Mandela Day ...

I declare a global day of mourning ...

Listen and weep ... Simple Minds, Mandela Day

An Autumn Walk ...

10th November, 2013 ...

This was a day to die on: clear skies, sunshine and a gentle breeze giving only a mild autumnal chill.
Jane and I determined to walk the entire perimeter of the Chidham peninsula.

Cobnor Point looking SW down Chichester Channel.
Isle of Wight on the horizon.

Another perambulation ...

Not a bad day.

The weather forecast was for sunny spells, occasional heavy showers and strong winds.
Those 'strong winds' were estimated at about 24mph.
St. Anley, being unable to cycle that fast into a head-wind, put on his boots and walked his customary circuitous route to the local Post Office.

This was the only 'sunny spell' ...

Nutbourne Channel at low tide.

Remember those glorious fields of barley?

Ready for next season.

There is something special about a lonely tree ...

What looms within that sky?

Something made St. A very cross ...

Deposited alongside a rural footpath.

... very cross!
Yes, it's a plastic bag.
I guess it contains dog poo.
The dog owner is to be marginally commended for not leaving this excreta to adhere to walkers' footwear.
However, dog poo must be biodegradable.
Plastic bags are not!

There is a more responsible way of discarding faeces ...

A pile of horse manure ready for spreading.

Now I'll clean my boots ...

Oh, they're not that bad ...
they'll do for another day!

Learning Latin ...

I once knew a teacher.
Let’s call him Harry.
Harry was immediately likeable.
He was one of those people that you instinctively know will be a good person.
He would gently share his considerable wisdom without condescension, but he would stand no nonsense.
We looked forward to his lessons.

He tried to educate us in Latin.
When the class appeared disinterested he would talk about dinghy sailing.
We became familiar with terms such as 'sheet', 'halyard', 'boom', 'gunter', 'gaff', 'jib', 'tack' and 'clew'.
... but we never really learned the Latin.

Harry taught me to sail the school’s Heron class dinghy.

Ready about!

Harry would drive to school in a convertible 1950s Sunbeam Talbot.
That was immaculate, and clearly his pride and joy.

Harry's was a RH drive in blood and custard.

It was rumoured that he had been a mosquito pilot during WWII.
He never talked about that.

He insisted on teaching in a classroom with all the windows open, even in the depths of winter.
“I’d rather freeze to death than burn,” he used to say.

He shared other pearls of wisdom:

• “To work is a privilege.”

(Only in later life did I understand the veracity of that.)

• “Human beings are always fearful of change.”

(I’d already learned that from personal experience.)

I only achieved a ‘D’ in Latin 
... but I won my school colours for dinghy sailing!

THANKS, HARRY!

Abeunt studia in mores.

Moving House #1 ...

People have asked Saint Anley, “What made you move house?”
His summary answer is, “My wife!”

The whole story is, however, more complicated …

September, 2013 …
St. A and Mrs St. A are returning from home a leisurely cycle ride along the West Sussex coast.
Jane, in the lead, suddenly cries out, “Turn left!”
To turn left is not the way home, but before St. A can argue, Jane has taken the corner at break-neck speed generating considerable g-force.
Just north of a railway station they discover a new residential development where a large sign announces, “SHOW-HOUSE OPEN.”

To view the show-house requires people to go through a comfortably appointed sales office.
Veronica, the sales exec., greets them engagingly.
“What is your situation?” she enquires.
By this, of course, she intends to discover how serious we are about relocation.
Within moments Jane has divulged every confidential detail of her assets, our savings and investments.
“No, our house is not on the market,” says Jane.
“Ah,” says Veronica, “Have you heard about our part-exchange scheme?”
“Now, this sounds interesting,” thinks St. A, but Jane, true to form, does all the talking.
“From what you say,” says Veronica, “You should be able to make this work.”

St. A trembles at the thought of relocating all those redundant items that have been carelessly stored in the loft over 15 years.

“Would you like to view the show-house?” enquires Veronica. “This way.”
In deepening depression, St. A follows.
“That’s lovely!” says Jane as we enter a new, clean and tastefully appointed entrance hall.
We are guided through room after room that have all the character of a home that has obviously never been lived in: immaculately clean, no mess, no clutter.
The furniture and decor are not completely to our taste, but it’s only the show-home after all.
We sit for a while in a light, airy conservatory.
“Is the conservatory included?” asks Jane.
“Errr, no,” replies the sales exec. “For twenty grand we can put one on,” she adds in an undertone.

At this juncture, St. A’s depression achieves the quality of terminal melancholia, as he consumes all the complimentary boiled sweets that are on offer in every room.

We return to the office where Veronica plies Jane with all sorts of promotional leaflets, plans and artists’ impressions.



Artist's impression.

Veronica recommends a solicitor and a mortgage broker.
St. A looks on and listens in silence.

St. A reluctantly agrees when Jane says that we will go away and think about it.
After all, there's no urgency; most of the development is far from complete.

That same evening, a Saturday, Jane studies all the documents in mounting anticipation.
St. A dutifully prints out a copy of what joint finances we think we might have.
“We can do this!” declares Jane excitedly.

At 7.00pm the telephone rings unexpectedly: “Hello, I am a solicitor. I hear you are interested in a part-exchange deal with [housing developer].”
(Now, how does he know this?)
St. A passes the phone to Jane. There follows an animated conversation to which St. A is not party.

Phone rings again: “Hello, I am a mortgage broker …”
“Jane, it’s for you!”

“Right,” says Jane later to a morose St. A, “We’re going back tomorrow!”

St. Anley endures the first of many sleepless nights.

For a Reluctant Rifleman I once Knew ...

 

 

 

“I didn’t join the Army to kill.”
That’s what the soldier said.
“I joined to have a living.”
… And now a man is dead.

“You were only following orders.”
That’s what the M.O. said.
“You're a professional soldier.”
"So what? … now a man is dead."

They said he was my enemy:
A devil in disguise.
Now he’s dead he can’t harm me,
But what they said was lies!

He wasn't my enemy at all:
Just the wrong side of the line.
I wept then as I watched him fall.
"Take these pills and you'll be fine!"

I never knew the man I killed.
He didn’t say his name.
Unintroduced, his blood I spilled.
Now he’s dead ...
We're all to blame.

CT, 09/2013



 

 

Dupuytren's #8 ...

Five weeks post-op ...

Now, this is looking better.

 

It took the wound in the centre of St. Anley's palm 4 weeks to heal.

He has been attending a hand clinic on a weekly basis for some aggressive physiotherapy.

The physiotherapist has a charming demeanour and a pretty face that disguise an expertise for inflicting excruciating pain.
"Pain is good!" says she as tears appear on St. Anley's cheek.

Then, along comes an occupational therapist who carefully fabricates a splint from some thermo-plastic material ...

"You need to wear this only at night."

After two nights of sleepless discomfort and Anglo-Saxon expletives St. Anley is quite impressed ...

Look, my little finger
is almost straight!

"Fine," Mrs. St. Anley says, "Now you can get on with some chores!"

Country walk #4 ...

Look what St. Anley discovered yesterday ...



Blue berrys.

Not being a seasoned forager, he declined to pluck or taste this fruit, but later showed the image to Mrs St. A.

"They are sloes, (prunus spinosa,)" she declared.

Now all I need are ...

• 500 grams of these berries
• 250 grams of sugar
• one litre of gin

 ... and considerable patience!

Country Walk # 3 ...

Earlier St. Anley exulted about golden fields of barley.
Now look what has happened ...

As it says in the folk song ...
They've cut him off at the knee!

... and bunged him on a cart.

Then hired men with crabtree sticks cut him skin from bone.
And the miller has served him worse than this ...
                                    He's geround him between two stones.

See/hear http://youtu.be/_NNgLqz89Z8

Doubtless, the wheat will be next ...

Such is the cycle of agriculture.

Country walk #2

With camera battery fully charged, St. Anley resumes the commentary.

I wrote about the main road.
There are two interesting establishments ...



A very fine farm shop that sells local produce.



A hostelry for refreshment ...
not open yet!

Here is the stile over which St. Anley hopped ...

Now he's on his way home, retracing some of the route of the outward journey.
Here is a miscellany of images ...



A dog on wheels.

 

One lost shoe.

Two lost shoes.

Benign clouds.

 

 

Thornham Marina.

Rocks over which thou shalt not climb.

Detritus.

Horse riders.

Horse poo.

Pollination.
Look carefully ... you'll see a bee.
 

The sign reads:
"There's no such thing as the Dog Poo Fairy."

Now, it's back through the copse ...

Rest a while.

 

A desirable residence available for rent.



 

Somebody wants to build houses on Maybush Orchard.

 

 



Don't let them!
You can sign a petition at http://www.savemaybushorchard.com/

Nearly home ...

This is St. Anley's local pub.
It's not very good, and it's shut!

Things you might see on a walk in the country #1 ...

Now, let us be a little more cheerful.

St. Anley is temporarily disabled from riding his bicycle, owing to inability to operate the rear brake with his left hand.
So he has taken up the daily habit of exploring the countryside in the vicinity of his new home on foot.

His home is on a new development on which building is still in progress.
There has been some vandalism ...

Closer inspection behind damaged gate reveals squatters ...

They look rather nice people.

Only a few hundred yards southwards there is access to the countryside through a kissing gate ...

Regrettably, St. Anley is alone.

In an open space two rabbits take cover ...



You can just see their tales.

Emerging from the copse St A exults and praises the Almighty as he encounters a golden field of barley ... 

Cue now for the late Eva Cassidy ...

 

 

 

Then there's more wildlife ...

 

 

A Tortoiseshell?

From little acorns do mighty oaks grow ...

Following the outflow of Ham Brook, St. A arrives at the shore of an inlet of Chichester Harbour (AONB) ...



Reed beds.

A little farther on he discovers a seemingly abandoned bicycle ...

It doesn't look in too bad a condition.
Just needs a little lubrication.
I'd prefer the saddle a tad higher.

 Then ... disaster ...

This way?
That way?
Which way?

St Anley endeavours to take more photos but his camera battery is exhausted.
He will have to do it all again tomorrow to continue this illustrated guide.
It shall be done before he goes to the hospital to have those stitches removed.

A serious social comment follows ...

It is noticeable that, during his off-road promenade, St. Anley met only a few people and several dogs.
They all wished him a good morning or said, "Hello," with cheerful smiles.
(I mean the people, of course. One dog growled intimidatingly!)
Courteous pleasantries were exchanged about the weather, the beauty of our surroundings and our good fortune to live near such an Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty.

The walk home, (not here illustrated,) involved walking just a few hundred yards along a main road where there was noisy, polluting traffic.
There were many people, and a dog or three.
None of them bore smiles, nor offered pleasant greetings.
(Not even a menacing whimper was forthcoming from the Jack-Russell!)
So I hopped over a stile back on to less-trodden paths where the people you meet are cheerful and sociable ...

and there's dog poo!

 



To be continued ...