Thursday, July 22, 2010
Watch yer back Trace!
Two arty snippets caught the eye. Firstly, a lady sculptor (sculptress?) sees fit to suspend a disused fighter plane, covered in deeply significantly graffitti of her own confection, from the dome inside Tate Britain. Much chattering in the Guardian about the deep significance. Secondly, a gentleman sculptor sees fit to exhibit a pyramid of 7 undistinguished office chairs of descending size as one ascends. Note the magic number 7. Much chattering in the Guardian about the deep significance. Trace had clearly better watch her back. Keen and hungry new talent is nipping her no longer impoverished heels. Perhaps it really is time for her to push off to her retirement boozer in the country. I'm told she likes a drop so she can contribute to the local economy by drinking up the takings.
Yesterday to Havenstreet for our biennial circumnavigation of the Valerian Sun Club (a search finds the place fast enough; for some reason the link will not paste between panes of Internet Explorer. Maybe a wrinkle of council defensive software). Carefully screened with lots of brush wood, a plaque from the twenties with the name and what looks like a new-since-our-last-visit gate. Maybe the place is still alive and kicking. Are all the members from the twenties, a time I believe to be the heyday of such establishments?
Start off at Firestone Copse and head south into Havenstreet before doing an anticlockwise swing down to the foot of the central downs and back again. Firestone Copse notable for its groves of very tall pine trees, maybe two feet in diameter waist height. Havenstreet notable as being a stop on the steam railway and for being well supplied with senior and/or nursing facilities. Northbrook House, a large Victorian affair, clearly built as an institution, not on mental hospital scale and apparently without any kind of garden for people to sit in. Holmdale House, a somewhat smaller Victorian affair, possibly built as an institution. But Mr G., apart from confirming that they are indeed senior and/or nursing facilities tells me nothing about the buildings, a pity as they are both interesting. Perhaps Havenstreet was the geriatric ghetto for the Ryde area.
On the way we are reminded that the BH is rather better at fields full of frisky cows than I am. Stands firm and waits for them to push off whereas I lurk in the background. On the other hand I do eventually pluck up courage to extend arms and waggle them up and down a bit - one with stick - a wheeze which seems to encourage pushing off. BH says that her stronger nerves are all down to the quality time in her youth spent in the vicinity of cows on Exminster Marshes.
The Ashey Down sea mark visible for most of the walk. And a strange black banana on a pole visible for a good part of it. A banana made of some shiny black material, maybe 10 feet long and 2 feet wide at the widest point, erected end-up on the top of a flexi pole maybe 30 feet high. The thing sways about in the wind and is visible from miles around. After the walk we went to inspect the thing to find access barred by 'Private Keep Out' signs. A resident thought it might be a trial run for something in advertising, having been there now for a month or so. Did they get planning permission? Is it actually something in art? A rehearsal for the next Turner prize?
Most of the few people we met appeared, from their accents, to be retired from the Home Counties. Which might explain why we came across several large gardens in the middle of nowhere protected by neat, high and carefully clipped hedges. Maybe they want to be able to do a bit of Valerian in the privacy of their own homes.
The walk was, inter alia, the inaugural outing of the new-to-us Jarrolds 'Short Walks for the Isle of Wight'. Subtitled, suitable for seniors. A useful little book, full of all sorts of factlets to enliven one's walk. Nice little maps, taken from Ordnance Survey but slightly larger scale than Landranger. The only catch being that the walk was a bit tricky and one had to keep the book open and one's eye on the stiles if one was not to go off piste. Or, even worse, into a cow field.
Yesterday to Havenstreet for our biennial circumnavigation of the Valerian Sun Club (a search finds the place fast enough; for some reason the link will not paste between panes of Internet Explorer. Maybe a wrinkle of council defensive software). Carefully screened with lots of brush wood, a plaque from the twenties with the name and what looks like a new-since-our-last-visit gate. Maybe the place is still alive and kicking. Are all the members from the twenties, a time I believe to be the heyday of such establishments?
Start off at Firestone Copse and head south into Havenstreet before doing an anticlockwise swing down to the foot of the central downs and back again. Firestone Copse notable for its groves of very tall pine trees, maybe two feet in diameter waist height. Havenstreet notable as being a stop on the steam railway and for being well supplied with senior and/or nursing facilities. Northbrook House, a large Victorian affair, clearly built as an institution, not on mental hospital scale and apparently without any kind of garden for people to sit in. Holmdale House, a somewhat smaller Victorian affair, possibly built as an institution. But Mr G., apart from confirming that they are indeed senior and/or nursing facilities tells me nothing about the buildings, a pity as they are both interesting. Perhaps Havenstreet was the geriatric ghetto for the Ryde area.
On the way we are reminded that the BH is rather better at fields full of frisky cows than I am. Stands firm and waits for them to push off whereas I lurk in the background. On the other hand I do eventually pluck up courage to extend arms and waggle them up and down a bit - one with stick - a wheeze which seems to encourage pushing off. BH says that her stronger nerves are all down to the quality time in her youth spent in the vicinity of cows on Exminster Marshes.
The Ashey Down sea mark visible for most of the walk. And a strange black banana on a pole visible for a good part of it. A banana made of some shiny black material, maybe 10 feet long and 2 feet wide at the widest point, erected end-up on the top of a flexi pole maybe 30 feet high. The thing sways about in the wind and is visible from miles around. After the walk we went to inspect the thing to find access barred by 'Private Keep Out' signs. A resident thought it might be a trial run for something in advertising, having been there now for a month or so. Did they get planning permission? Is it actually something in art? A rehearsal for the next Turner prize?
Most of the few people we met appeared, from their accents, to be retired from the Home Counties. Which might explain why we came across several large gardens in the middle of nowhere protected by neat, high and carefully clipped hedges. Maybe they want to be able to do a bit of Valerian in the privacy of their own homes.
The walk was, inter alia, the inaugural outing of the new-to-us Jarrolds 'Short Walks for the Isle of Wight'. Subtitled, suitable for seniors. A useful little book, full of all sorts of factlets to enliven one's walk. Nice little maps, taken from Ordnance Survey but slightly larger scale than Landranger. The only catch being that the walk was a bit tricky and one had to keep the book open and one's eye on the stiles if one was not to go off piste. Or, even worse, into a cow field.
# posted by Jim @ 1:13 AM 
