I love Montaigne. He is not exacting in any sense. He is relaxed. He says: "When I meet with difficulties in my reading, I do not bite my nails over them: after making one or two attempts I give them up." Why waste time and energy on what is obscure? And he is modest: "Mistakes often escape our eyes but it is the sign of poor judgement if we are unable to see them when shown to us by another."
Under the cobut trees the path is strewn with broken cobnut shells. The squirrels have as usual been at work. Seldom do they miss a single nut. The trees are almost if not completely stripped bare. But as as the husks crunch under my feet, I spot one nut that has survived. I crack it open and eat its milky kernal and it seems like a feast. Meanwhile on a bough that has pushed through the roof vent of the greenhouse, hang two more nuts which the squirrels have been prevented from reaching. I'm saving them for another feast.
Two perfect dandelion clocks rise from between paving stones in a front garden. They are stately yet possess a sense of fun.
Thursday, August 31, 2006
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
Ginger plant, buddleia, cooks and hands
The piece of ginger I planted in a pot now has a substantial leaf.
On a buddleia, also known as the butterfly tree, flutters one solitary cabbage white.
Too many cooks spoil the broth. And many hands may light work.
On a buddleia, also known as the butterfly tree, flutters one solitary cabbage white.
Too many cooks spoil the broth. And many hands may light work.
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Upside down squirrel, painted face, good timing
A squirrel clings upside down to the trunk of an oak tree yet manages to hold a nut in its forepaws and nibble intently.
I see a little girl in a push chair with her face disfigured by what appears to be a horrible disease. I notice her sister walking beside her mother with the same affliction, until, with relief, I realize that both children are ornamented with face paint.
It showers heavily and I can rejoice that I ccmpleted my gardening chores before it started.
I see a little girl in a push chair with her face disfigured by what appears to be a horrible disease. I notice her sister walking beside her mother with the same affliction, until, with relief, I realize that both children are ornamented with face paint.
It showers heavily and I can rejoice that I ccmpleted my gardening chores before it started.
Monday, August 28, 2006
clouds, shadows, Dombey & Son
Watching majestic nimbus clouds piling up in the blue.
Shadows of leaves playing on the trunks of trees.
Reading the last of the 1000 or so wearisome pages of Dombey & Son. If this were the only novel which Dickens wrote he would surely not be thought of as a great novelist. It is tedious and sentimental, with a story, which is rendered no more believable by the weird behaviour of the central characters. Not for a moment do you understand why they act as they do. It is not worth suspending disbelief for.
Shadows of leaves playing on the trunks of trees.
Reading the last of the 1000 or so wearisome pages of Dombey & Son. If this were the only novel which Dickens wrote he would surely not be thought of as a great novelist. It is tedious and sentimental, with a story, which is rendered no more believable by the weird behaviour of the central characters. Not for a moment do you understand why they act as they do. It is not worth suspending disbelief for.
Sunday, August 27, 2006
dragon fly, open mind, hibiscus
A dragonfly is trapped between the paines of a raised sash window. It looks huge and sounds almost like a helecopter as it beats its wings in the confined space. It has a long, green body,which suggests that it might be a female Emperor dragonfly according to my book of garden wild life. How to free it? Luckily it works itself free, exiting the way it came in, through the gap between the two window frames.
"Open mind. You can drive a tank through it and not bump into anything on the way".
From Plutarch's Dictionary of Common and Uncommon Sense.
The white hibiscus is, at last, in flower. It is a hymn to whiteness.I take a close-up photograph of a single bloom. I look closely to see what the camera sees, and perhaps more - a bunched-up cluster of translucent white petals with delicate undulations like creases in a piece of fine cotton, three or four white stamens, and the only colour, a scattering of yellow pollen beneath the stamens. I must down load the photo to see if the camera agrees.
"Open mind. You can drive a tank through it and not bump into anything on the way".
From Plutarch's Dictionary of Common and Uncommon Sense.
The white hibiscus is, at last, in flower. It is a hymn to whiteness.I take a close-up photograph of a single bloom. I look closely to see what the camera sees, and perhaps more - a bunched-up cluster of translucent white petals with delicate undulations like creases in a piece of fine cotton, three or four white stamens, and the only colour, a scattering of yellow pollen beneath the stamens. I must down load the photo to see if the camera agrees.
Saturday, August 26, 2006
captive bike, wild nasturtiums, old person
Bicycles are often seen chained to railings or lamposts but one chained to a tree in the Grove strikes me as surreal.
" Old person. Anyone 10 years older than you. Do not speak to one unless you have to."
From Plutarch's Dictionary of Common and Uncommon Sense.
The grass of the curved strip which we call a lawn and which follows the curve of the road and the hedge bordering our house is green again after the rain. An unusual feature is the nasturtiums, which are popping up on it at intervals. Walking its length I counted five plants with two tiny but distinctive leaves. I'll have to find a way of mowing round them.
" Old person. Anyone 10 years older than you. Do not speak to one unless you have to."
From Plutarch's Dictionary of Common and Uncommon Sense.
The grass of the curved strip which we call a lawn and which follows the curve of the road and the hedge bordering our house is green again after the rain. An unusual feature is the nasturtiums, which are popping up on it at intervals. Walking its length I counted five plants with two tiny but distinctive leaves. I'll have to find a way of mowing round them.
Friday, August 25, 2006
two crows again, fruit eater, blower
The two crows are in the Grove again. This time they are walking and not hopping. One opens its beak and caws restlessly from time to time. The other continues foraging. Then the restless bird caws again and confronts the tranquil one with its open beak. The other responds by squaring up with its beak open and the beaks clash. Is this affection or agression? I suspect it is affection. Crows are said to pair for life and these two are behaving like a couple.
A girl on a bench leans sideways over the arm rest to eat what looks like a piece of fruit and avoid the juice dripping on to her clothes. It must be a mango I think, though it is too far to see for certain. Only mangos are messy enough to require such a posture.
A man in goggles and ear-muffs blows leaves before him with a leaf-blower. There is a power pack on his back like a rucksack. Autumn is still far off, but there are enough dead leaves around to run before him, "as though from an enchanter fleeing."
A girl on a bench leans sideways over the arm rest to eat what looks like a piece of fruit and avoid the juice dripping on to her clothes. It must be a mango I think, though it is too far to see for certain. Only mangos are messy enough to require such a posture.
A man in goggles and ear-muffs blows leaves before him with a leaf-blower. There is a power pack on his back like a rucksack. Autumn is still far off, but there are enough dead leaves around to run before him, "as though from an enchanter fleeing."
Thursday, August 24, 2006
Sun after rain, two crows, film stars
After the rain the sun comes out and warms the grass, which steams.
In the Grove two crows walk and hop. They walk, one foot at a time pecking at the grass as they go. When they want to make more progress without going to the trouble of flying, they hop, both feet coming off the ground at the same time.
When I tell a friend about the shop window in which there are at present pictures of 20th century film stars, he fetches an album of cigarette cards "issued by John Player and Sons" entitled "Film Stars third series". There they are, over glamorous paintings, in which even the men appear to be wearing make up - Fred Astaire, Gary Cooper, Bette Davis, Gracie Fields, Erol Flynn, Vivien Leigh, Ray Milland, Laurence Olivier, James Stewart, and many others. Each card has been pasted in the place assigned to it, where there is a brief biography beneath the frame. Each picture is autographed by the star. It would be surprising if any were still alive.
In the Grove two crows walk and hop. They walk, one foot at a time pecking at the grass as they go. When they want to make more progress without going to the trouble of flying, they hop, both feet coming off the ground at the same time.
When I tell a friend about the shop window in which there are at present pictures of 20th century film stars, he fetches an album of cigarette cards "issued by John Player and Sons" entitled "Film Stars third series". There they are, over glamorous paintings, in which even the men appear to be wearing make up - Fred Astaire, Gary Cooper, Bette Davis, Gracie Fields, Erol Flynn, Vivien Leigh, Ray Milland, Laurence Olivier, James Stewart, and many others. Each card has been pasted in the place assigned to it, where there is a brief biography beneath the frame. Each picture is autographed by the star. It would be surprising if any were still alive.
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
flying time, confit, reunion
Looking at the time after a sociable lunch and finding that it is 5.30pm.
Confit of duck, crisped up after being removed from the fat in which it has been cooked and preserved, served with potatoes fried in the fat, and petits pois. A taste of the south west of France.
Meeting and eventually recognising someone whom you have previously only seen in fancy dress.
Confit of duck, crisped up after being removed from the fat in which it has been cooked and preserved, served with potatoes fried in the fat, and petits pois. A taste of the south west of France.
Meeting and eventually recognising someone whom you have previously only seen in fancy dress.
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
beatles, on the outside, weather
Apparently neo-nazis are threatening with extinction a species of slime mould beetle called Anophthalmus hitleri, because they are so keen to capture specimens of it, and retain them as pets. The beetle, which in 1933 , was named after Hitler by the man who discovered it, an amateur German entomologist, called Oscar Schneibel, is found only in 15 caves in central Slovenia. The habit, says the Independent where I read the story, of naming beetles after politicians seems still to be alive. Last year, three newly discovered slime mould beetles were named a. bushi, a. cheneyi and a. rumsfeldi.
Overheard from the pavement on the other side of our hedge:
Woman's voice: My father does that; my brothers do that; they never let me walk on the outside.
Man voice (fading): I would do that ... but..
Chalked on a blackboard outside the sailing club in Whitstable:
Thursday: rainy/ cloudy/ sunny.
Overheard from the pavement on the other side of our hedge:
Woman's voice: My father does that; my brothers do that; they never let me walk on the outside.
Man voice (fading): I would do that ... but..
Chalked on a blackboard outside the sailing club in Whitstable:
Thursday: rainy/ cloudy/ sunny.
Monday, August 21, 2006
Talking boat, seagull woman, branches
On the Thames, a boat full of tourists passes. On board, a guide with a megaphone has a loud, strident voice. He is describing the buildings on either side of the river. You can hear every word as the boat passes.
A woman friend, who loves eating fish, left a deep impression of this particular passion some months ago. In a restaurant, she began to pick at the head of a whole fish, which she had been eating and seemed to have finished with, prodding it with her fork, as gulls do with their beaks, and extracting the flesh until only eyes and bones remained. I wonder whether I will see a repetition of this intriguing behaviour when she is staying with us last week. I dissect a large turbot, which I have just cooked and start to serve the fillets, when true to character, she commandeers the discarded backbone, and, with her fork, tears at the shreds of fish, which still adhere to it, squeaking with excitement.
From the bedroom window I note the lower branches of the large lime tree outside the window moving slowly in the wind with the sort of rhythm people adopt when fanning themselves. Further away the more exposed upper branches of the tulip tree in the middle distance are waving in a more vigorous wind. This time the rhythm is rather that of someone waving to attract attention.
A woman friend, who loves eating fish, left a deep impression of this particular passion some months ago. In a restaurant, she began to pick at the head of a whole fish, which she had been eating and seemed to have finished with, prodding it with her fork, as gulls do with their beaks, and extracting the flesh until only eyes and bones remained. I wonder whether I will see a repetition of this intriguing behaviour when she is staying with us last week. I dissect a large turbot, which I have just cooked and start to serve the fillets, when true to character, she commandeers the discarded backbone, and, with her fork, tears at the shreds of fish, which still adhere to it, squeaking with excitement.
From the bedroom window I note the lower branches of the large lime tree outside the window moving slowly in the wind with the sort of rhythm people adopt when fanning themselves. Further away the more exposed upper branches of the tulip tree in the middle distance are waving in a more vigorous wind. This time the rhythm is rather that of someone waving to attract attention.
Sunday, August 20, 2006
arctic beer, rubbish eater, fowls flapping
Drinking exotic beer. This one is Lapin Kult. It is described on the label as the premium beer of Finland. "Greetings from the North", says the label. "Made from the wild, sparkling waters of Lapland."
Moored on the Thames a raft like structure which acts as a filter in the tide and carries the legend "I eat rubbish". A noticed fixed to it claims that it collects 40 tons of rubbish every year, the equivalent of 800,000 plastic bottles. I feel virtuous just looking at it.
"The sound of her laugh: fowls flapping into the air being chased by a rooster."
As observed by Murray Bail, see, Now's the Time, August 14.
Moored on the Thames a raft like structure which acts as a filter in the tide and carries the legend "I eat rubbish". A noticed fixed to it claims that it collects 40 tons of rubbish every year, the equivalent of 800,000 plastic bottles. I feel virtuous just looking at it.
"The sound of her laugh: fowls flapping into the air being chased by a rooster."
As observed by Murray Bail, see, Now's the Time, August 14.
melancholy neon, silk road food, exercise by the Thames
A neon installation on a white wall in the White Cube gallery in Hoxton Square in London consists of these words in neon letters:
And if I don't meet you no more in this world
Then I'll meet you in the next one
And don't be late, don't be late
We eat mezze and shish kebab outside a restaurant in Old Street. The restaurant is called Shish which is turkish for the skewer on which meat and vegetables are grilled. The menu is drawn from the countries through which the 2000 year old silk route between Europe and China once passed, and whose local cuisines have influenced one another over the years. I savour the food and, not least the names of the place associated with the silk route: Trebizond, Tabriz, Nashapur, Samarkand, Kashgar, Xi'an. Never far away are James Elroy Flecker's words: "
We travel not for trafficking alone:
By hotter winds our fiery hearts are fanned:
For lust of knowing what should not be known
We make the Golden Journey to Samarkand.
From the pedestrian bridge over the Thames, (St Pauls Cathedral on one bank, the Tate Modern on the other), I watch, on one of the beaches which occur when the tide is low, a solitary young man in a green T shirt doing some exercises; he leans forward and slowly rotates his torso, while breathing in the muddy air of the river.
And if I don't meet you no more in this world
Then I'll meet you in the next one
And don't be late, don't be late
We eat mezze and shish kebab outside a restaurant in Old Street. The restaurant is called Shish which is turkish for the skewer on which meat and vegetables are grilled. The menu is drawn from the countries through which the 2000 year old silk route between Europe and China once passed, and whose local cuisines have influenced one another over the years. I savour the food and, not least the names of the place associated with the silk route: Trebizond, Tabriz, Nashapur, Samarkand, Kashgar, Xi'an. Never far away are James Elroy Flecker's words: "
We travel not for trafficking alone:
By hotter winds our fiery hearts are fanned:
For lust of knowing what should not be known
We make the Golden Journey to Samarkand.
From the pedestrian bridge over the Thames, (St Pauls Cathedral on one bank, the Tate Modern on the other), I watch, on one of the beaches which occur when the tide is low, a solitary young man in a green T shirt doing some exercises; he leans forward and slowly rotates his torso, while breathing in the muddy air of the river.
Friday, August 18, 2006
lost and found, open mind, sun
Grandson Josh goes missing on a family outing to Groombridge Place. After about 40 minutes, a hue and cry is set in motion. Eventually we find him sitting on a fence near the car park. Without talking to any one he has found his way, a long way, back from the Enchanted Forest. It seems that he deliberately set off on his own and didn't consider himself lost. Finding him was a beautiful thing, though losing him wasn't.
Open mind: the horse has bolted.
Looking for a third beautiful thing, I walk outside on grass, soggy for a change, with recent rain, and feel the warm sun on the back of my neck.
Open mind: the horse has bolted.
Looking for a third beautiful thing, I walk outside on grass, soggy for a change, with recent rain, and feel the warm sun on the back of my neck.
Thursday, August 17, 2006
herbs, horse, showers
I cut herbs - chervil, tarragon, chives - to accompany a scallop and potato dish for supper, and particularly enjoy the aromas released into the evening air.
From a car window I see, for a fleeting moment, a horse in a particular position that I associate with Chinese drawings. Its body is facing foreward but its head is turned to the side and its neck stretched out to capture an especially juicy (one supposes) tuft of grass.
On the motorway we see showers ahead and it seem that we are going into the rain rather than the rain coming to us.
From a car window I see, for a fleeting moment, a horse in a particular position that I associate with Chinese drawings. Its body is facing foreward but its head is turned to the side and its neck stretched out to capture an especially juicy (one supposes) tuft of grass.
On the motorway we see showers ahead and it seem that we are going into the rain rather than the rain coming to us.
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
musket, fox without a tail, no ball games
I listen and watch entranced as someone dressed as an 18th century soldier explains the working of his muzzle loading musket to a group of small boys sitting in front of him. He is a natural story-teller, with perfect timing and a great deal of knowledge about what it was like to be an English soldier in America in the reign of George III. He is part of the entertainment in the magic forest at Groombridge Place, - a good outing for children of all ages. Now, I know precisely the origins of "half-cocked" and "ramrod".
There has been one fox or another in the vegetable garden since I have been working there; the current one is a misery. It has no tail, and when I arrive, he scuttles away, where his predecessors invariably ambled off with a mixture of dignity and disgust at being disturbed.
Most prohibitory notices have a streak of unconscious absurdity about them often falling uncomfortably between the specific and the universal. One near the pay kiosk at Groombridge Place suffers from something else as well: "No ball games inside the attraction", it insists.
There has been one fox or another in the vegetable garden since I have been working there; the current one is a misery. It has no tail, and when I arrive, he scuttles away, where his predecessors invariably ambled off with a mixture of dignity and disgust at being disturbed.
Most prohibitory notices have a streak of unconscious absurdity about them often falling uncomfortably between the specific and the universal. One near the pay kiosk at Groombridge Place suffers from something else as well: "No ball games inside the attraction", it insists.
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
rosehips, hunters, film stars
Rosehips hanging in bunches, too early for Autumn surely, but surely the hips of some early flowering almost wild rose! Each fruit has attached to it the whiskery remnants of sepals - all that is left of the flower.
"Hunter gatherers don't make good gardeners, nor gardeners, good hunter gatherers". JP
In the windows of Hoopers department store are photographs of all the film stars of the 20th century you can think of. People who don't normally look into shop windows stand in the street trying to name them all.
"Hunter gatherers don't make good gardeners, nor gardeners, good hunter gatherers". JP
In the windows of Hoopers department store are photographs of all the film stars of the 20th century you can think of. People who don't normally look into shop windows stand in the street trying to name them all.
Monday, August 14, 2006
notes like these, beans, hydrangers
Murray Bail is the author of a novel called Eucalyptus, which I read a couple of years ago. It is set in his native Australa. It's about a man who promised his daughter's hand in marriage to anyone who could name all the varieties of eucalyptus on his estate. There are about 90 in all. It is an an odd and beautiful fairy tale, well written and intriguing. I am pleasantly surprised to find, this afternoon in Hall's bookshop, the published notebooks of Murray Bail, and even more pleasantly surprised that they consist of notes similar to those which appear in this log. One example, taken at random will suffice: "In a bus or tube I am torn between the necessity to read and knowing that I would become "more observant" if I looked round.
Picking beans in gentle, misty rain, I smell growing plants, damp leaves and the hanging pods and I don't mind if the water trickles down my sleeve.
The hydrangers, which a few weeks ago were bright blue clouds of flowers, have faded to a range of pale colours, pink and fawn and predominantly that pale green colour, called-eau-de nil. The colours reminds me of the silk scarves and handkerchiefs which old ladies used to have about their persons.
Picking beans in gentle, misty rain, I smell growing plants, damp leaves and the hanging pods and I don't mind if the water trickles down my sleeve.
The hydrangers, which a few weeks ago were bright blue clouds of flowers, have faded to a range of pale colours, pink and fawn and predominantly that pale green colour, called-eau-de nil. The colours reminds me of the silk scarves and handkerchiefs which old ladies used to have about their persons.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)