Monday, March 16, 2009
Pond doings
Three new (small) ponds now settling down well. Various rocks, mainly from various holidays, tastefully arranged around. A standing place in the middle, made out of some of the former surround, bedded down on a DIY version of postcrete. The deep pond contains a small water lilly (label says white with pink middle), the shallow one contains some sort of a marigold (leaves a darker green than that we had before) and the in-between one contains a sedge grass. When we tried these things in the old pond, they all grew too big. Giant roots and tubers in a huge stinking mass in the middle of the pond. Only way to prune them was with the mattock and bush saw. All very crude and messy. But now that we have each plant in a separate, sturdy pond, the idea is that even if they take over their own pond, they are not going to get into the others.
Added some bog-standard crinkly pond weed to the second two ponds. Pond weed which I associate to the name Canadian pond weed. Now whether it is the weed or something else, all the ponds now look alive. Water turning green. Lots of odd bits and peices in it, some alive. Soapy green bubbles. Maybe we will move onto mozzees in due course.
With the warmer weather, the newts have somehow reappeared, with some in each pond. Greeny brown on top, spotted pale underneath. Given that the ponds started clean and the ground around was heavily disturbed, no idea where they came from. They must be able to winter under stones or down cracks then make it overland back to the maternal pond in the spring. Let's hope that Franklin does not acquire a taste for them.
Back indoors, now unearthed the score of the 'Art of Fugue' to go with the companion. Tried following the organ version previously unearthed and failed completely. Now I can just about manage a string quartet on a good day, so what is so hard about fugues? The music does not look very complicated. Must try again tomorrow. Tovey seems to claim that, in some contexts, reading the score is almost as good for him as hearing the thing played. Clearly some way to go yet. Tovey is also very rude about some of his academic competitors; far ruder than I would have thought OK in this PC day and age. There is even talk of balderdash. Reminds me of the language used when the one year volunteer was in dispute about jays during his editorship of 'Animal World' in Svejk, which, I suppose on reflection, dates from about the same era.
On Saturday, we managed to visit the spring flowers at Hampton Court. Something we have only managed every other year or so, despite their being spiffing and not very far away. On this occasion, the daffodills we just coming out. So not a sea of yellow, rather a more delicate array of greens and yellows. With some of the individual flowers, caught in the right light being wonderful. Crocuses a bit past their best, but still looked well from a distance. Not too good from 10 feet, but, as with the daffodills, some of the individual flowers looked wonderful. A perfect white was perhaps the best, but good quality blues (maybe purple?) were more common. Plus some very handsome, small spring flowers in the formal garden. Then off to the cafe for Tudor-style bangers and mash. The heritage folk having overlooked the fact the potatoes had not quite caught on for the Tudors. But bangers and mash were fine; the mash part being loaded with chlorestorol, so making it a lot more filling than the rather modest portion looked.
Puzzled out in the home park by contraptions in the small wooden, anti-deer enclosures for the young trees. Black boxes made out of that cardboard like plastic, about two foot high with a flap at the top, six inches wide and two deep, strapped to the bottom of the enclosures, not in contact with the enclosed trees. What on earth were they for? They appeared to be empty but might possibly have contained some sort of plant food. (By plastic like cardboard, I mean a plastic board made up like the sort of cardboard used to hold tins of baked beans and such like. Two outer skins with a corrugated layer in between. Good solid material when made of plastic).
Rounded off by seeing the start for some giant rowing race on the river. Seemed to be hundreds of eights there, some of them coxed by very aggressive sounding small ladies. Maybe they got to be dumped in the river at the end, if all that aggression did not get projected into their rowers in a winningly effective way. Impressed by the pace set by the first eights to go; had me wondering how long they had to keep it up for. Then started to wonder who decided the order of the off? Is it like motor racing with the best going first? Given that I assume the race is decided by the clock, rather than by first past the post, I would have thought that one would get a better time chasing than leading. Not that I have ever done much racing of any sort.
Added some bog-standard crinkly pond weed to the second two ponds. Pond weed which I associate to the name Canadian pond weed. Now whether it is the weed or something else, all the ponds now look alive. Water turning green. Lots of odd bits and peices in it, some alive. Soapy green bubbles. Maybe we will move onto mozzees in due course.
With the warmer weather, the newts have somehow reappeared, with some in each pond. Greeny brown on top, spotted pale underneath. Given that the ponds started clean and the ground around was heavily disturbed, no idea where they came from. They must be able to winter under stones or down cracks then make it overland back to the maternal pond in the spring. Let's hope that Franklin does not acquire a taste for them.
Back indoors, now unearthed the score of the 'Art of Fugue' to go with the companion. Tried following the organ version previously unearthed and failed completely. Now I can just about manage a string quartet on a good day, so what is so hard about fugues? The music does not look very complicated. Must try again tomorrow. Tovey seems to claim that, in some contexts, reading the score is almost as good for him as hearing the thing played. Clearly some way to go yet. Tovey is also very rude about some of his academic competitors; far ruder than I would have thought OK in this PC day and age. There is even talk of balderdash. Reminds me of the language used when the one year volunteer was in dispute about jays during his editorship of 'Animal World' in Svejk, which, I suppose on reflection, dates from about the same era.
On Saturday, we managed to visit the spring flowers at Hampton Court. Something we have only managed every other year or so, despite their being spiffing and not very far away. On this occasion, the daffodills we just coming out. So not a sea of yellow, rather a more delicate array of greens and yellows. With some of the individual flowers, caught in the right light being wonderful. Crocuses a bit past their best, but still looked well from a distance. Not too good from 10 feet, but, as with the daffodills, some of the individual flowers looked wonderful. A perfect white was perhaps the best, but good quality blues (maybe purple?) were more common. Plus some very handsome, small spring flowers in the formal garden. Then off to the cafe for Tudor-style bangers and mash. The heritage folk having overlooked the fact the potatoes had not quite caught on for the Tudors. But bangers and mash were fine; the mash part being loaded with chlorestorol, so making it a lot more filling than the rather modest portion looked.
Puzzled out in the home park by contraptions in the small wooden, anti-deer enclosures for the young trees. Black boxes made out of that cardboard like plastic, about two foot high with a flap at the top, six inches wide and two deep, strapped to the bottom of the enclosures, not in contact with the enclosed trees. What on earth were they for? They appeared to be empty but might possibly have contained some sort of plant food. (By plastic like cardboard, I mean a plastic board made up like the sort of cardboard used to hold tins of baked beans and such like. Two outer skins with a corrugated layer in between. Good solid material when made of plastic).
Rounded off by seeing the start for some giant rowing race on the river. Seemed to be hundreds of eights there, some of them coxed by very aggressive sounding small ladies. Maybe they got to be dumped in the river at the end, if all that aggression did not get projected into their rowers in a winningly effective way. Impressed by the pace set by the first eights to go; had me wondering how long they had to keep it up for. Then started to wonder who decided the order of the off? Is it like motor racing with the best going first? Given that I assume the race is decided by the clock, rather than by first past the post, I would have thought that one would get a better time chasing than leading. Not that I have ever done much racing of any sort.
# posted by Jim @ 5:14 AM 
