Friday, June 29, 2007
Culinery matters
Top rib did very well cold - as well, although differant, as the fore rib. And a lot easier to carve, pleasing those who like their meat in delicate slices. Only puzzle was that the string which tied it up seemed to be buried very deep inside, which caused occasional issues when one chomped, unexpectedly on a lump of string, or worse still a knot.
Fat white fish don't seem to be being caught at Hastings so reduced today to a couple of Dover Sole for lunch. Reasonably dear but a much better bet than the Lemon Sole we had the last time white fish went missing. Both flavour and texture better.
Harvest in full swing between the showers at the allotment. The wave of broad beans is now ramping up and is about to hit the drive. Spent yesterday blanching then freezing them. We will see if ten rows is a row too far.
Just finished lifting the Ketrel second earlies - which included a surprising number of very large potatoes - surprising after last year's rather poor performance. Some of the big ones appear to have grown so fast that they have developed cracks, a bit like those you get in cakes. And just finished the last of the Sainsbury whites - having forgotten in a week or so how grotty they taste at this time of year compared with fresh.
Had a go at the third gooseberry bush, which turns out to be a differant variety from the first two. The riper ones are a very pleasing dull red colour and they cook to a slightly chewy skin which I rather like. Must plant more of the things.
BH had made a start on the smaller blackcurrent bush - there still being a small quantity at the bottom of the freezer from last year. Got about a pound before rain stopped play. But the rain did, at least, allow us to test the merits of divan bases as things to shelter under. That is to say, one to sit on and one draped over ones' heads. Worked quite well - and visited by a fledgling robin who looked rather fragile - until a puddle started to gather underneath at which point we abandoned ship and returned to the Dover Soles.
Pumpkin plants had been doing OK but one has been decapitated, presumably by slugs, in the last couple of days. More slug pellets needed.
My old school at Cambridge continues to drop expensive mail shots on me. Don't know quite from where they got my address but they are clearly try-hards. Presumably a good enough proportion of us reach for our cheque books or wills to make it all worth while for them. But don't think I am quite up for a 40 year class reunion - although it was interesting to see the names of those that they claimed had expressed interest - some of whom I would have never thought into this sort of thing. Maybe I should suggest they move with the times and get a Facebook site. (According to the DT one of the new cabinet got his entry updated within hours of being appointed).
Bought my first book from Smiths for years, there being one quite near to the Cheam baker, so faster than Amazon - and with an ugly sticker giving one a £3 discount. Hopefully it will peel off OK. Would Amazon have offered a better price? A book advertised in this week's TLS about the late lamented Diana by the late editor of the Tatler and the New Yorker. Someone who ought to be well qualified to spout about fashion and the press - these two accounting for a good part of the interest. It seems that her new angle is that Camilla is first villain of the peice with CGM and DGM being second and third villains. Decrypts may be sent to comments. All a bit like the Sun; something to pick up and read but not something to buy. My alibi is that I bought it for the BH.
Fat white fish don't seem to be being caught at Hastings so reduced today to a couple of Dover Sole for lunch. Reasonably dear but a much better bet than the Lemon Sole we had the last time white fish went missing. Both flavour and texture better.
Harvest in full swing between the showers at the allotment. The wave of broad beans is now ramping up and is about to hit the drive. Spent yesterday blanching then freezing them. We will see if ten rows is a row too far.
Just finished lifting the Ketrel second earlies - which included a surprising number of very large potatoes - surprising after last year's rather poor performance. Some of the big ones appear to have grown so fast that they have developed cracks, a bit like those you get in cakes. And just finished the last of the Sainsbury whites - having forgotten in a week or so how grotty they taste at this time of year compared with fresh.
Had a go at the third gooseberry bush, which turns out to be a differant variety from the first two. The riper ones are a very pleasing dull red colour and they cook to a slightly chewy skin which I rather like. Must plant more of the things.
BH had made a start on the smaller blackcurrent bush - there still being a small quantity at the bottom of the freezer from last year. Got about a pound before rain stopped play. But the rain did, at least, allow us to test the merits of divan bases as things to shelter under. That is to say, one to sit on and one draped over ones' heads. Worked quite well - and visited by a fledgling robin who looked rather fragile - until a puddle started to gather underneath at which point we abandoned ship and returned to the Dover Soles.
Pumpkin plants had been doing OK but one has been decapitated, presumably by slugs, in the last couple of days. More slug pellets needed.
My old school at Cambridge continues to drop expensive mail shots on me. Don't know quite from where they got my address but they are clearly try-hards. Presumably a good enough proportion of us reach for our cheque books or wills to make it all worth while for them. But don't think I am quite up for a 40 year class reunion - although it was interesting to see the names of those that they claimed had expressed interest - some of whom I would have never thought into this sort of thing. Maybe I should suggest they move with the times and get a Facebook site. (According to the DT one of the new cabinet got his entry updated within hours of being appointed).
Bought my first book from Smiths for years, there being one quite near to the Cheam baker, so faster than Amazon - and with an ugly sticker giving one a £3 discount. Hopefully it will peel off OK. Would Amazon have offered a better price? A book advertised in this week's TLS about the late lamented Diana by the late editor of the Tatler and the New Yorker. Someone who ought to be well qualified to spout about fashion and the press - these two accounting for a good part of the interest. It seems that her new angle is that Camilla is first villain of the peice with CGM and DGM being second and third villains. Decrypts may be sent to comments. All a bit like the Sun; something to pick up and read but not something to buy. My alibi is that I bought it for the BH.
Thursday, June 28, 2007
DT being crass
A DT editorial caught my eye yesterday. A propos of Iraq it says: "... failure ... to ensure there was a sustainable plan for the occupation was a critical failure, for which this country is paying a terrible price". On the assumption that the 'this' refers to the UK, floating the notion in passing that our losses, which might amount to a hundred or something, are a terrible price - without mentioning the half million or so excess deaths that our intervention in Iraq has resulted in, struck me as remarkably crass.
Intrigued by the AA-Saga saga. Bit of a mystery how the boys in the city can talk the combined value of these companies up enough in three years to extract £2bn or so profit - in cash mind, not promises for the future - out of a total of £10bn or something. OK so the sharp minds of private finance might be bringing a breath of fresh management air, but I find it hard to believe that they can make so much differance so quickly. And the explanation in both the DT and the Guardian failed to throw any light for me on the mystery. Maybe it really is all down to fancy cooking of the books and tax evasion.
The residents of Epsom continue to fret over who is going to provide land for all the houses that we seem to need (not least for all the Poles who will no doubt mostly work hard, prosper and want to move on from the shacks, sheds or squats they are living in now). As ever, the answer seems to be not here.
But I do worry about my allotment. The square allotment field takes about a quarter out of a large field - presumably a bit of Epsom Common cut off by Christchurch Road - the rest of which is owned by the local school. The whole lot was probably allotments during the last war and is there for all to see on Google Earth. But the local school only uses about a third of its three quarters and the allotment field includes an access to Christchurch Road. Now having two allotments is a very nice thing, but the £40 a year or so which I pay for each of my 300 sq metre allotments bears no relation to the cost of building land around here. I would have thought the council could make quite a strong case in equity to grab most of it to help meet whatever quota has been set by the busies in Whitehall. It would also enable them to sort out the parking mess with all the mum-driven Epsom tractors. But there would be much squealing - maybe even some from me as I should be very sorry to pack up vegetable gardening - and it might even turn out that the council has a duty to provide allotments within reasonable distance of where people live. Maybe it is green belt which is still fairly sacred. Maybe they should move out onto one of the nearby farms - which presumably only hang on in expectation of a development windfall and who would presumably be delighted to collect and move on to Majorca.
If the allotments and the last hospital site further up the road went for high density housing, the next step would be to make Christchurch Road a lot wider to cope with all the extra traffic - maybe a few more roundabouts to keep the council roundabout nut happy - and generally moving it in the general direction of the Chessington end of Hook Road - that is to say pretty grotty. Where will it all end?
Intrigued by the AA-Saga saga. Bit of a mystery how the boys in the city can talk the combined value of these companies up enough in three years to extract £2bn or so profit - in cash mind, not promises for the future - out of a total of £10bn or something. OK so the sharp minds of private finance might be bringing a breath of fresh management air, but I find it hard to believe that they can make so much differance so quickly. And the explanation in both the DT and the Guardian failed to throw any light for me on the mystery. Maybe it really is all down to fancy cooking of the books and tax evasion.
The residents of Epsom continue to fret over who is going to provide land for all the houses that we seem to need (not least for all the Poles who will no doubt mostly work hard, prosper and want to move on from the shacks, sheds or squats they are living in now). As ever, the answer seems to be not here.
But I do worry about my allotment. The square allotment field takes about a quarter out of a large field - presumably a bit of Epsom Common cut off by Christchurch Road - the rest of which is owned by the local school. The whole lot was probably allotments during the last war and is there for all to see on Google Earth. But the local school only uses about a third of its three quarters and the allotment field includes an access to Christchurch Road. Now having two allotments is a very nice thing, but the £40 a year or so which I pay for each of my 300 sq metre allotments bears no relation to the cost of building land around here. I would have thought the council could make quite a strong case in equity to grab most of it to help meet whatever quota has been set by the busies in Whitehall. It would also enable them to sort out the parking mess with all the mum-driven Epsom tractors. But there would be much squealing - maybe even some from me as I should be very sorry to pack up vegetable gardening - and it might even turn out that the council has a duty to provide allotments within reasonable distance of where people live. Maybe it is green belt which is still fairly sacred. Maybe they should move out onto one of the nearby farms - which presumably only hang on in expectation of a development windfall and who would presumably be delighted to collect and move on to Majorca.
If the allotments and the last hospital site further up the road went for high density housing, the next step would be to make Christchurch Road a lot wider to cope with all the extra traffic - maybe a few more roundabouts to keep the council roundabout nut happy - and generally moving it in the general direction of the Chessington end of Hook Road - that is to say pretty grotty. Where will it all end?
Something from Cambodia from the next blog button
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
S-day
Four more - counting today - smoking days to go - before the nannies come to town. Must think of some suitable way to mark the occasion. Perhaps a smoke crawl or a puffathon.
I learn from TB that the people who write the rules have cunningly made S-hour 0600 on Sunday morning, rather than the preceeding midnight. Thus avoiding any manifestations or demonstrations at that time. Smoking can expire while we are all quietly in our beds waiting to wake up to a smoke fuelled (much worse than the other sort) hangover. Happy days!
Much news for carrot lovers in yesterday's Guardian. It seems that notable organic carrot growers are having difficulty accommodating the needs of the industrial carrot nexus. More precisely they grow carrots in quantities which are too small to fit in with the large processing machinery in use these days. The Guardian helpfully tells us where we can buy one of the machines in question - http://www.wymaengineering.co.nz/default.asp. A massive great stainless steel (choice of other materials available) contraption which must cost many thousands of pounds. One of its many notable features is the use of plastic brushes rather than carborundum based abrasion - which I remember from my days as a potato peeler operator in camp. Text lifted more or less direct from the website plus picture from same filled up several square inches of page at very little cost - beyond finding out the name of the machine in the first place. It seems that these brushes remove the outer membrane of the carrot and what is left looks beautifully fresh inside its plastic bags for weeks. Unless, that is, they start to acquire unsightly brown patches of mould - which maybe said membrane was designed to keep out.
Made a management decision about knee relief - knees starting to creak a bit after nine months of visits to the baker. Remembering that knees last drew attention to themselves after a year of so of fixed wheel commuting some thirty years ago and that I have read somewhere that one's legs are supposed to maintain the same speed - cadence being the cycle geek word for this - irrespective of the speed over the road. Notwithstanding, however and hitherto, being been brought up in the school where the higher the gear the harder one was, I have tended to change gear very little - resulting in both gear and knee penalties. Now making a big effort to change gear much more often and to use the fourth gear rather than the third gear as the base gear. Even reached the sixth gear today. Might even try the middle drive tomorrow - and not just to see that it is still there.
Happy to report that we have by chance found out where the Oaks horse race was named for - not that I have been to the Oaks for about six years - the move to Friday from Saturday rather disturbing the plot. It seems that the Earl of Derby owned a house called 'The Oaks' near Carshalton, the grounds of which were also used for racing - and he named what is now the Oaks for his house. The house was demolished in the fifties and the grounds are now rather a good park. Bit like a posh version of Nonsuch Park. All this discovered after a visit to a relic of the once thriving Surrey lavender industry. Presumably in the days before real medicine and real washing was invented, aromatic herbs and potions were much more popular than they are now. The relic is question was a large field - several hundred yards square - covered in rows of lavender bushes, of four flavours and mostly in full flower. Quite a sight and quite a smell. There were, needless to say, opportunities to buy lavender products - although some people were clearly just using the field as a good place to walk the dog.
Interesting area, which reminded us of where Essex meets London. An odd mixture of left over real farms, toy farms owned by city gents, flash houses and shacks.
I learn from TB that the people who write the rules have cunningly made S-hour 0600 on Sunday morning, rather than the preceeding midnight. Thus avoiding any manifestations or demonstrations at that time. Smoking can expire while we are all quietly in our beds waiting to wake up to a smoke fuelled (much worse than the other sort) hangover. Happy days!
Much news for carrot lovers in yesterday's Guardian. It seems that notable organic carrot growers are having difficulty accommodating the needs of the industrial carrot nexus. More precisely they grow carrots in quantities which are too small to fit in with the large processing machinery in use these days. The Guardian helpfully tells us where we can buy one of the machines in question - http://www.wymaengineering.co.nz/default.asp. A massive great stainless steel (choice of other materials available) contraption which must cost many thousands of pounds. One of its many notable features is the use of plastic brushes rather than carborundum based abrasion - which I remember from my days as a potato peeler operator in camp. Text lifted more or less direct from the website plus picture from same filled up several square inches of page at very little cost - beyond finding out the name of the machine in the first place. It seems that these brushes remove the outer membrane of the carrot and what is left looks beautifully fresh inside its plastic bags for weeks. Unless, that is, they start to acquire unsightly brown patches of mould - which maybe said membrane was designed to keep out.
Made a management decision about knee relief - knees starting to creak a bit after nine months of visits to the baker. Remembering that knees last drew attention to themselves after a year of so of fixed wheel commuting some thirty years ago and that I have read somewhere that one's legs are supposed to maintain the same speed - cadence being the cycle geek word for this - irrespective of the speed over the road. Notwithstanding, however and hitherto, being been brought up in the school where the higher the gear the harder one was, I have tended to change gear very little - resulting in both gear and knee penalties. Now making a big effort to change gear much more often and to use the fourth gear rather than the third gear as the base gear. Even reached the sixth gear today. Might even try the middle drive tomorrow - and not just to see that it is still there.
Happy to report that we have by chance found out where the Oaks horse race was named for - not that I have been to the Oaks for about six years - the move to Friday from Saturday rather disturbing the plot. It seems that the Earl of Derby owned a house called 'The Oaks' near Carshalton, the grounds of which were also used for racing - and he named what is now the Oaks for his house. The house was demolished in the fifties and the grounds are now rather a good park. Bit like a posh version of Nonsuch Park. All this discovered after a visit to a relic of the once thriving Surrey lavender industry. Presumably in the days before real medicine and real washing was invented, aromatic herbs and potions were much more popular than they are now. The relic is question was a large field - several hundred yards square - covered in rows of lavender bushes, of four flavours and mostly in full flower. Quite a sight and quite a smell. There were, needless to say, opportunities to buy lavender products - although some people were clearly just using the field as a good place to walk the dog.
Interesting area, which reminded us of where Essex meets London. An odd mixture of left over real farms, toy farms owned by city gents, flash houses and shacks.
Monday, June 25, 2007
Clearance
Got bitten by the throwing away bug yesterday. Suddenly - perhaps for no better reason than it rained most of the day - decided to throw away all kinds of rubbish which has been hanging up in the garage roof - just in case - for years. I have recorded before how one can get carried away at this sort of thing once one gets started.
In the course of all this, discovered that the back of the potting shed is in a bit of a state. Because of the way the garden slopes it seemed a good idea, a few years ago, to fill in the space between the back of the shed and the boundary fence with logs topped up with concrete. This served to stop the next door garden washing down into ours and generally made things look tidy. The catch was that the bottom of the back of the shed and some of the contiguous flooring is completely rotten. One could in theory dismantle the shed, patch it up and re-erect but this seems far too complicated. Instead, shoved a barrow load of mortar in the space - shuttered in naturally - for now and go for demolition in due course. Will provide a splendid opportuntity for a bit of patio concreting in order to make a proper foundation this time around - with no risk of next door's garden migrating into the shed. One odd thing. The shed smelt of horse stabling. Not sure why that should be.
Top rib of beef yesterday. At 7.25 pounds and needing rather slower cooking than fore-rib, did it for 3.5 hours, starting at 170C dropping to 150C for the second half. Just about right. Not rare - I don't think that would work very well with this cut - but nicely cooked and not dry. Served with new potatoes, leef beet and broad beans. A first, as far as I can remember, for a meal with vegetables entirely from the allotment, and going further within about 5 five hours.
About to move onto the second shift with cold beef.
Was surprised at how quickly the surplus leaf beet wilted. OK today but would not be much good tomorrow. Plus the slugs have been having a good go at it - can't think of any other reason for perforated leaves. They have also been having a good go at the row of onions which is next to the beet. Small slugs taking up residence in the tubular leaves. Maybe now that I have weeded them again the slugs will push off, hopefully not caring for the now drier and less sheltered environment.
The leaves of the maincrop potatoes (Desiree from the Maris people) are starting to turn brown at the tips. Hope this is not a sign of anything unpleasant.
In the course of all this, discovered that the back of the potting shed is in a bit of a state. Because of the way the garden slopes it seemed a good idea, a few years ago, to fill in the space between the back of the shed and the boundary fence with logs topped up with concrete. This served to stop the next door garden washing down into ours and generally made things look tidy. The catch was that the bottom of the back of the shed and some of the contiguous flooring is completely rotten. One could in theory dismantle the shed, patch it up and re-erect but this seems far too complicated. Instead, shoved a barrow load of mortar in the space - shuttered in naturally - for now and go for demolition in due course. Will provide a splendid opportuntity for a bit of patio concreting in order to make a proper foundation this time around - with no risk of next door's garden migrating into the shed. One odd thing. The shed smelt of horse stabling. Not sure why that should be.
Top rib of beef yesterday. At 7.25 pounds and needing rather slower cooking than fore-rib, did it for 3.5 hours, starting at 170C dropping to 150C for the second half. Just about right. Not rare - I don't think that would work very well with this cut - but nicely cooked and not dry. Served with new potatoes, leef beet and broad beans. A first, as far as I can remember, for a meal with vegetables entirely from the allotment, and going further within about 5 five hours.
About to move onto the second shift with cold beef.
Was surprised at how quickly the surplus leaf beet wilted. OK today but would not be much good tomorrow. Plus the slugs have been having a good go at it - can't think of any other reason for perforated leaves. They have also been having a good go at the row of onions which is next to the beet. Small slugs taking up residence in the tubular leaves. Maybe now that I have weeded them again the slugs will push off, hopefully not caring for the now drier and less sheltered environment.
The leaves of the maincrop potatoes (Desiree from the Maris people) are starting to turn brown at the tips. Hope this is not a sign of anything unpleasant.
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Something from Angola from the next blog button
Goose paste
Finally got around to sampling the tin of goose liver pate today by way of pre-roast afternoon tea. Not bad at all; a slightly more sophisticated version of the paste we buy in little bottles from Shiphams. This last having the advantage of coming in various flavours and colours.
Sampled Wiggers a couple of days ago - it being the first time that I have heard the Chopin Preludes live - the last time I heard them at all being the night of the disaster. Played by a Japanese gent with a good stage manner - Hiromi Okada - neither too stiff (as I find Pollini) or too flambouyant. But the program as a whole perhaps a bit overweight with a sonata and 15 variations from Mr B plus a stocking filler (which I rather liked) from one Artur Malawski. For the first time that I remember we were sitting on the keyboard side only a few rows from the front - and watching the hands made it a whole new experience for me. Plus a slightly odd noise - not the sort of dying note noise that I am used to - from the piano whenever it got to the end of something. Perhaps that is what happens when the foot comes off the pedal but I couldn't see clearly enough to be sure. A rather thin audience - but with good Japanese representation and very enthusiastic. Three encores - which I find three too many after something as highly wrought as the preludes. The wrong way to bring me back down again. Guiness - there being a pelican bar quite handy - being much more suitable.
Harvested some more potatoes today. Very good size but managed to spear rather too many of them. Shouldn't matter too much if we eat those ones today. Plus the first of this years beet spinach.
And lastly more pub talk, prompted by the affairs of our Moat House Garden Centre, adjacent to what was one of the Epsom mental hospitals and partly staffed by the mentally handicapped. The affair in question being the question of whether or not the handicapped should be paid for their gardening. One school of thought - which the unions brought to the fore in the sixties of the last century - was that people doing such jobs should get the regular wage. They had a point, but I think the effect was that virtually all such jobs disappeared: one could not afford to run a business paying for four cylinders and only getting two. So the handicapped were back into the OT units doing jigsaws. Until recently the deal at the Moat House was that these gardeners got three pounds a day. Not much, but perhaps enough to pay for their fags and to give them a bit of self respect. The council - or the NHS - is now taking the position that they are volunteers and not entitled to any payment at all. All seems a bit mean to me. It is not a lot to pay to help these people feel they are contributing.
Sampled Wiggers a couple of days ago - it being the first time that I have heard the Chopin Preludes live - the last time I heard them at all being the night of the disaster. Played by a Japanese gent with a good stage manner - Hiromi Okada - neither too stiff (as I find Pollini) or too flambouyant. But the program as a whole perhaps a bit overweight with a sonata and 15 variations from Mr B plus a stocking filler (which I rather liked) from one Artur Malawski. For the first time that I remember we were sitting on the keyboard side only a few rows from the front - and watching the hands made it a whole new experience for me. Plus a slightly odd noise - not the sort of dying note noise that I am used to - from the piano whenever it got to the end of something. Perhaps that is what happens when the foot comes off the pedal but I couldn't see clearly enough to be sure. A rather thin audience - but with good Japanese representation and very enthusiastic. Three encores - which I find three too many after something as highly wrought as the preludes. The wrong way to bring me back down again. Guiness - there being a pelican bar quite handy - being much more suitable.
Harvested some more potatoes today. Very good size but managed to spear rather too many of them. Shouldn't matter too much if we eat those ones today. Plus the first of this years beet spinach.
And lastly more pub talk, prompted by the affairs of our Moat House Garden Centre, adjacent to what was one of the Epsom mental hospitals and partly staffed by the mentally handicapped. The affair in question being the question of whether or not the handicapped should be paid for their gardening. One school of thought - which the unions brought to the fore in the sixties of the last century - was that people doing such jobs should get the regular wage. They had a point, but I think the effect was that virtually all such jobs disappeared: one could not afford to run a business paying for four cylinders and only getting two. So the handicapped were back into the OT units doing jigsaws. Until recently the deal at the Moat House was that these gardeners got three pounds a day. Not much, but perhaps enough to pay for their fags and to give them a bit of self respect. The council - or the NHS - is now taking the position that they are volunteers and not entitled to any payment at all. All seems a bit mean to me. It is not a lot to pay to help these people feel they are contributing.
Saturday, June 23, 2007
Celebs rule
Two interesting celebrity snippets over the last few days. First, I read in an article about a recently dead comic - whose name now escapes me - that his custom was to interview lady journalists in just his (visibly dirty) underwear. What a jerk. And what a world that a journalist has to put up with this sort of thing. Why could she not tell her editor where to get off with such a person? Second, our favourite cherry has been hired by a porn king to fight her hubbies anti smoking law on the grounds of human rights or something. Now while I am delighted that some rich person is up for throwing money at the cause, cherry makes another error of judgement in getting mixed up with such a person on such a business. All this stuff about taxi rank rules is nonsense. I am sure that she was free to decline the brief if she did not like it and if I was hubby I would be deeply pissed off. Was it greed drawing her in or was it the free tour of club premises?
And the wave of pub refurbishments has hit the Half Way House at Earlsfield. Decent Youngs house in perfectly decent nick has now been gutted. Temporary absence of a handy place to wait for trains in. As I have moaned before, all this unecessary paint has to be paid for by the punters. Plus instead of what was a comfortable pub we now get some youth flavoured dump. The same disease seems to be getting into chains of petrol stations, with what look like perfectly serviceable petrol stations getting torn apart on some venture or other. Presumably the market for petrol is fairly static, so they are all fighting for the trimmings - in the form of food and drink - around the margins. But that again must be a fairly static market so it is not at all clear to me that, taken as a whole, all this activity is very productive.
Prompted by Miller's Doubles, have been reading 'The Nigger of the Narcissus'. Excellent book - but a good job that Conrad is an established author or there might be a certain amount of tutting about the title - also about the rather negative spin given to the nigger in question. I even offer a quote which struck me: "He looked upon the immortal sea with the awakened and groping perception of its heartless might; he saw it unchanged, black and foaming ... " (p87 of the Penguin edition). A bit thin out of context, but heavy enough in its place. Very elemental and no doubt Freudian.
No proper white fish from Hastings this week but treated to a rather old lady in lycra with her bicycle as a consolation prize. Had to buy some cutlets for tea to recover - having decided that cutlets are a better feed than chops.
Bought some varnish at Wickes - a shop which has always struck me as cheap and own brand. Not a place to go for for Dulux paint. But having forgotten this, went there for varnish and instead of the Ronseal I know and love got some of said own brand. Opened it up and instead of something looking like golden syrup found something looking like rather thin gloss paint and which smelt a bit odd. Thought I had the wrong tin, but the label was clear enough. However, gave the stuff a go, using a rubber rather than a brush. (We will see if it stays soft in a lidded jam jar). First coat did not do much but with the second coat the old sea chest is coming up quite well. At which point I remembered that white (French) polish was a similar white liquid - although a good deal more fiddly and unpleasant to apply. So maybe Wickes have not got it all wrong after all.
Pumpkins continue to grow slowly. Slugs are laying off and the ground is very warm, even damp as well, but they are taking a while to move. Maybe I damaged the roots too much when digging them out of the wash bowl. Anyway, the pumpkin plot is all carefully weeded now so maybe there will continue to be more pumpkin than weed for a bit. Half way through weeding the row of runner beans - the compost end of which has been fairly badly savaged by slugs despite the pellets. Maybe the compost heap is acting as a nature reserve or reservoir for slugs keen to have a go. But at the other end of the row the plants have now got to the poles and are on the move. Some of them looking quite sturdy even.
And the wave of pub refurbishments has hit the Half Way House at Earlsfield. Decent Youngs house in perfectly decent nick has now been gutted. Temporary absence of a handy place to wait for trains in. As I have moaned before, all this unecessary paint has to be paid for by the punters. Plus instead of what was a comfortable pub we now get some youth flavoured dump. The same disease seems to be getting into chains of petrol stations, with what look like perfectly serviceable petrol stations getting torn apart on some venture or other. Presumably the market for petrol is fairly static, so they are all fighting for the trimmings - in the form of food and drink - around the margins. But that again must be a fairly static market so it is not at all clear to me that, taken as a whole, all this activity is very productive.
Prompted by Miller's Doubles, have been reading 'The Nigger of the Narcissus'. Excellent book - but a good job that Conrad is an established author or there might be a certain amount of tutting about the title - also about the rather negative spin given to the nigger in question. I even offer a quote which struck me: "He looked upon the immortal sea with the awakened and groping perception of its heartless might; he saw it unchanged, black and foaming ... " (p87 of the Penguin edition). A bit thin out of context, but heavy enough in its place. Very elemental and no doubt Freudian.
No proper white fish from Hastings this week but treated to a rather old lady in lycra with her bicycle as a consolation prize. Had to buy some cutlets for tea to recover - having decided that cutlets are a better feed than chops.
Bought some varnish at Wickes - a shop which has always struck me as cheap and own brand. Not a place to go for for Dulux paint. But having forgotten this, went there for varnish and instead of the Ronseal I know and love got some of said own brand. Opened it up and instead of something looking like golden syrup found something looking like rather thin gloss paint and which smelt a bit odd. Thought I had the wrong tin, but the label was clear enough. However, gave the stuff a go, using a rubber rather than a brush. (We will see if it stays soft in a lidded jam jar). First coat did not do much but with the second coat the old sea chest is coming up quite well. At which point I remembered that white (French) polish was a similar white liquid - although a good deal more fiddly and unpleasant to apply. So maybe Wickes have not got it all wrong after all.
Pumpkins continue to grow slowly. Slugs are laying off and the ground is very warm, even damp as well, but they are taking a while to move. Maybe I damaged the roots too much when digging them out of the wash bowl. Anyway, the pumpkin plot is all carefully weeded now so maybe there will continue to be more pumpkin than weed for a bit. Half way through weeding the row of runner beans - the compost end of which has been fairly badly savaged by slugs despite the pellets. Maybe the compost heap is acting as a nature reserve or reservoir for slugs keen to have a go. But at the other end of the row the plants have now got to the poles and are on the move. Some of them looking quite sturdy even.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
IE 6.0.2800.blah
Settings mysteriously returned to normal. This is good, being old enough not to like change, whether or not for changes sake.
Interested to see in the Guardian earlier this week a peice neatly linking up two of my bug-bears - to wit, regulitis and signitis. Linking both into a general failure of 21st century people to manage themselves - and particular the lower orders thereof - in a sensible way. Dishing out orders in one medium or another being a rather unsatisfactory substitute for work, thought or management. Didn't actually read the peice so don't know whether the author (a gent) picked up on the third bug-bear, that is to say the various interest groups who make money out of these diseases and who therefore have no interest in their control. Maximum sustainable yeild is what they ought to be into - although maybe they don't read their Lipseys and go for the quickest possible buck. Accountants, lawyers and consultants in the first case; consultants, contractors and PFI partners in the second.
But our ambivalence in these matters was neatly demonstrated by the peice immediately following which laid out in loving detail the various problems which will arise from a weekly consumption of alcohol the daily consumption of which would leave the average denizen of TB considerably less than satisfied.
Broad bean harvest continues with a bacon and onion flavoured version today (the general idea coming from the good Delia). Plants now getting on for 5 feet high - as a result of not pinching out the shoots this year. Doesn't seem to have resulted in a plague of blackfly so perhaps the spray I used was particularly unorganic. Report back on bean stew later.
Ate the first ever strawberry from the allotment today. Cambridge stock planted out over the winter. Next year might get a proper crop.
But it is a pity that one can't eat willow shoots. The small tree which I cut to within a foot or so of the ground at the bottom of the Southern allotment over the winter had put out shoots to around 5 feet high. Pulled them all off today and there must have been twenty pounds of the things. All fairly green and soggy so put them in the compost bin - the half that I cleared out last so it has more than a year to do the business with the willow. Unless that is, everything is disturbed by having to renew the pallets holding it together on that side. They are looking decidely past their sell by date.
Interested to see in the Guardian earlier this week a peice neatly linking up two of my bug-bears - to wit, regulitis and signitis. Linking both into a general failure of 21st century people to manage themselves - and particular the lower orders thereof - in a sensible way. Dishing out orders in one medium or another being a rather unsatisfactory substitute for work, thought or management. Didn't actually read the peice so don't know whether the author (a gent) picked up on the third bug-bear, that is to say the various interest groups who make money out of these diseases and who therefore have no interest in their control. Maximum sustainable yeild is what they ought to be into - although maybe they don't read their Lipseys and go for the quickest possible buck. Accountants, lawyers and consultants in the first case; consultants, contractors and PFI partners in the second.
But our ambivalence in these matters was neatly demonstrated by the peice immediately following which laid out in loving detail the various problems which will arise from a weekly consumption of alcohol the daily consumption of which would leave the average denizen of TB considerably less than satisfied.
Broad bean harvest continues with a bacon and onion flavoured version today (the general idea coming from the good Delia). Plants now getting on for 5 feet high - as a result of not pinching out the shoots this year. Doesn't seem to have resulted in a plague of blackfly so perhaps the spray I used was particularly unorganic. Report back on bean stew later.
Ate the first ever strawberry from the allotment today. Cambridge stock planted out over the winter. Next year might get a proper crop.
But it is a pity that one can't eat willow shoots. The small tree which I cut to within a foot or so of the ground at the bottom of the Southern allotment over the winter had put out shoots to around 5 feet high. Pulled them all off today and there must have been twenty pounds of the things. All fairly green and soggy so put them in the compost bin - the half that I cleared out last so it has more than a year to do the business with the willow. Unless that is, everything is disturbed by having to renew the pallets holding it together on that side. They are looking decidely past their sell by date.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Talking trains
Following the recent advertisement of a competition for the invention of silly announcements for Southwest Trains, Southern have come up with a pretty good entry. After you have sat down in one of their trains you now get an announcement telling you which carriage you are sitting in. I suppose I am reasonably impressed that the technology can pipe carriage specific messages down - but, as ever, the nerds who invent these things have no discipline when it comes to using them. Back at the Treasury there were long running rows about automated messages of the day popping up when you booted your PC up which got in the way of getting on with your email.
On the same occasion discovered that railway timetables are not complete. So according to the timetable at Epsom there is one train an hour to West Croydon during most of the day. Just missed one, so go to wait at Sutton where the scenery might be more interesting. Get to Sutton where one finds that there are six trains an hour from Sutton to West Croydon - which means that if one allows a change there are at least two trains an hour from Epsom to West Croydon. Presumably they have a space budget on the timetables displayed at stations which they would burst if they showed all sensible journeys. But irritating: it means one has to ask the Network Rail web site prior to journey to get the full sp (I forget where this particular bit of slang comes from. Must ask Mr Google).
Having survived all these trials and tribulations had a good day in Croydon, marching down from West to South and back again. Busy place for a week day afternoon. Took in a number of churches. A very fine Catholic church just by West Croydon bus station with a very lurid statue of St George and the dragon. Then the main Anglican church (St Peters, I think), rather well rebuilt after a very bad fire in the 19th century. With a clerical staff of four, half ladies, and a musical staff of five: director of music, assistant director of music, two organ scholars and a composer organist. Someone was practising on the organ and it certainly made a very splendid noise. But surprised that a church had such a strong music department - and without any sign of giving concerts, lunchtime or otherwise. Round this church were a number of interesting buildings old and new. A very odd looking furniture shop and the oldest pub in Croydon amongst others. Sadly the pub did not open until 4 and we were just after lunch. Then a large Victorian church in South Croydon in what looked as if it had been a rather posh suburb, which did not appear to be completely dead but which was rather seriously locked up. The churchyard had the appearance of being frequented by undesirables at night.
Surrey Street market still doing well - maybe forty years since I used to buy vegetables there as a student. Very strong on oranges and there was at least one stall which only sold proper vegetables - none of this foreign stuff or fruit. But a note of change in the form of a Chinese vegetable stall from which we bought a couple of good looking fennels. And nearby, in what looked as if it had been the main shopping street 150 years ago, found a very old style indoor market (a little run down) with a very old style cafe at the back. Plenty of tattoos, smoking, poor whites and others. Meal of the day was shepherds' pie with three vegetables - which turned out to be cabbage, carrots and peas. The cabbage and carrots seemed fresh even if the cabbage was rather overcooked - perhaps to suit the dentures of the clientele. But not bad at 4.99 including large mug of tea.
Plus several tattoo parlours, a body piercing establishment, two wet fish shops, an eel and pie shop and a barber's shop selling china figures of black people - this last being something I had never come across before. Good for him.
All in all an interesting day, rounded off by finishing off the cold fore rib as sandwiches. Confirming my belief that fore rib is far and away the best sort of beef for eating cold. Much superior to the dry chewy stuff you get from most sandwich shops.
Only marred by this copy of Internet Explorer having flipped its setting somehow. Maybe it's down to the Starware thing that seems to have worked its way on board somehow.
On the same occasion discovered that railway timetables are not complete. So according to the timetable at Epsom there is one train an hour to West Croydon during most of the day. Just missed one, so go to wait at Sutton where the scenery might be more interesting. Get to Sutton where one finds that there are six trains an hour from Sutton to West Croydon - which means that if one allows a change there are at least two trains an hour from Epsom to West Croydon. Presumably they have a space budget on the timetables displayed at stations which they would burst if they showed all sensible journeys. But irritating: it means one has to ask the Network Rail web site prior to journey to get the full sp (I forget where this particular bit of slang comes from. Must ask Mr Google).
Having survived all these trials and tribulations had a good day in Croydon, marching down from West to South and back again. Busy place for a week day afternoon. Took in a number of churches. A very fine Catholic church just by West Croydon bus station with a very lurid statue of St George and the dragon. Then the main Anglican church (St Peters, I think), rather well rebuilt after a very bad fire in the 19th century. With a clerical staff of four, half ladies, and a musical staff of five: director of music, assistant director of music, two organ scholars and a composer organist. Someone was practising on the organ and it certainly made a very splendid noise. But surprised that a church had such a strong music department - and without any sign of giving concerts, lunchtime or otherwise. Round this church were a number of interesting buildings old and new. A very odd looking furniture shop and the oldest pub in Croydon amongst others. Sadly the pub did not open until 4 and we were just after lunch. Then a large Victorian church in South Croydon in what looked as if it had been a rather posh suburb, which did not appear to be completely dead but which was rather seriously locked up. The churchyard had the appearance of being frequented by undesirables at night.
Surrey Street market still doing well - maybe forty years since I used to buy vegetables there as a student. Very strong on oranges and there was at least one stall which only sold proper vegetables - none of this foreign stuff or fruit. But a note of change in the form of a Chinese vegetable stall from which we bought a couple of good looking fennels. And nearby, in what looked as if it had been the main shopping street 150 years ago, found a very old style indoor market (a little run down) with a very old style cafe at the back. Plenty of tattoos, smoking, poor whites and others. Meal of the day was shepherds' pie with three vegetables - which turned out to be cabbage, carrots and peas. The cabbage and carrots seemed fresh even if the cabbage was rather overcooked - perhaps to suit the dentures of the clientele. But not bad at 4.99 including large mug of tea.
Plus several tattoo parlours, a body piercing establishment, two wet fish shops, an eel and pie shop and a barber's shop selling china figures of black people - this last being something I had never come across before. Good for him.
All in all an interesting day, rounded off by finishing off the cold fore rib as sandwiches. Confirming my belief that fore rib is far and away the best sort of beef for eating cold. Much superior to the dry chewy stuff you get from most sandwich shops.
Only marred by this copy of Internet Explorer having flipped its setting somehow. Maybe it's down to the Starware thing that seems to have worked its way on board somehow.
Monday, June 18, 2007
Third fruits
Having had some rhubarb - plants all dying down now, no more this year - and some spinach left over from last year, now moving into main crops.
Picked maybe three pounds of broad beans, of various sizes and with some slug damage. Thought about cooking them in their outer (furry) skins as suggested by some foodies and observed that some books suggest boiling them for 20 minutes which is around 4 times as long as I would cook them for - then decided to go for peeled beans. Beans varied in size from something less than a centimeter in diameter to something more than two. Product was about right for four of us. BH said that young beans were clearly the thing; she actually liked them, rather than having to plod through peeling the tough skins off them after cooking.
Dug maybe four roots of the second early Kestrel potatoes. First two roots, those next to the path and most exposed to slug attack, did not yeild too much, maybe three times what I put in. But the next root did really well and the fourth did OK. Oddly, didn't manage to spear any of them. Skins almost wiped off. Cut to a bit bigger than golf balls and boiled for 15 minutes, all this within a couple of hours of their being lifted. Excellent waxy texture, flavour good. Entirely differant experience to the Jersey Royals which we have been eating latterly.
Vegetables accompanied by a peice of fore rib - which had a reasonable amount of fat - and which went down very well. Near on seven pounds done for 2 hours 40 minutes at 180C, oven door opened for inspection once. Just about right. Maybe six servings in all.
The new bamboo is now taking off, after having looked a bit miserable for the last couple of months. Now have a smallish number of very fierce looking long green shoots - one of them shooting out near horizontally from the stool. Perhaps the couple of weeks of humid if not particularly wet weather have done the business.
Runner beans also picking up - maybe as much bean plant now as willow shoots on the bean poles. Should have moved into slug pellets a lot earlier.
Some interesting looking holes have appeared in the ground - untouched ground which is still quite hard despite the rain. About three of them and an inch and a bit in diameter, sloping steeply down. Should have poked a stick down to see how far it goes. Looks a bit big for mice and there is none of the debris I thought one always gets with moles. Didn't think rats went in for burrowing. Ants move a lot of earth around but again, didn't think that they made holes of this size at the surface. Don't really want to dig them up to see what is down there.
Picked maybe three pounds of broad beans, of various sizes and with some slug damage. Thought about cooking them in their outer (furry) skins as suggested by some foodies and observed that some books suggest boiling them for 20 minutes which is around 4 times as long as I would cook them for - then decided to go for peeled beans. Beans varied in size from something less than a centimeter in diameter to something more than two. Product was about right for four of us. BH said that young beans were clearly the thing; she actually liked them, rather than having to plod through peeling the tough skins off them after cooking.
Dug maybe four roots of the second early Kestrel potatoes. First two roots, those next to the path and most exposed to slug attack, did not yeild too much, maybe three times what I put in. But the next root did really well and the fourth did OK. Oddly, didn't manage to spear any of them. Skins almost wiped off. Cut to a bit bigger than golf balls and boiled for 15 minutes, all this within a couple of hours of their being lifted. Excellent waxy texture, flavour good. Entirely differant experience to the Jersey Royals which we have been eating latterly.
Vegetables accompanied by a peice of fore rib - which had a reasonable amount of fat - and which went down very well. Near on seven pounds done for 2 hours 40 minutes at 180C, oven door opened for inspection once. Just about right. Maybe six servings in all.
The new bamboo is now taking off, after having looked a bit miserable for the last couple of months. Now have a smallish number of very fierce looking long green shoots - one of them shooting out near horizontally from the stool. Perhaps the couple of weeks of humid if not particularly wet weather have done the business.
Runner beans also picking up - maybe as much bean plant now as willow shoots on the bean poles. Should have moved into slug pellets a lot earlier.
Some interesting looking holes have appeared in the ground - untouched ground which is still quite hard despite the rain. About three of them and an inch and a bit in diameter, sloping steeply down. Should have poked a stick down to see how far it goes. Looks a bit big for mice and there is none of the debris I thought one always gets with moles. Didn't think rats went in for burrowing. Ants move a lot of earth around but again, didn't think that they made holes of this size at the surface. Don't really want to dig them up to see what is down there.
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Spiders
Was impressed yesterday by a couple of strands of spider's web across the top of our watering can being quite undisturbed by a stream of water from a hose being used to fill the can up. I waved the stream around the strands but they did not seem to flicker. Presumably they are too thin to offer enough resistance to the water to put any strain on them - and I seem to remember that their strength to weight ratio is most impressive.
Also impressed by the various stray rocks sticking out of the ground in Tunbridge Wells. Big lumps of sandstone, getting of for the size of a small suburban house. Not something one is used to coming across in the civilised South East - although we do know a large odd rock sticking out of the ground in a heath just to the West of Studland Bay - just on the boundaries of civilisation.
Tunbridge Wells is also the possessor of a very proper old bookshop called Halls. Large two storey affair with proper bookcases and steps for mounting them. An outdoor built in cupboard for the cheapies. And most of the books appear to have sensible prices - so not just a place for the stockbrokers who live around there to buy some high status wall furniture. Old fashioned enough to run to a postcard of the shop but not a website.
Which reminds me that I was pleased to see that, according to a report from the Royal College of Art in the DT, conceptual art is now on the way out; has run its course. Maybe the next money spinner from the arty mob will be a touch more sensible. Maybe it will result in things that said stockbnokers will not mind putting on their walls. In the meantime, I suppose we will have to put up with the terrible twins (Hirst and Emin) appearing in the ranks of arty great and good for some years yet.
Black pudding for breakfast, the man at Cheam being out of white pudding. Interestingly, coming from the same supplier, the black pudding, apart from being black rather than white, tasted very like the white pudding. Flavoured with the same widely used spice the name of which I fail to put my finger on. And un-English enough not to include those large chewy white lumps which I am not very keen on. Something that neither the French nor the Scots do with their black puddings. BH says that some people call them blood puddings - which she finds more attractive as a name than black pudding - but while the name is fair enough I can't remember when I last heard it used. Maybe the Germans do it: given their passion for sausage it would be odd if they did not make some form of black pudding.
A failed tweet the other day. On the way to TB and saw a large bird flying quite high overhead. Long body with long thin wings and a shallow forked tail rather in the way of a swift (rather than a swallow). Whole thing rather bigger than a crow. It was being pestered by some of the parrokeets we get around here so I thought that maybe it was a hawk being seen off by said parrokeets. However, got to the RSPB web site after TB and the shape I remembered did not tally with any of their raptor offerings. So mystified. Maybe it was a stray cormorant - they have quite long bodies and also the flap, flap, flap and glide mode of flying that my bird was exhibiting. Don't know about the wings though. Have to get the RSPB to use up some of its inheritances and get a proper identification set up. If fork tailed then goto question 123 sort of thing, like they have in fancy plant books. At least our dictionnary of gardening (now retired to the roof) uses such keys to enable you to identifiy the fuschia you are holding among the hundred or so possibilities. The catch being that you need a good botanical vocabulary and a maginifying glass to use it.
Also impressed by the various stray rocks sticking out of the ground in Tunbridge Wells. Big lumps of sandstone, getting of for the size of a small suburban house. Not something one is used to coming across in the civilised South East - although we do know a large odd rock sticking out of the ground in a heath just to the West of Studland Bay - just on the boundaries of civilisation.
Tunbridge Wells is also the possessor of a very proper old bookshop called Halls. Large two storey affair with proper bookcases and steps for mounting them. An outdoor built in cupboard for the cheapies. And most of the books appear to have sensible prices - so not just a place for the stockbrokers who live around there to buy some high status wall furniture. Old fashioned enough to run to a postcard of the shop but not a website.
Which reminds me that I was pleased to see that, according to a report from the Royal College of Art in the DT, conceptual art is now on the way out; has run its course. Maybe the next money spinner from the arty mob will be a touch more sensible. Maybe it will result in things that said stockbnokers will not mind putting on their walls. In the meantime, I suppose we will have to put up with the terrible twins (Hirst and Emin) appearing in the ranks of arty great and good for some years yet.
Black pudding for breakfast, the man at Cheam being out of white pudding. Interestingly, coming from the same supplier, the black pudding, apart from being black rather than white, tasted very like the white pudding. Flavoured with the same widely used spice the name of which I fail to put my finger on. And un-English enough not to include those large chewy white lumps which I am not very keen on. Something that neither the French nor the Scots do with their black puddings. BH says that some people call them blood puddings - which she finds more attractive as a name than black pudding - but while the name is fair enough I can't remember when I last heard it used. Maybe the Germans do it: given their passion for sausage it would be odd if they did not make some form of black pudding.
A failed tweet the other day. On the way to TB and saw a large bird flying quite high overhead. Long body with long thin wings and a shallow forked tail rather in the way of a swift (rather than a swallow). Whole thing rather bigger than a crow. It was being pestered by some of the parrokeets we get around here so I thought that maybe it was a hawk being seen off by said parrokeets. However, got to the RSPB web site after TB and the shape I remembered did not tally with any of their raptor offerings. So mystified. Maybe it was a stray cormorant - they have quite long bodies and also the flap, flap, flap and glide mode of flying that my bird was exhibiting. Don't know about the wings though. Have to get the RSPB to use up some of its inheritances and get a proper identification set up. If fork tailed then goto question 123 sort of thing, like they have in fancy plant books. At least our dictionnary of gardening (now retired to the roof) uses such keys to enable you to identifiy the fuschia you are holding among the hundred or so possibilities. The catch being that you need a good botanical vocabulary and a maginifying glass to use it.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Nostalgia
Spent some more time in Gosport helping to clear the roof of our naval aunt's house. Now the pround owner of two interesting boxes. One, made out of fat pine planks with lots of dovetails and three working drawers is around 20 inches by 20 inches by 30 inches. Very substantial affair which could take a fair amount of rough handling, had nothing sticking out and could be stacked like containers; and, which we suspect was what a naval officer had to keep all his worldy possessions in while on a cruise. Naval ratings had kit bags. Perhaps the captain got to have both.
The other is a steel box around 10 inches by 10 inches by 40 inches, the construction being of the ammunition box variety. The odd thing being that it has been carefully lined with thin copper sheets, all carefully soldered together. We suspect that this one might have been used for storing said officer's dress uniform - although we wonder what would have happened had seawater got near it - sea water doing funny things when two differant metals are in the same vicinity - according to Wiki the funny things in question being what makes batteries work.
On the other hand we have it on good authority that brass does not corrode in sea water so perhaps being an alloy does not count as two differant metals being in the same vicinity.
We disposed of various other wooden packing cases used on sea voyages. Heavy affairs, not a bit of plywood or hardboard in sight (never mind chip board) and not quite as posh as the chest of drawers, but again, carefully lined with canvas, oil cloth or whatever. I guess you just have to hire a container these days and fill it with cardboard boxes. Not got the same glamour at all.
The owner of the boxes was also of a sufficiently careful generation to make string handles for the many cardboard boxes he had for storing valubles in the roof. And a special cardboard box had even been folded and tied up against its next outing - which, sadly, never came to pass.
Reading the copy of 'The Wind in the Willows' acquired recently from Lyme Regis and which turns out to be at least our second copy. Odd sort of book, can't imagine a Frenchman writing it or reading it. Maybe a Russian. All very English and turn of the century before last. And not really a childrens' book either, despite being about small cuddly animals and the blurb describing it as a book of and for youth. In the same camp perhaps as 'Three Men in a Boat' - which I have never read. Must ask BH as this last is something she reads from time to time.
We have heard reports that it is possible to be appointed as a lecturer in music at an English university without being able to read music. At first I assumed that the lecturer in question was supposed to take a special interest in 16th century split trunk drumming on the upper Volta or musical accompaniments to whirling dervishes in post-schism Iran - neither subject needing the benefit of Western musical notation. But the Grauniad reveals all, carrying an advertisement for a lecturer in music technology. The person they are looking for seems to be somebody who knows all about sound, computer generation of sound, acoustics and the all the other engineering and mechanics of today's music business. Not a job for a musician - even a pop musician - and certainly no need for anything so quaint as notation.
The other is a steel box around 10 inches by 10 inches by 40 inches, the construction being of the ammunition box variety. The odd thing being that it has been carefully lined with thin copper sheets, all carefully soldered together. We suspect that this one might have been used for storing said officer's dress uniform - although we wonder what would have happened had seawater got near it - sea water doing funny things when two differant metals are in the same vicinity - according to Wiki the funny things in question being what makes batteries work.
On the other hand we have it on good authority that brass does not corrode in sea water so perhaps being an alloy does not count as two differant metals being in the same vicinity.
We disposed of various other wooden packing cases used on sea voyages. Heavy affairs, not a bit of plywood or hardboard in sight (never mind chip board) and not quite as posh as the chest of drawers, but again, carefully lined with canvas, oil cloth or whatever. I guess you just have to hire a container these days and fill it with cardboard boxes. Not got the same glamour at all.
The owner of the boxes was also of a sufficiently careful generation to make string handles for the many cardboard boxes he had for storing valubles in the roof. And a special cardboard box had even been folded and tied up against its next outing - which, sadly, never came to pass.
Reading the copy of 'The Wind in the Willows' acquired recently from Lyme Regis and which turns out to be at least our second copy. Odd sort of book, can't imagine a Frenchman writing it or reading it. Maybe a Russian. All very English and turn of the century before last. And not really a childrens' book either, despite being about small cuddly animals and the blurb describing it as a book of and for youth. In the same camp perhaps as 'Three Men in a Boat' - which I have never read. Must ask BH as this last is something she reads from time to time.
We have heard reports that it is possible to be appointed as a lecturer in music at an English university without being able to read music. At first I assumed that the lecturer in question was supposed to take a special interest in 16th century split trunk drumming on the upper Volta or musical accompaniments to whirling dervishes in post-schism Iran - neither subject needing the benefit of Western musical notation. But the Grauniad reveals all, carrying an advertisement for a lecturer in music technology. The person they are looking for seems to be somebody who knows all about sound, computer generation of sound, acoustics and the all the other engineering and mechanics of today's music business. Not a job for a musician - even a pop musician - and certainly no need for anything so quaint as notation.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Regulitis
Not a bad crop of trivia from yesterday's DT. Including a short report about another round of sex regulations. That is to say making it even harder for mens' or womens' clubs to stay that way. Why we can't just leave them alone is beyond me. Now that TV timetabling is firmly in the hands of ladies, with wall to wall ladies programmes (one can tell a ladies programme, if by no other test, by the things being advertised) at peak times, don't they think that they have scaled enough peaks?
I wonder if the Masons - as a cult perhaps - are exempt. I have have never heard of ladies in a mens' lodge although I am also told that there is nothing in Masonic rules to stop ladies forming their own lodge. Must make enquiries.
Presumably Vatican City is exempt from whatever they do in this way in Italy. That particular cult is some way off allowing a lady at the top of the heap.
Yesterday to the dumpling barn, aka Chuen Cheng Ku in Wardour Street, for lunch. Usual bustling self with lots of young waiting staff rushing up and down with trolleys. Amongst other things, two portions of some sort of green vegetable and two entirely new dishes. One was called rice porriage - which tasted quite good and surprisingly like our sort of porriage - with a few bits in. I wonder what would happen if one tried to add some bits to our sort? It would rather defeat its points of being cheap and veggie but it might, nevertheless, work. The other was a sort of suet pudding containing nuts, mushrooms and other unidentified bits and bobs - perhaps some sort of paste - instead of the more usual fruit or steak and kidney. Very good. And reminded that you get to eat a fair proportion of this sort of thing cold. The chef needs to bear that in mind.
On the train came up with a new sport. See who can invent the silliest announcement to add to the already pretty silly collection available from Southwest Trains. My first attempt is: "There have been some late night reports of pink elephants on the luggage racks. If you should see one, do not attempt to move it but contact a member of staff immediately. The member of staff will usually be located at the furthest point in the train from where you are." Bit long, but maybe not so awful for a first attempt.
It would be quite fun to feed some spoof announcements into the system and see how long it takes anyone to notice - or for anyone else to do something about it for that matter. Does each train have an announcement CD or is each train online to the announcement nerve centre so that they can be updated in real time with the latest nonsense?
Tried to find out how to get Excel VB tell you what version it is on using the help system. Absolutely hopeless - although to be fair I was doing it from a PC which was not online and which could not therefore take one to the Microsoft site. Then tried a VB manual - the 600 page tome from Microsoft sort - and no go. Then tried an Excel manual and away we go. Turned the pages for a while and up it came. Now got to see if the same trick can remind me how to turn screen updates off. Last time I tried it the workings of the feature were a bit idiosyncratic but maybe with a bit more effort I can find out how to make it behave. Got to find it first.
I wonder if the Masons - as a cult perhaps - are exempt. I have have never heard of ladies in a mens' lodge although I am also told that there is nothing in Masonic rules to stop ladies forming their own lodge. Must make enquiries.
Presumably Vatican City is exempt from whatever they do in this way in Italy. That particular cult is some way off allowing a lady at the top of the heap.
Yesterday to the dumpling barn, aka Chuen Cheng Ku in Wardour Street, for lunch. Usual bustling self with lots of young waiting staff rushing up and down with trolleys. Amongst other things, two portions of some sort of green vegetable and two entirely new dishes. One was called rice porriage - which tasted quite good and surprisingly like our sort of porriage - with a few bits in. I wonder what would happen if one tried to add some bits to our sort? It would rather defeat its points of being cheap and veggie but it might, nevertheless, work. The other was a sort of suet pudding containing nuts, mushrooms and other unidentified bits and bobs - perhaps some sort of paste - instead of the more usual fruit or steak and kidney. Very good. And reminded that you get to eat a fair proportion of this sort of thing cold. The chef needs to bear that in mind.
On the train came up with a new sport. See who can invent the silliest announcement to add to the already pretty silly collection available from Southwest Trains. My first attempt is: "There have been some late night reports of pink elephants on the luggage racks. If you should see one, do not attempt to move it but contact a member of staff immediately. The member of staff will usually be located at the furthest point in the train from where you are." Bit long, but maybe not so awful for a first attempt.
It would be quite fun to feed some spoof announcements into the system and see how long it takes anyone to notice - or for anyone else to do something about it for that matter. Does each train have an announcement CD or is each train online to the announcement nerve centre so that they can be updated in real time with the latest nonsense?
Tried to find out how to get Excel VB tell you what version it is on using the help system. Absolutely hopeless - although to be fair I was doing it from a PC which was not online and which could not therefore take one to the Microsoft site. Then tried a VB manual - the 600 page tome from Microsoft sort - and no go. Then tried an Excel manual and away we go. Turned the pages for a while and up it came. Now got to see if the same trick can remind me how to turn screen updates off. Last time I tried it the workings of the feature were a bit idiosyncratic but maybe with a bit more effort I can find out how to make it behave. Got to find it first.
Monday, June 11, 2007
So what are walls for?
The FIL pix shows a very impressive and ancient monument, but what was it really for? If there were people about organised enough to build such a thing, there would be other people who would not find it that hard to knock a hole through it. I would have thought that a hundred undisturbed men with crowbars and such could knock a hole suitable for cavalry in a day or so. And could you really garrison the whole thing? Who gets posted out into the wilds portrayed? Punishment for borrowing one of the emperor's concubines? Does anyone know? Maybe I will be asking Wiki shortly.
A modest senior moment today when I almost brushed the breadcrumbs from the bread board into the grocery cupboard rather than that containing the compost bucket.
The compost itself is the subject of an experiment. We have acquired several pounds of dry goods - flour, sugar, rice and the like - which had been sitting in an attic for maybe twenty years. Looked OK but we were a bit too squeamish to actually eat the stuff so it has been used to feed the compost bin at the bottom of the garden. The thing is, are we going to have a generation of obese or diabetic slugs and worms as a result of this grossly enhanced diet? Are the rats going to make serious attempts to gnaw their way through the protective chipboard at the front of the bin to get at the stuff? If pushed, I'm sure they could make it, despite the hard plastic coating. With a bit of brain power they might just tunnel under rather than gnaw through.
A rather differant sort of senior moment in the book I am reading about the Armenian massacres (which, as ever, turn out to be a more complicated - although still very evil - business than one had first thought). Lots of people seem to be called Blogs Bey or Fred Pasa (s cedilla I think). It has taken me three quarters of the book to realise that Bey and Pasa are titles - like Lord or Sir - which the Turks in their wisdom place after the family name rather than before. Pasa does not appear in my dictionary but Pasha and Basha do. The dictionary comes down on the side of the view that Pasha and Basha are the same word so I can probably roll Pasa in too.
Any yet another book, this time about Burma. It seems that Burma has never been a neat and tidy country in the way that England has been for getting on for a thousand years - and like Ottoman Anatolia contains a very mixed population - although as a result of unpleasant goings on since the last war, rather less mixed that it used to be. Not a good recipe for a rapid transition to modern nation statehood. Said transition being made even harder by North Eastern Burma being invaded by a very substantial remnant from the losing side at the end of the Chinese civil war. Also that the much hated Ne Win was, as a young man, the most effective soldier around - a quality which fuelled his rise to the top - but which did not prevent his fall from grace.
Cut up on the way to or from Cheam three times in the last week. On the first occasion, a little old lady in her little old car overtakes me and turns smartly left. On the second, I am overtaken on the inside (there being less than two feet between me and the kerb) by a postman on a bicycle at traffic lights where I was hoping to turn left. On the third, I think a variant of the little old lady but I forget the detail. No doubt it will come back when I log out.
Experimented with lemon soles last week - having arrived at the baker (this being where the fish van parks) too late for the depleted summer catches of proper white fish. Not hugely impressed. BH did an excellent job of cooking and presentation (entire, dark side up with incisions), but the flesh was a bit mushy for me, especially that under the rather substantial bone. In fact, not only mushy but thin on the ground. One only got to eat maybe a third of the bought weight.
A modest senior moment today when I almost brushed the breadcrumbs from the bread board into the grocery cupboard rather than that containing the compost bucket.
The compost itself is the subject of an experiment. We have acquired several pounds of dry goods - flour, sugar, rice and the like - which had been sitting in an attic for maybe twenty years. Looked OK but we were a bit too squeamish to actually eat the stuff so it has been used to feed the compost bin at the bottom of the garden. The thing is, are we going to have a generation of obese or diabetic slugs and worms as a result of this grossly enhanced diet? Are the rats going to make serious attempts to gnaw their way through the protective chipboard at the front of the bin to get at the stuff? If pushed, I'm sure they could make it, despite the hard plastic coating. With a bit of brain power they might just tunnel under rather than gnaw through.
A rather differant sort of senior moment in the book I am reading about the Armenian massacres (which, as ever, turn out to be a more complicated - although still very evil - business than one had first thought). Lots of people seem to be called Blogs Bey or Fred Pasa (s cedilla I think). It has taken me three quarters of the book to realise that Bey and Pasa are titles - like Lord or Sir - which the Turks in their wisdom place after the family name rather than before. Pasa does not appear in my dictionary but Pasha and Basha do. The dictionary comes down on the side of the view that Pasha and Basha are the same word so I can probably roll Pasa in too.
Any yet another book, this time about Burma. It seems that Burma has never been a neat and tidy country in the way that England has been for getting on for a thousand years - and like Ottoman Anatolia contains a very mixed population - although as a result of unpleasant goings on since the last war, rather less mixed that it used to be. Not a good recipe for a rapid transition to modern nation statehood. Said transition being made even harder by North Eastern Burma being invaded by a very substantial remnant from the losing side at the end of the Chinese civil war. Also that the much hated Ne Win was, as a young man, the most effective soldier around - a quality which fuelled his rise to the top - but which did not prevent his fall from grace.
Cut up on the way to or from Cheam three times in the last week. On the first occasion, a little old lady in her little old car overtakes me and turns smartly left. On the second, I am overtaken on the inside (there being less than two feet between me and the kerb) by a postman on a bicycle at traffic lights where I was hoping to turn left. On the third, I think a variant of the little old lady but I forget the detail. No doubt it will come back when I log out.
Experimented with lemon soles last week - having arrived at the baker (this being where the fish van parks) too late for the depleted summer catches of proper white fish. Not hugely impressed. BH did an excellent job of cooking and presentation (entire, dark side up with incisions), but the flesh was a bit mushy for me, especially that under the rather substantial bone. In fact, not only mushy but thin on the ground. One only got to eat maybe a third of the bought weight.
More FIL pix
Friday, June 08, 2007
Pathetic
I was struck by a remark, in passing in a book that I am reading about doubles, that the word pathetic did not used to be a word of abuse. Rather, amongst various related meaning, applied to someone or something which aroused pity (according to OED). Which is not quite the same as saying that the someone or something is a plonker. Ironic that at a time when emotionally deprived nerds are on the point of being made illegal, a word used in connection with aroused sensibilities or sensitivities should have shifted its meaning in this way.
Further amused by the small print of green compost in this area, further to the posting of 13 May. I am told that the about to arrive green compost bins (for those that ask for them) are only intended for garden waste not kitchen waste. This last should still be put in the gray bins the contents of which remain destined for land fill sites. I think the idea is to empty them at equal frequencies so the rationale of greater stink from kitchen compost does not run. Perhaps the people who write the rules don't run compost heaps themselves.
Some time ago we discovered a whole lot of hummocks - maybe 15 inches high and 30 inches across - in the rough grass in and around Hampton Court. It turned out that they were a sort of ancient ant heap. It now seems that I have infant ancient ant heaps in the deer exclosure. The drill seems to be that the ants make a nest at the base of a big grass plant. This involves carrying much powdered soil up into the crown of said grass plant where it accumulates. I fully expect the grass plant to respond by moving up and out a bit upon which the ants push the gear out a bit further, the whole getting larger and larger as time goes on. With the thing being made solid and robust by the cementing action of rain and the continuing presence of the roots of the large grass plant - unlike the large heaps made by wood ants which don't have much reinforcement at all - although, being in the wood, they do have some protection from the weather. And they can get very big, even in this country. Watch this space. But do ants eat the roots of the fruit trees - so making up for the depredations of the now excluded deer - whoose stools no doubt deterred the ants?
And a factlet. One hears, from time to time, the allegation that if one left a herd of monkeys with a bunch of typewriters for long enough, one of them would knock out the works of Shakespeare. It now seems that some bored statistician has been doing some sums and he reckons that it would take a good deal longer than the universe has been around for - this being, say, 5 billion years - to get much beyond Act I scene I of the first play - whatever that was. Something to do with raising quite small numbers to the power of 26 (or so. Depends how many funny charectars you allow for and what you do about capitals). So maybe monkeys would not be a very good investment.
Reverting to 4 pint philosophising, does it really make sense to talk of a length of time which goes beyond our understanding of the physical world, something which is intimately bound up with the whole concept of time?
Further amused by the small print of green compost in this area, further to the posting of 13 May. I am told that the about to arrive green compost bins (for those that ask for them) are only intended for garden waste not kitchen waste. This last should still be put in the gray bins the contents of which remain destined for land fill sites. I think the idea is to empty them at equal frequencies so the rationale of greater stink from kitchen compost does not run. Perhaps the people who write the rules don't run compost heaps themselves.
Some time ago we discovered a whole lot of hummocks - maybe 15 inches high and 30 inches across - in the rough grass in and around Hampton Court. It turned out that they were a sort of ancient ant heap. It now seems that I have infant ancient ant heaps in the deer exclosure. The drill seems to be that the ants make a nest at the base of a big grass plant. This involves carrying much powdered soil up into the crown of said grass plant where it accumulates. I fully expect the grass plant to respond by moving up and out a bit upon which the ants push the gear out a bit further, the whole getting larger and larger as time goes on. With the thing being made solid and robust by the cementing action of rain and the continuing presence of the roots of the large grass plant - unlike the large heaps made by wood ants which don't have much reinforcement at all - although, being in the wood, they do have some protection from the weather. And they can get very big, even in this country. Watch this space. But do ants eat the roots of the fruit trees - so making up for the depredations of the now excluded deer - whoose stools no doubt deterred the ants?
And a factlet. One hears, from time to time, the allegation that if one left a herd of monkeys with a bunch of typewriters for long enough, one of them would knock out the works of Shakespeare. It now seems that some bored statistician has been doing some sums and he reckons that it would take a good deal longer than the universe has been around for - this being, say, 5 billion years - to get much beyond Act I scene I of the first play - whatever that was. Something to do with raising quite small numbers to the power of 26 (or so. Depends how many funny charectars you allow for and what you do about capitals). So maybe monkeys would not be a very good investment.
Reverting to 4 pint philosophising, does it really make sense to talk of a length of time which goes beyond our understanding of the physical world, something which is intimately bound up with the whole concept of time?
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
Thought experiment
What little I know of modern philisophy - gleaned from those essays passing as reviews in the TLS - does not impress. A bunch of clever people peering into each others' (unwashed) ears looking for the error in the latest proof of the theorem concerning the beginning of all things. However, I quite like thought experiments which might just about qualify, prompted by the book I am reading on the Armenian massacres, mentioned a few days ago.
Suppose I have a prize dandelion in my garden. Suppose also that the king of a country some thousand miles away has announced that he will kill a hundred thousand of his subjects if I cut the dandelion down. Who is guilty when I cut down the dandelion? This is prompted in turn by an argument which appears to be saying that the Western powers behaved rather irresponsibly with regard to Turkey, as a result of which the Armenians got massacred. Therefore, the guilt really rests with the Western powers. The book leaves this charge implicit but it is clearly there.
The experiment would get more complicated if the king set up a satellite from which the dandelion could be observed 24 hours a day and wired in a trip mechanism that nuked the Armenians when the satellite detected absence of dandelion.
BH made an interesting observation this morning. The charectars who make policy in the Blair bunker are not all control freaks; some of them are just spin doctors. So when a bit of diversion from bad news is needed or when the government wants to look busy (which it seems to think is what the electorate want (maybe they are right)) , they find a new minority sport to make illegal. So according to today's DT they are going to get stuck into the 20% or so of adults who abuse alcohol. What happened to the liberal society that we are supposed to belong to?
Which reminds of of a trap that control freaks - in all fields of endeavour - can fall into. If you want to stop something happening you make it illegal and think that your job is done - without really attending to whatever it is that is making the something happen. Net result is we are all breaking lots of rules lots of the time and the rule book is brought into disrepute. Serious weakening of civil society. Quack, quack. Move over the Guardian, the bloggers are coming.
Down at the allotment was struck the other evening by a very happy view of the small sycamore tree at the bottom of allotment number one. It is about 10 feet high and its hanging clusters of fruits - the winged parchute things - are just starting to ripen with the wings starting to turn a really handsome red colour, constrasting well with the light green of the early summer leaves. Very conspicuous in a small tree without all that much foliage. All in all quite special in the evening light.
Suppose I have a prize dandelion in my garden. Suppose also that the king of a country some thousand miles away has announced that he will kill a hundred thousand of his subjects if I cut the dandelion down. Who is guilty when I cut down the dandelion? This is prompted in turn by an argument which appears to be saying that the Western powers behaved rather irresponsibly with regard to Turkey, as a result of which the Armenians got massacred. Therefore, the guilt really rests with the Western powers. The book leaves this charge implicit but it is clearly there.
The experiment would get more complicated if the king set up a satellite from which the dandelion could be observed 24 hours a day and wired in a trip mechanism that nuked the Armenians when the satellite detected absence of dandelion.
BH made an interesting observation this morning. The charectars who make policy in the Blair bunker are not all control freaks; some of them are just spin doctors. So when a bit of diversion from bad news is needed or when the government wants to look busy (which it seems to think is what the electorate want (maybe they are right)) , they find a new minority sport to make illegal. So according to today's DT they are going to get stuck into the 20% or so of adults who abuse alcohol. What happened to the liberal society that we are supposed to belong to?
Which reminds of of a trap that control freaks - in all fields of endeavour - can fall into. If you want to stop something happening you make it illegal and think that your job is done - without really attending to whatever it is that is making the something happen. Net result is we are all breaking lots of rules lots of the time and the rule book is brought into disrepute. Serious weakening of civil society. Quack, quack. Move over the Guardian, the bloggers are coming.
Down at the allotment was struck the other evening by a very happy view of the small sycamore tree at the bottom of allotment number one. It is about 10 feet high and its hanging clusters of fruits - the winged parchute things - are just starting to ripen with the wings starting to turn a really handsome red colour, constrasting well with the light green of the early summer leaves. Very conspicuous in a small tree without all that much foliage. All in all quite special in the evening light.
Monday, June 04, 2007
Coppers
Following the tip in yesterday's DT, have been trying to source some sheet copper. The local boiler people buy their cylinder shells in for fitting out so they can't help. None of the roofing people can help; from which we deduce that copper roofing is an expensive option with which not many roofers get to bother. Our bit of South West London/North East Surrey does not seem run to metal stockholders. Next stop Mr Google. On the other hand a chap at the allotments has been using copper wire - the sort of thing that would be the earth line in a 60 amp cooker cable - and he says that it is doing fine. He is just swinging a loop around his small lettuce bed or whatever - although to be fair he is also putting some pellets down. Should be a much cheaper option than 2 inch by 1 mm copper strips and something that I might be able to buy at an electrical store rather than having to strip down old cable.
As it happens the pumpkins put out yesterday with pellets are all OK despite the warm, muggy and one would have thought slug friendly weather. Dispatched a few slugs which were coming out of the allotment compost heap this evening, presumably en-route for vegetables. And cut the grass inside the deer exclosure - suprisingly damp considering it has not rained for some time. Must be very good at catching and holding dew - despite not having the nifty dew traps that the teazels go in for. Hopefully loss of habitat will translate into loss of slugs.
The Fuseli sickle earned its keep. Rather a heavy thing but provided neither one's palms nor wrist gives out, does a great job on the sort of two foot grass I had in the deer exclosure. With a bit of flourish - this being the bit that does the wrist in - it will cut suprisingly close to the ground. On this occasion disturbed neither frogs nor mice - but got lots of brown dust discharged from the grass flowers. Presumably not quite the thing for a hay fever sufferer.
And last but not least a modest senior moment. There was a small map of Central America in the DT, a simple black and white job with the sea one colour and the land the other - a positioning map inset inside a larger scale affair showing the now respectable tourist destination of Nicuragua. So I gazed at this thing and decided that it did not look like Central America at all - it taking me some minute or so to realise that I had mistaken the sea for the land - rather in the way of the candle stick illusion you get in lots of elementary shrink texts. Odd how once one has made the mistake, one seems to be locked into it. It takes quite a wrench to revers polarity as it were.
As it happens the pumpkins put out yesterday with pellets are all OK despite the warm, muggy and one would have thought slug friendly weather. Dispatched a few slugs which were coming out of the allotment compost heap this evening, presumably en-route for vegetables. And cut the grass inside the deer exclosure - suprisingly damp considering it has not rained for some time. Must be very good at catching and holding dew - despite not having the nifty dew traps that the teazels go in for. Hopefully loss of habitat will translate into loss of slugs.
The Fuseli sickle earned its keep. Rather a heavy thing but provided neither one's palms nor wrist gives out, does a great job on the sort of two foot grass I had in the deer exclosure. With a bit of flourish - this being the bit that does the wrist in - it will cut suprisingly close to the ground. On this occasion disturbed neither frogs nor mice - but got lots of brown dust discharged from the grass flowers. Presumably not quite the thing for a hay fever sufferer.
And last but not least a modest senior moment. There was a small map of Central America in the DT, a simple black and white job with the sea one colour and the land the other - a positioning map inset inside a larger scale affair showing the now respectable tourist destination of Nicuragua. So I gazed at this thing and decided that it did not look like Central America at all - it taking me some minute or so to realise that I had mistaken the sea for the land - rather in the way of the candle stick illusion you get in lots of elementary shrink texts. Odd how once one has made the mistake, one seems to be locked into it. It takes quite a wrench to revers polarity as it were.
Sunday, June 03, 2007
Derbied
Attended the annual festival yesterday, perhaps for the 15th time in succession. Just five stations of the cross on the way to the DSS enclosure. Managed to find a new route there which meant that we missed out on the Nuthatch. Furthermore, the exotic staff in the Marquis - which should have been the first station of the cross - did not know that tradition required them to open at 0800 and they did not manage it until around 1030 - their loss being Wetherpoon's gain. Exotic staff promised to do better next year. On the other hand, the Amato was open for a change on the way down making it a round 12 hour shift. The barman claimed that he had been open last year so maybe we did not even bother to go down that way. Made nothing on the horses - which is perhaps only fair as I did quite well last year. Good turn out including at least one herd of holy rollers keeping us posted on perdition. Didn't manage to spot the monarch although her flag was up and running. Ran out of egg sandwiches for once but new friends came to the rescue with barbecue. Maybe do two loaves worth next year.
I lost an important peice of rope recently, on the way to TB, being the two foot length of blue agricultural rope used to keep my umbrella furled in a suitably idiosyncratic (aka arty) way. Had a look the following day but nothing; but now, several weeks later it turns up rather bedraggled, more or less where I thought I had lost it. Made a new one now though so left it there. But what would have borrowed the thing and then returned it?
Planted the second round of pumpkins, the ones that were germinated outside in the wash bowl. Perhaps being out door reared they will be a bit tougher and slug resistant. But, bitten the bullet, and sprinkled the ground with blue pellets from Wilkinson. Starting to run out of time now so if these ones fail I will be reduced to buying plants. But there is hope for next year from today's DT. It seems that slugs do not like copper and one can buy neat copper collars to put around one's plants while they are hardening off. Said to be rather dear but last forever. I shall investigate. www.slugrings.co.uk.
The row of January King cabbages is starting to show, the ones planted where the carrots showed and vanished. We will see whether the cabbages play the same trick: covering the last lot with chicken wire did not do the trick so I am not sure what eating them. Maybe ants eating the roots so that the infant tops die off?
I lost an important peice of rope recently, on the way to TB, being the two foot length of blue agricultural rope used to keep my umbrella furled in a suitably idiosyncratic (aka arty) way. Had a look the following day but nothing; but now, several weeks later it turns up rather bedraggled, more or less where I thought I had lost it. Made a new one now though so left it there. But what would have borrowed the thing and then returned it?
Planted the second round of pumpkins, the ones that were germinated outside in the wash bowl. Perhaps being out door reared they will be a bit tougher and slug resistant. But, bitten the bullet, and sprinkled the ground with blue pellets from Wilkinson. Starting to run out of time now so if these ones fail I will be reduced to buying plants. But there is hope for next year from today's DT. It seems that slugs do not like copper and one can buy neat copper collars to put around one's plants while they are hardening off. Said to be rather dear but last forever. I shall investigate. www.slugrings.co.uk.
The row of January King cabbages is starting to show, the ones planted where the carrots showed and vanished. We will see whether the cabbages play the same trick: covering the last lot with chicken wire did not do the trick so I am not sure what eating them. Maybe ants eating the roots so that the infant tops die off?
Friday, June 01, 2007
Regulitis
A new case has been reported from Portsmouth where it has been decided to restrict all traffic in residential areas to 20mph. Existing case on the smoking front confirmed by reports of spot fines for evil doers who might drop dead fags on a public pavement.
On a more interesting note, BH reports a slug (of the 4cm variety) sliding down a rope of its own slime from the ivy above the kitchen window, down to the patio. One sees small green caterpillars doing something like this in woods in the Spring but I have never seen a slug doing it.
By accident we found the charcoal den of the Epsom common trusties today. Three or four large iron contraptions in which they toast the trees that they chop down. Presumably we pay for these contraptions and their entertainment on the rates. One day when I am very bored I will join their committee and vote against all activity. Or maybe it is a closed shop and/or a self-perpetuating clique of middle class eco-warriers which won't let me in.
And an interesting factlet from history, a propos of reading about the Armenian massacres at the start of the last century. It seems that the Ottoman empire was then in collapse, amongst other things by being torn apart by the nationalism then rampant. But, unlike the British, the Turks (the Ottomans having failed to become a race or a nationality) had no natural homeland to retreat to. They could not just junk their empire and go back home again. What is now Turkey contained lots of Greeks and Armenians who were not even Muslims let alone Turks and they were all rather mixed up. Plus the Kurds. This gave the Turks no good foundation on which to rebuild themselves. So the Armenians were massacred before the first war and the Greeks overreached themselves in the collapse after the first war and were expelled, many of them winding up in the US. Not yet got to the bottom of why the Armenians were treated so differantly from the Greeks or why the Kurds were left alone this time around. All this in contrast to the Austrian empire which was collapsing at around the same time and which could retreat to the reasonably ethnically clean Austria, albeit leaving various German minorities stranded elsewhere and which would cause trouble later.
On a more interesting note, BH reports a slug (of the 4cm variety) sliding down a rope of its own slime from the ivy above the kitchen window, down to the patio. One sees small green caterpillars doing something like this in woods in the Spring but I have never seen a slug doing it.
By accident we found the charcoal den of the Epsom common trusties today. Three or four large iron contraptions in which they toast the trees that they chop down. Presumably we pay for these contraptions and their entertainment on the rates. One day when I am very bored I will join their committee and vote against all activity. Or maybe it is a closed shop and/or a self-perpetuating clique of middle class eco-warriers which won't let me in.
And an interesting factlet from history, a propos of reading about the Armenian massacres at the start of the last century. It seems that the Ottoman empire was then in collapse, amongst other things by being torn apart by the nationalism then rampant. But, unlike the British, the Turks (the Ottomans having failed to become a race or a nationality) had no natural homeland to retreat to. They could not just junk their empire and go back home again. What is now Turkey contained lots of Greeks and Armenians who were not even Muslims let alone Turks and they were all rather mixed up. Plus the Kurds. This gave the Turks no good foundation on which to rebuild themselves. So the Armenians were massacred before the first war and the Greeks overreached themselves in the collapse after the first war and were expelled, many of them winding up in the US. Not yet got to the bottom of why the Armenians were treated so differantly from the Greeks or why the Kurds were left alone this time around. All this in contrast to the Austrian empire which was collapsing at around the same time and which could retreat to the reasonably ethnically clean Austria, albeit leaving various German minorities stranded elsewhere and which would cause trouble later.
