pumpkinstrokemarrow

An outing also for numbers of thin worms trying to cross the rather wide pedestrian path along the western side of Horton Lane. Odd that the crows were not taking them.

Also came across a rather large pneumatic drill in West Ewell, much larger than the one I was using last May (May 21st). Drill bit looked as if it was more than two inches in diameter. Not too good for the back I was thinking to myself, when it dawned on me that this was the sort of pneumatic drill which was attached to the end of a digger rather than being swung around by hand. So no back problems and no pneumatics - the drill being driven by hydraulic fluid, just like the JCB one. Although the digger in question was a different brand.

On into Longmead Road where the stream up the side was in full spate. Although for some reason or other the water was flowing much faster in some places than others. All down to the detail of the profile of the stream and of the various drains emptying into it, I suppose. The stream was a couple of feet or so short of bursting its banks but there was one very impressive puddle in the road, at about the place where it does burst its banks from time to time. A moorhen was waddling about between the bank of the stream and a rough thicket which prompted the thought 'where did it come from'. Never seen one around there before. A puzzle as my belief was, based on appearances and experience, that the things could not fly. Had it been washed down the culvert from Stamford Green Pond? However, consultation at TB later in the day suggested that they can indeed fly, a suggestion confirmed this morning by Wikipedia. So its presence now rather less of a mystery.

Back home to the fourth go at bread making. For the third go I did rather more kneading and the result was more like baker bread than the second go. For the fourth go, cut the salt down to a teaspoon - in line with the relevant guidance from the Chief Medical Officer for Baking and Bakeries - and used a mixture of Dove strong white flour and Allinson very strong white flour. The latter was rather different in appearance from the former and appeared to be a little coarser, taking a good deal more jogging to get it through the sieve. For the avoidance of doubt, did the two kneadings to the minute minder. Maybe we will be able to establish whether more kneading is good or whether there is a turning point. But in any event the books are right: handling the dough, watching and feeling the way it changes through the process is very therapeutic. The bread was cooked in two shiny new 2lb loaf tines from Robert Dyas, much cheaper on their bogoff than the same sort of thing would have been from our new Lakelands. Bit of a puzzle about the 2lbs though. I thought that the standard white loaf from a baker was a 2lb loaf but these tins would be no where near big enough for them.

Fourth bread better again than third bread. When fresh, not unlike real bread. Must keep pegging away though: crust too chewy and the loaf not soft and springy when fresh. More than a whiff of the Jacob's Cream Crackers about the things. Next step might be a bread baking manual which might explain. Bread boring moves up to the next level.

Moving onto a higher plane, the night before last I completed my first pass of Chesterton's 'The Return of Don Quixote', an author with whom I had only a slight prior acquaintance, this through his 'Father Brown' stories. Pointed in this direction by Houellebecq who has his fictional version spout a plug for both William Morris and this book. Oddly, one got the impression that Houellebecq really was quite keen on both chaps, never mind what his fictional version might be saying.

A rather odd book, a sort of mild fantasy set in the 1920's or so. Quite a lot of very funny bits but generally a bit of a poke at the various isms and fads of the day. Bit like Huxley, although Chesterton does not go in for the sex or the clever clogs stuff. Lighter touch altogether. Warmly recommended. I wonder how the French chap came to come across it.

My copy, from somebody plugged into the Amazon world, is a first edition from Chatto & Windus of 97 & 99 St. Martin's Lane. Nicely printed at a time when print fashions were a bit different from those we have now and when pages were not nearly as neatly cut. Amused to find the company that Chesterton keeps in the selection from the C & W list of the day printed after the end of the book. Huxley prominent, Proust and Stendhal present. Also books from T. F. Powys, the younger brother of the J. C. Powys who is still in print. Also 'Lolly Willowes' from Sylvia Townsend Warner, which I suspect, has not stood the test of time. Nor 'Out Mr. Dormer' from R. H. Mottram. But why do some people get initials while some get there name in full? Did this used to be a matter of fevered debates between literary agents and publishers?

PS: a little later I find that I suspect wrong. It seems that 'Lolly Willowes' is a forgotten classic, well known to Mr. Google, Wikipedia and Virago amongst others. A 'subversive fantasia in which women are urged to take power and resist '. Perhaps I should get a copy for the BH.