pumpkinstrokemarrow

Get to Cheam to discover that I need to make a retraction in that I may have suggested that his Bakewell tarts were sufficiently neat to have come from a factory. This turns out to be entirely unfair as I caught him in the act of unloading a batch off a baking tray onto a plastic delivery tray. These, as it happens, were not quite as neat as the ones he sells over the counter. Maybe the Christmas rush is getting to him.

Yesterday to learn about the origins of Vauxhall at Tate Local from Ross Davies. First factlet, the interior of the Tate Local reminded me of the interior of the library on Lavender Hill where I have had occasion, from time to time, to use the Internet. Both impressive, although rather different, buildings from the glory days when reformers thought to educate the working classes. Second factlet, it seems that Vauxhall was invented by one Fawkes de Breaute, a robber baron from Normandy who did well in the reign of King John and the disturbances which followed. Career came to a messy end during the minority of Henry III. My Kingston Oxfam purhase of 'King Henry III and the Lord Edward', two volumes by Powicke, devotes about a column inch of index to him. It seems that the messy end included one of the most serious castle seiges of the day, ending with the chief occupants being hung (after absolution). Fawkes himself was luckily absent. But unluckily exiled so he never got his paws back on the 11,000 unaccounted-for marks which he had deposited with the Templars in London, who, it seems, providing private banking services at the time, UBS not having been invented. But to come back to Vauxhall, it seems that Fawkes had his town house there, so the area came to be known as Fawkes' Hall, over time corrupted to Vauxhall. Nothing to do with the various places of that name in France or the brewery up north. Third factlet, the animal decorating the bonnet of Vauxhall cars - only actually made in Vauxhall for a very short time - is taken from Fawkes' device.

And then there is, I think, an aristocratic Breaute who figures in Proust. He certainly appears as Mr G. comes up with lots of the stuff. And, for once, and when I don't particularly want one, I come across a handy digital text without any trouble at all at http://ebooks.adelaide.edu.au. Without even looking for one. Just like buses, chippers and offies. Always there when you don't want them. Now Proust was into fancy cars; perhaps he was into early Vauxhalls and came across the name that way.

On the train on the way home learned about a new trick in the world of fashion. When I was small, when one bought a coat or a jacket, it was the custom to include a spare button or two in a little bag in an inside pocket. Now it seems, the little bag is sometimes attached high up on the outside of the back of the garment as a feature or a bit of trim. The example on the train looked as if the appearance of the garment might be damaged if one actually tried to use the spare buttons. Alternatively, the lady in question had the thing on inside out.

The train also included a lot of young Germans which may have accounted for my dream the following morning, that is to say, this morning. I was in a rather small room full of drinkers, some German. I was standing with my elbow on the top of my fathers desk. I thought the Germans were being a bit tiresome so I thought I would wind them up by doing something a bit loutish. So I toss my not quite empty bottle of Newky Brown along the top of the desk, with it landing on its side, perched on the edge, with a very modest dribble of Newky onto the floor. Germans look absolutely aghast at such loutism. But, just as they are about to biff me, they realise that it is a leg pull and pull back, pretending, not very successfully, that they think the performance amusing.