pumpkinstrokemarrow

Views which coincided with some stuff in the Guardian about how such pylons are destroying our green and pretty land and that someone ought to do something about it.

Not stuff which I go along with. I do not dispute the need for such things and I do not find them a blot on the landscape. Indeed they exemplify a theory once advanced by my father that beauty lies in the match of structure with function. A theory which I find needs a fair amount of tweaking to hold up, but which does, to my mind, work with engineering structures of this sort. They are doing something important, one can see what they are about - their function does align with their structure in a very visible way - and I no not have a problem with them.

Their was also a lot of stuff about the use of gagging orders by celebs and others, one aspect of which caught my eye, despite my lack of sympathy for people who make very good livings by being in the public eye and who then whine when the public gets to see the crud under the carpet. The aspect being that if A & B are up to something at night which neither of them wish to share with the public, that is one thing. But if A wants to share and B does not want to share, that is another. Why should B be able to stop A exercising his or her human right to exhibitionism? Or revenge?

Rather less stuff about how some scheme to rescue people who cannot pay their mortgages is resulting in the conversion of a lot of real estate into what used to be called council houses. Ironic that it has taken the spectacular failure of market forces to propel a right-wing government into rebuilding the stock of social housing.

The hotel then moved us onto the Times, a paper that I do not read very often. I was struck by the high density of advertisements - which seemed much higher than in either the Guardian or the DT. Murdoch is clearly setting his stamp on the thing.

Visit closed by a dream which contained rather an odd illusion. I was with some people in a bookshop in Russia, one of whom wanted a biography of Nikita Krushchev. I poked around until I found a book which contained what appeared to be the word Krushchev in the title and which I assumed to be a biography. The idea of the book then seemed to fuse with that of a particular sort of glue pot which was much used in schools when I was young. A triangular shaped, clear glass container of yellow gum with a red rubber lid, the sloping top of which you dragged along whatever it was you wanted to glue; the Stephen's Golden Gum you can get now is perhaps the successor product. However, by the time that I got to the checkout, the book had become more ordinary, with just an elaborate coat of arms made of coloured plastic being clipped onto the front of an otherwise ordinary book. The sort of coat of arms which has a shield in the middle, a helmet on the top, supporters (usually animals) at the side, a motto underneath and with the whole thing being tied up with various ornamental flourishes. By the time I had the book in my hand it was entirely ordinary and I tossed it in a rather rude and dismissive way to the chap who wanted it. An unremarkable dream except for the fusing bit. I really had the sense of the book being the glue pot. Senior moments working their way into the underworld?

Winchelsea. Regularly raped and pillaged by the French, not clear if it was ever finished. What is left now is the large chancel, bricked across where the crossing used to be. Various funerary monuments to knights in armour, including one immortalised by the immortal Millais in his picture called 'L'Enfant du Régiment'. This particular knight in armour was Edward I's admiral of the fleet. He had a rather French name.

The museum next to the church included a case full of wooden truncheons which had once been issued to a squad of vigilantes formed during the late 19th century Fenian scare. Didn't say whether there were any Irish in the area at the time.

Icklesham. Norman with proper Norman pillars; village version of those in Durham Cathedral.

Pett. Mid 19th century rebuild. A small church which still felt rather short of customers. Gargoyles.

Fairlight. Another mid 19th century rebuild, mainly notable for the views of Fairlight Cove from the tower, sadly shut on the day of our visit. Jumping off point for our hunt for the source of Holman Hunt's picture of strayed sheep, a reproduction of which hangs over the PC at which I type. We succeeded in finding the headland which is the background to the picture. Not so sure about the rocks in the foreground. Must take a copy of the picture next time we try. But in the course of the hunt we did come across another memorial erected by the Ontario Heritage Foundation, this one to a chap called Grey Owl. See picture above and 25th April.

Fairfield. Another mid 19th century rebuild of a very old church, this one in the middle of a sheep filled field in Romney Marsh. Access gained by means of a large key hanging up by the back door of a nearby farm. Interesting king post roof, something which most of the marsh churches seem to sport. Numerological font: the basin was heptagonal and rare, the base of the circular pillar was pentagonal and the base proper was decagonal, not to say tenagonal. Neat, white painted box pews, with seats around all four (in)sides for greater conviviality during the sermons, with these last coming from a matching three tiered pulpit. Top tier for feast days, second tier for regular days and bottom tier for the prompter.

Brookland. A very grand church with a detached & shingled bell tower, stable doors to the porch and shutters to some of the windows. Nave arcades sloping outwards. I seem to remember something of the same sort at the rather larger St. David's cathedral. July 2007, but no record as we appear not to have been connected at Tenby. Fragment of a wall painting depicting the execution of Saint Thomas. Ancient lead font, a posher version of that at Walton on the Hill. See 13th April.

Ivychurch. Another very grand church with the north aisle doubling as an agricultural museum containing a range of implements, mostly to do with sugar beet.

Old Romney. Quite grand enough for a village which scarcely exists. Roof included what looked like cross-halved scissor tie beams, a new to me feature. Another interesting font. An even more interesting ladder into the bell chamber, 300 years older than H&S regulations about such things. Take one 20 foot tree and slice in half lengthwise. Chop suitable number of 2 foot billets into triangular sections. Tie the two slices together by nailing the triangular sections across them at intervals as treads. Erect at steep angle.

New Romney. The biggest and best church in the area. Lots of round arches and other Norman features. The first village in the area which had any shops. The people very like those one might come across in a fen town in Cambridgeshire or Lincolnshire. Maybe something to do with Romney Marsh being a fen land of sorts.

At which point we decided that enough was enough and moved onto Dungeness.

PS: Mr. Google suggests that any one wanting any more ecclesiastical information should consult http://www.worldtocome.org/home.html.