Sunday, April 19, 2009
Gorse day
Third big chunk of gorse in flower today, this one along the northern edge of the M25 somewhere between Sevenoaks and Leatherhead. Second was somewhere on Dartmoor and the first was along both edges of the M3 somewhere just to the west of its junction with the M25. Surrey heaths I suppose. This both first and last was far and away the most impressive. Must have been something to do with the mid morning light last week with great banks of the stuff overhanging the hard shoulder. Fascinating contrast between the irregular and jagged blocks of yellow flowers and black plant. Must have been something in the avuncular claim that yellow and black make for a much stronger contrast the white and black. Something also that some manufacturers of car number plates seem to have cottoned onto. Must get to Headley Heath while the flowers are still out to catch that wonderful eau de coconut perfume again.
Have paused on Little Dorrit at the half way mark, rather better than I have done before, but tired a little of the leisurely and well padded pace. Plus it is all starting to seem a bit predictable and the charectars are starting to be irritating rather than amusing. For example, the various faults of Mr Dorrit and his elder offspring. So picked up a copy of 'August 1914' for £1 in Tavistock indoor market. Which turns out to be even more prolix and leisurely. Great sprawl of a book which would have been easier to follow had it been provided with a cast list and some maps. Gave up despite the interesting subject matter. Odd to think that this peice of verbosity sprang to fame with the very spare 'One Day in the Life of Ivan Desinovich', last read (by me) as a school boy. Odd also to think that while I vaguely recall bad reviews at the time, there must have been good reviews because this particular copy was a book club reprint and my understanding of book clubs is that they only go in for block busters. No art house for them.
This particular copy now in the general waste wheelie bin awaiting transfer to a land fill site where, at least, it can do something useful by locking down a bit of carbon for a few years.
So its back to a couple of finds from the bookshop just outside the railway station at Earlsfield. Both major works reprinted as multi-volume paperbacks by Sphere quite a long time ago. Firstly, the biog. of Marlborough by Winston Churchill, something which I have been after for a while but have missed in the piles of Churchilliana to be found in most second hand bookshops. This four volume edition published in 1967 when it cost in cash terms - in shillings and pence - something less than half what I had to pay in 2009. Another wordy writer but getting on quite well so far. Quote of the week: '... by some occult dispensation our hero was able to extract various modern sunbeams from this ancient cucumber'.
If that fails, I have, secondly, a three volume edition of Trotsky's history of the Russian Revolution. The Deutscher line was that Trotsky, while flawed (and not a founder member of the Bolshevik club, despite his starring role in their revolution), was also a very able and well educated man. Able, for example, to turn his hand to theatre criticism when funds ran low. So it will be interesting to see how well he reads now.
Having missed out on real bread for nearly a week, pleased to be able to get to Cheam on Saturday. And, for once in a while, I forget why, I went before breakfast. This meant that, again for once in a while, was able to indulge in fresh bread for breakfast. Small white bloomer with small black seeds. Finest butter from Mr S.. Luxury. I don't do it more often because the effort of getting up, out and over to Cheam before breakfast is a bit much for me these days. Back in Wood Green now, we had a baker just across the road so I was able to get over to him before breakfast. Odd sort of chap; most of the time his white bread was very good, but he was rather dirty (with a slatterny wife and dirty children) and was not very reliable. Bread was quite often burnt. I have a feeling he went out and a Cypriot came in, just before we moved away. Differant class of bread altogether; Cypriots don't make bread quite the way we do, although not bad of its kind. Good if you like chunks of olives incorporated.
Have paused on Little Dorrit at the half way mark, rather better than I have done before, but tired a little of the leisurely and well padded pace. Plus it is all starting to seem a bit predictable and the charectars are starting to be irritating rather than amusing. For example, the various faults of Mr Dorrit and his elder offspring. So picked up a copy of 'August 1914' for £1 in Tavistock indoor market. Which turns out to be even more prolix and leisurely. Great sprawl of a book which would have been easier to follow had it been provided with a cast list and some maps. Gave up despite the interesting subject matter. Odd to think that this peice of verbosity sprang to fame with the very spare 'One Day in the Life of Ivan Desinovich', last read (by me) as a school boy. Odd also to think that while I vaguely recall bad reviews at the time, there must have been good reviews because this particular copy was a book club reprint and my understanding of book clubs is that they only go in for block busters. No art house for them.
This particular copy now in the general waste wheelie bin awaiting transfer to a land fill site where, at least, it can do something useful by locking down a bit of carbon for a few years.
So its back to a couple of finds from the bookshop just outside the railway station at Earlsfield. Both major works reprinted as multi-volume paperbacks by Sphere quite a long time ago. Firstly, the biog. of Marlborough by Winston Churchill, something which I have been after for a while but have missed in the piles of Churchilliana to be found in most second hand bookshops. This four volume edition published in 1967 when it cost in cash terms - in shillings and pence - something less than half what I had to pay in 2009. Another wordy writer but getting on quite well so far. Quote of the week: '... by some occult dispensation our hero was able to extract various modern sunbeams from this ancient cucumber'.
If that fails, I have, secondly, a three volume edition of Trotsky's history of the Russian Revolution. The Deutscher line was that Trotsky, while flawed (and not a founder member of the Bolshevik club, despite his starring role in their revolution), was also a very able and well educated man. Able, for example, to turn his hand to theatre criticism when funds ran low. So it will be interesting to see how well he reads now.
Having missed out on real bread for nearly a week, pleased to be able to get to Cheam on Saturday. And, for once in a while, I forget why, I went before breakfast. This meant that, again for once in a while, was able to indulge in fresh bread for breakfast. Small white bloomer with small black seeds. Finest butter from Mr S.. Luxury. I don't do it more often because the effort of getting up, out and over to Cheam before breakfast is a bit much for me these days. Back in Wood Green now, we had a baker just across the road so I was able to get over to him before breakfast. Odd sort of chap; most of the time his white bread was very good, but he was rather dirty (with a slatterny wife and dirty children) and was not very reliable. Bread was quite often burnt. I have a feeling he went out and a Cypriot came in, just before we moved away. Differant class of bread altogether; Cypriots don't make bread quite the way we do, although not bad of its kind. Good if you like chunks of olives incorporated.
# posted by Jim @ 11:18 AM 
