberries" "worts" "blaeberries" "hurts" or "hurtleberries" are a regular Norseman's foot of a plant being found in Norway and Sweden.  Bottles of the juice " as supplied to the King of Norway" are to be found in the towns ( as an aside these bottles of such juice are no longer to be found, but the delicious elderflower champagne is) but up in the mountains we supply ourselves.  Sometimes parties from a village will go out by the day, women and children together, with tin cans, gathering the bilberries, and one of the menfolk will promise to meet them and drive them back,  Or the gipsies will bring down bilberries, gathering them from where they camp on the mountain-side and selling the luscious purple fruit in dripping scoopfuls at the back doors.  On some hills we get wild raspberries, but the best blackberries are not on the hills, but in the narrow sheltered hill valleys, where they hang down over the water, or sweep across the stone footed dykes, and these blackberries have a richness unknown in the Midlands"..

The book is full of photographs, some of which I shall try and scan, what they show is a pleasant unoccupied countryside with no rubbish and hardly any cars; how far we have come after the second World War with our busy roads chock a block with cars.  Gipsies are of course really no longer with us, they have become 'travellers' which is a somewhat demoted word, and we are left with Romanian gipsies to terrify our children with now.

Watery Essex

The above is not the Four Horses of Apocalypse, it is  four charging horses pulling a chariot above the Wellington Arch in London, but to me as I looked up at them all those months ago they represented chaos and anarchy in their plunging hooves.  Yesterday driving through a very wet Essex, saturated fields, overflowing rivers and deep fords and thinking about those poor people on the Somerset Levels, nature is being both chaotic and anarchistic in its dealings with humankind at the moment.  

There is also the 'incident' that blew up in the last few days when the Ukrainian people overthrew their government and Russia's startling move in Crimea, still hanging by a thread of diplomacy.  For me it is always the story we tell ourselves, how we see it and how others see it.  For me Putin is a childish tyrant, given to exhibitionism, ready to stamp on any dissent, but Russian history must play an important role in how the game must be played.  Watching the Ukraine soldiers march up to the Russian soldiers who had taken over their camp, and you ask yourselves is this bravery or foolishness? The shots were only fired above their heads, no one thankfully wants blood on the ground at the moment.  But it fills our news, our government shown up for not  wanting sanctions, or that b***** thing called the stock market imperilled by the movements of war.  Not being able to stand up for what is morally right or ethical is the usual state for this government, Cameron not meeting the Dalai Lama because China has forbade it comes to mind.  My solution is to have another band before our parliamentarians, they should be philosophers able to point the difference between what is right and wrong......

But back to the little River Ter, now winding itself through Nounsley, we stopped where we usually walk, but the river had flooded the field and was already creating another path, this must be how rivers move over the centuries, a loop created by a small island or large tree directs a different course. Muddy waters, fields saturated and leaking water that runs in rivulets down the lanes.

The village of Nounsley has no heart, no church, no shop just a stretch of houses that follow the lanes, we park up and walk down the lane to the ford, even from a distance as the water starts to creep up the road you can see that at its deepest the ford is three foot under water, and we were told had reached four feet high.   It is a gentle brown swirling river at this point, the old willow to the right is already showing that yellow-green in its overhanging branches, sure sign of spring.  Walking back up we stop to talk to someone working in his garden, me commenting on the bumble bees I see, apparently there are quite a few in his garden.  He tells the tale of a John Lewis van driving into the ford and of course being stuck, he went down to take a photo of the two men sitting foolishly in the van, where their commonsense had gone heaven knows their are four clear signs showing the depths of the water!

One day I shall take more photos of Essex houses, but only briefly glimpses from the car, even hidden under modern additions they still retain their old form.

More photos

Noting St. David's Day and realising I had written about it before, but when I looked it up there were no photos.  Now St David the town, really of course it is a city, holds a very special place in my heart, and the view of the cathedral and the Bishop's Palace still gives me a thrill into the ancient heritage of Wales.  Just along the little lane to St. Non out of town there is the old chapel of David's mother. St.Non's chapel is found overlooking the bluest of seas on a sunny morning, with its holistic centre and Catholic well, the sanctity of this area is still felt.  Impossible to put your finger on why, but I suspect history has become so imprinted in the landscape that the imagination must flow.......

St.Non's Chapel, where she supposedly gave birth to St.David, inside a prehistoric stone circle. You can see a stone to the left of the photo.

St.David's Head in the background

The old chapel

Catholic well

The romantic Bishop's palace

St.David Cathedral

Hares and St David's Day

'@ Creative Commons

It is St.David's day today, and there I was thinking about hares and the boxing that happens at this time of year. Picking up a hare book, (The Leaping Hare) at the back there is a sad 13th century name calling poem for the hare, persecuted through time, even today by barbaric sports such as hare coursing.

Capel-y-Ffin by Eric Ravilious in celebration of St.David's Day.  Featured by James Russell
Winter Blues.

William Cowper the poet although given to a little madness, took under his wing three hares, after rescuing one from some teasing children, you can read his delightful account here.  Puss was his favorite and lived till eleven years old, they seemed incredibly tame being given their freedom during the daytime, and loved dearly by Cowper.

And so to the  hare,   An Early poem about the poor hare; Anon

By a forest as gan fare,

Walking all myself alone,

I heard a mourning of a hare

Ruefully she made her moan.

Dearworth God, how shall I live,

And lead my life in land?

from dale to down I am ydrive!

I know not where I may sit, or stand!

I may neither rest, or sleep,

By no valley that is so derne;

Nor no covert may me keep,

But ever I run from herne to herne 


There is a story about a saint and a hare, which I must hunt up but long ago I wrote of St.David here

A drive

Weather again fine yesterday so we took ourselves off to Terling.  Pretty Terling is one of those villages preserved by the hand of the local lord, Lord Rayleigh to be precise, so that its large village green and houses are preserved, with not too much new build going on. Rabbits played in the field, squirrels rustled around, and we saw a buzzard and tree creepers in the woods alongside the little River Ter.

Coming back amongst the lanes, we hit a back lane pretty badly hit by the floods, no water now, just great potholes a foot deep, and very muddy because the farmer had been using heavy machinery, maybe to clear the ditches which were extraordinary deep with the verges all mushed up.

Spot the rabbit, all went into hiding as soon as the camera appeared

local planting

the little river grown large

The houses are typical plastered Essex houses, in some case jettied, as is the post office, the strong Essex colours are dominant.......

Look at those tudor chimney pots

The Green with the church

Terling post office

Strange windmill

Spooky house in the middle of nowhere

Two young lop eared rabbits enjoying the sun

Monty

                                                            A small portrait of Monty: 

Monty was a Welsh hound according to his owner Alison, and we would occasionally meet up on our daily walks round Bath racecourse.  I loved Monty for his clownish face and bumbling manner, Alison said of him that he had two brain cells, occasionally they collided and a thought occurred!  Moss took little notice of him another dog to walk round with, but Monty had one failing, he chased deer so that a careful eye had to be kept on him.  Walking in snow, his large paws would get clogged with the stuff and he would get more and more miserable till in the end he would sit down and refuse to budge till every bit was scraped from his paws.

Deer there was aplenty round the fields, and one day spying some he chased after them, disappearing for a long time, so that Alison had to phone husband and son to start a search party.  I joined in and we hunted high and low, in the woods, three hours later I was in one of the lower fields and Monty wearily appeared through a gate, exhausted but still happy, and as I wrapped a lead round him and phoned his frantic owner I wondered where his adventure had taken him.

                                                                     The Wood

So what sparked that story? well it was an email from our friend in Cornwall this morning, who sent a link about a dog find of about six million pounds worth of gold coins on the owner's Californian property, and then said that he was keeping a pup back for me from  Jan a border collie when she is eventually bred from, to wander with around the Cornish moors.

The above photo showing the two dogs and the grandstand in the background, also shows though long since vanished the small runway of a temporary airfield run in the second World War.

The wood in the above photos are a magical place but were neglected, very boggy,  in years gone by they had been coppiced, and great hazel stools were everywhere.  At the edge of the trees in spring violets and primroses carpeted the grass, and I can see them even now.

Violets are appearing in the garden, they are wild, and must herald a time when once this small piece of land was woodland.  

Monday

Today is so beautiful, that I sit outside in the sun, only the little buddha statue for company but he  is surrounded by the bright yellow of crocuses reflecting the sun.  I am waiting for a bumble bee to appear but not yet it seems.  Blackbird makes an appearance and finishes off the pear core which I threw out for him yesterday.  My pair of doves are off somewhere on the green, normally they mooch around the garden either in the cherry trees, or the maple, all is peaceful.

Wandering back into the house I visit LS in his studio, he is sorting out the cedar hangers for two scrolls to be finished off. Taking photos I am given a talk on the concave and convex nature of these rounded poles, and take a photo of the scroll caps, looking at first like ivory, but they are not, ivory is not allowed in the studio unless it comes with a client's scroll.

Bone knobs, made by a lady in Kyoto in her small shop

Lengths of cedar wood, chosen because they hardly lose their resin over time

In actual fact they are bone, and have to have their centres filled in.  The intricacies of scroll fixing is interesting, by opposing the convex and concave nature of the two wooden poles you end up with a straight scroll, even though there is only a marginal fluctuation in the wood. 

There is something quite special with the anticipation of spring, everything is new, the tulip leaves unfurling alongside cuckoo's pint, which weed though it is, is also anticipatory of spring, I always let this wild plant go through to its red berry stage and then crush it beneath my feet, just in case any child think the berries interesting enough to eat, which of course they are not being poisonous.

Waiting for the flowers to unfurl is one of the great delights of the garden, my lilies need renewing as the bulbs get smaller each year, and I have a fancy for a white scented one, they fill the garden in the evening with a sweet perfume.  The same happens of course with the tulips if you leave them in the ground and do not bring the smaller bulbs on they gradually lose their stamina.
Edit; Lunch in the garden produces my first queen bumble bee of the year, it rests on the fencing soaking up the sun, and above my head Missie our solitary collared dove sits preening.  She has been bullied out of the garden by another pair, but if either one of us is out there she will appear and sit in the cherry tree, she prefers LS to me and is happy to keep him company when he paints the fence.

Missie

Buddha in everlasting contemplation

As an addenda to that read yesterday these words from the Dalai Lama,
'the need to act - TODAY. He says there is only two days in the year that nothing can be done.  One is called yesterday and the other is called tomorrow.

Painters

This morning I opened my Resurgence magazine that had just dropped through the letterbox, first thing I always do is thumb through the beautiful photos and there towards the end was a beautiful montage of this Australian painter Anne Middleton.  It is part of the series 'Gates of Paradise', and her luminous work springs out at you like clear falling water.  There is technique of course I think, though have lost the link 

about using luminous oil glazing in transparent layers over and over again to get these shiningly beautiful images.  You can see more of her work at Rebecca Hossack Gallery ......

family

Waking up this morning I tried to puzzle out something my daughter had said yesterday, "I knew I was going to be happy here two years ago".  She is of course talking about Todmorden, they both have jobs now, she has just had a promotion to manager in the charity shops she works in, after worrying that as she was the last in she would be the first out.  The charity which is a greyhound one has lots of shops round this part of Yorkshire, charity shops are profitable these days and though my daughter is not the greatest dog lover on earth, she seems happy there.  

Yesterday afternoon did not go well but progressed to a better outcome. Starting a migraine, I immediately took a pill which at leasts stops the visual disturbances if not the headache.  The phone rings, there is a very cross Karen the cleaner for the cottage on the phone, she has just finished cleaning the cottage after the latest visitors and the new vacuum cleaner has blown up and given her a scare.  This is the second one to go, and I promise to get her a new one, via the family as they are going to stay there next week in the half term.

Phoning my marvellous son-in-law, and he says he will go down to the market in Todmorden and try and pick up a reconditioned Dyson there today.

Darron apart from working in a full time time job also has been working on the house in Tormorden, photos flash through on his F/B of the latest work of stripping the walls of this house, he found tongue and groove wood on the walls in the kitchen, goodness knows from what period.  Last week they had a new roof put on, only for it to start leaking two days later down the chimney breast, but luckily the roofer had just appeared to put it right yesterday.

I talk to my granddaughter Matilda on the phone, then 10 minutes later the phone rings again,' who is that' LS says 'it's me' says a small voice at the other end, Lillie feeling left out of talking on the phone and we talk, at least I talk and she answers in monosyllables, but does tell me about the roof problems.  We both miss the grandchildren, only Lillie can work our remote controller for the DVD with complete ease, hopefully they are all coming down later in the summer to stay for a couple of days, I might even brave the horrors of the Westfield shopping centre in Stratford for them.

Meditating on elephants - Boon Thong enjoying a peaceful time in her life after years of working with a broken back.

Last Words - other blogs

The land that time forgot....  A sad but lovely tale told by Jackie Morris

St.David's Head, somewhere up there is the cottage that Jackie Morris talks about

A small sheepfold perhaps from a long time ago

The cliffs along the coast path from Solva

Cheese and Tea

Gruyeres

Seeking houses;  Well LS sent me a link for mains gas in England, and there is only a small patch down in South Cornwall, focused around Truro and Torquay, so it is back to the drawing board, though he did mention there are some new German oil radiators on the market to explore.  Today we go to a funeral, so it is rather sad, I hardly know the person but he is a friend of LS's and we have met him at times walking down to Asda, his battle against cancer is lost and his wife is left bereft.

Yesterday we had our two monthly visit to Sainsbury, such small things as coffee filters (seem to have been made obsolete now), my Dove Organic bread flour, and various Japanese bits and pieces, plus a made up sachet of fondue mixture, which I occasionally treat us to.  In fact it tastes much nicer if you buy the two cheeses and make it yourself, but I don't drink white wine so it becomes more expensive homemade. The trouble with buying cheeses in this country, and here I am talking about gruyere, emmenthal, brie and camembert, is that their European equivalents are so much more cheesier (and smellier of course), in other words so much more flavoursome.  Gruyere the town is very pretty and you can visit the cheese factory there,  the family went there a couple of years ago, and they are off to Switzerland this year to meet Karen's aunts, luckily not in the old caravan but staying up in the mountains somewhere in a chalet.  One of the weirdest things of course to LS is that my daughter's cousin Marc runs a sushi factory, in the middle of this landlocked country.  Not my choice of food, though I have been treated to an expensive version, whereby you sit at the counter at the restaurant whilst the sushi chef prepares these nibbles for you, and I did not let LS down by pulling my nose up at these raw treats!
Stop wandering off the track.. to return to coffee filters, why can't we use the simple method of making coffee? the answer is of course at Currys, look at all the fancy coffee makers on the market, they come in all colours and different types of coffee making, no more the steady 'plop' of a percolator on the stove, or even the old 'cona' coffee we had as a child.  A scientific wonder, the coffee contained in two glass circular apparatus, warmed by a bunsen burner, the coffee would steadily rise as if by magic...  I have to buy my 'loose' tea now from Twinings and have it sent by post, why? because it is more convenient to put tea in teabags, yet what happens if you don't want teabags, your choice becomes limited.

The Story of Manuka the bear