After the rain and the mow...

From unkempt to controlled wild - and, we hope insect-friendly.
The white plastic tubs, once full of fat balls for the birds are my improvised water butts for now! Last week saw an enormous amount of rainfall. The grass had grown a lot, so I did a quick mow.
The bees love the blue perennial geraniums, the pink cranesbill and the self-sown yellow Californian poppies which spring up everywhere. Aquilegia is over now. We have sown a few packs of wild-flower seed at the front of the house. I hope the birds don't eat them before they germinate.

A memory from May 2008

Marta has just visited Italy - including Siena, which reminded me of another rainy day!

May 06 2008
Perhaps the least enjoyable day of our holiday. But still, the less successful visits are often more fun to write about.

Siena sotto la pioggia

(I hope the Italian is correct - it's supposed to be a silly dig at TS Eliot's use of other languages, just to show I'm not a monoglot.)

The guidebook shows
sunlit postcard views
the campo from the torre,
the palio.
Twelve horses career around the sloping square
for glory and honour,
Flags blazing gold and red on black,

sharp shadow shapes.

Today

we park.
Five escalators
clatter and clank

us up to steep streets,
narrow
cobbled and
gleaming dank

tall buildings
huddle

to hold the sun at bay
although
today

why bother?

The campo
reflects the palace tower
in hints of light and shade.

Umbrellas sprout,
generous fungi
bright, determined, cheerful
despite the clinging drizzle.

They wait in lines
or play a game of dodge
along the streets.

Washing at high windows
so picturesque
above the tourist throngs
so wet.

The duomo's marble is fresh washed,
its glorious gilded frontage,
backed by a crane.
They are everywhere
in Tuscany this April.

A covered market place,
shelters crowds from the drips;
kids run and throw food,
or wait for a bus.

Below a sign
via dei malcontenti
I stop and pull a face.

Plus ça change, plus il pleut.

And on Facebook, a photo from our visit to Versailles, six years ago...

...could be today's weather, so  I am collating posts from our "Plastic-Free Gretton" Facebook group. Hoping someone will print the stuff and hand it out at the fun day on July 14th!

A day at the seaside

an early start to drive east to the coast

the sun already high at seven

by eight outside Peterborough 

the rush hour is half-hearted

by nine we see the sea

Hunstanton's car parks offer loads of space

the sun shines hot, but coffee hits the spot

the tide is out, the beaches spread for miles

we stroll along the prom  

bathed by a sea breeze

the cliffs rise in broad colour bands

the greens and gardens lead upwards

to the bowling club and cafe with a view

benches along a wall, almost in shade

we walk, we look for hats and sandals

have lunch and wander to the beach

the tide's way way out, 

a long hike to the sea

we sport the trousers-rolled-to-paddle look

retreat with chairs and books to wait awhile

watching the crowds, all ages, sizes

by five the sea is close and deep enough to swim

and warm, no shivers today

though we have memories

two years since we've had a sea swim

this time no need to brace as 

the water licks my belly

when we emerge the breeze is welcome

not fierce and chill

a meal at Goblin Pantry fills the belly

we still seek shade and breeze

To end the day a pilgrimage to holdays past

we visit Heacham, locate the house called Shenstone

drive to the beach and watch the sun go down

from this westward facing beach in Eastern England

its golden orange red path on the waves

silhouettes walkers, a dog, an evening bather.

Turning round, we see the risen moon is full.

Are we at the seaside yet?

I wake after a night of troubled dreams

chasing teenagers from a building site

through a fairground

to find that rain has been falling all night

on saturated ground

not gentle pattering, but hammering steadily

rain lies in deep pools in gardens

on roads, on fields

refreshing the mud I hoped was drying

if this continues it'll be a case of 'man the lifeboats!'

and make vast vats of porridge and cocoa

so far inland

sea level's rising - 

has the shore reached our valley overnight?

That'll save my friend a birthday trip to Hunstanton.

the roads are flooded

facebook warnings flash up

take care, even the top road

worse than we've seen

I'm pleased the house is on a hill

I haven't been outside to check

are we at the seaside yet

Hard roads make the walking tougher?

We have been so fed up of ploughing, or skating, through mud, going ankle deep and occasionally more, that we’ve taken to exploring the world via the quiet minor roads in the area.

In some ways it’s been a revelation – so many of the roads are indeed quiet, though you need to keep your ears open, and be prepared for the odd vehicle. The roads have added a new dimension to my view of the great jigsaw map I’m building in my head. I just love the way places interlock. Call me sad, but I get a buzz when I cross a path I walked a couple of years ago, but from a different angle.

However, I think a nine-miler feels harder on the feet and legs when you’ve been walking on roads. Unless it’s my fitness level just now. . .

However we plan our walks, we often come across odd stories. Yesterday it was about Thomas Jarman of Clipston, a prolific writer of hymn tunes and master of the local chapel choir. He died at the age of 85, and is buried in the grounds of the Chapel at Clipston. Online searches revealed that he spent some time exchanging unpleasant verses with the local Church of England vicar, a Mr Bull. They didn’t see eye to eye about music and life in general. There’s some information here :

http://www.immanuelsground.com/composers/Thomas_Jarman.htm

and my silly take on the story in my Poedoodles blog.

The walk is described in my walking blog

Buxton - the highest market town in England

We've chosen the wettest few days possible for our stay in Derbyshire - so after a leisurely morning in the cottage, we visit Buxton.  Museum, art gallery, coffee shops call. 

We've been here before.  I stayed in the Youth Hostel in Harpur Hill when I was a teenager - going back a long way.  I think we'd walked about 15 miles in the rain! 

Then years later, when Esther was a youngster we all cycled in from somewhere near Wirksworth along the High Peak trail, and sought out waterproofs.  There could be a theme emerging here! 

and one of Harry's photos - from Buxtonne sur Seine?

It's a glorious place - but does the sun ever shine?

Seasonal cappuccino

small cappuccino 
dressed for summer -
sunshade? umbrella?

or turn it upside down
whatever floats your boat.

damp

we sit inside

telly vegetating

it’s raining again

we take an hour outside

for a cold shower

Nonsense and rain

Written on May 1st - I think we may be near the forty days without one entirely dry by now. Possibly?


Forty days


On my head is the hat of gloom,
she intoned.
No one gave me the hat of carefree jollity, alas.

The old man’s snoring in the rain
while the ducks are singing in tune tonight.

How many more days before the forty total’s up?
Hey, Swithun? 
I thought it was in July that you objected
when they moved your bones indoors.

Though Doctor Foster’s refusal to return
was to Gloucester
not Winchester
Will they need another diver 
to keep the foundations flood-free now?

I counted – twenty-nine so far
Unless I am mistaken.