Last Thursday

Vati's funeral took place last Thursday, and was surprisingly religious for someone who had evinced no religious sentiment throughout his entire adult life and as far as I know hadn't been to church since he was a boy (apart from weddings and other people's funerals, that is). The order of service, which he himself had drawn up before his death, included two hymns, two prayers, an address by one of the local vicars....and two tributes, one from a former colleague in the aeroplane business which had been his career and the other by the eldest of my brother's two sons. (Although I had previously thought that the turn-out from former work colleagues would be low, the number attending was larger than first calculated. And we have received a huge stack of cards from the various people who knew him.) Both sons were a bit teary, as were I and my three siblings. Not to mention my mother, who looked utterly bewildered by the whole thing -- as one might, when one's just lost a life-partner of such long standing (their sixtieth anniversary was last September).

At the wake afterwards, I was approached by a number of people who remembered me from when I was a child and hadn't seen me for fifty years or thereabouts, but of whom I had no memory at all. Apparently this isn't unusual -- "childhood amnesia" is the technical term for it, and most of us have only sketchy and isolated mental snapshots of our first few years (whereas of course the adults who remember us as children have the clearer memories that come with being an adult). But this amnesia should only apply to the first three or four years of life, not the first eight to ten -- so what does it say about me that so much of my life before we moved to the bungalow in Porton, near Salisbury in 1963 is such a blank?

That evening, I, my siblings, Judith and my elder sister's husband took my mother out for a slap-up meal of expensive oysters and such at Hix's overlooking The Cobb at Lyme Regis, at which many toasts were offered and much champagne quaffed. (The restaurant's young maitre'd was very sympathetic, since his own grandfather had died just a few months before. But he didn't give us any discounts.) Apart from the toasts, our repartee was fairly inconsequential family and work-related stuff; but that was probably exactly right for the occasion.

Keeping You Up To Speed

Vati (my father) died in Exeter hospital early on Monday morning, having been unwell -- low blood pressure, not eating -- for many weeks. We got a call from the hospital late on Saturday to say that the end was near, so most of us were able to travel down to see him on Sunday afternoon and make our goodbyes. He was in a terrible state -- shrunken to perhaps a third of his bodyweight, unable to speak, the sight already gone in one eye. By the time we left later that day, he was beginning to slip in and out of consciousness; that he passed away so shortly afterwards was perhaps a merciful release.

There's nothing else I can think to say right now.

One for Daniel

Two of the twelve books I read during our recent Australian holiday -- on the parts of it when I was hiding from the kiddies in the bedroom at Albany, rather than the parts of it when we were swimming in waterfalls, photographing crocodiles and flying over the Arnhem Escarpment in the Top End -- concerned Alexander the Great. He is clearly something of an obsession of mine, although it's taken me some years to realise this -- you buy a book on post-Alexandrian Hellenism in the early 1990s, watch Michael Wood's In The Footsteps Of... television series later that decade, buy the DVD of Oliver Stone's film some years later, read the classic biography by Robin Lane Fox....

Anway, a few days after we returned to the UK, I ambled into the branch of Model Zone near my office, looking for a box of model figurines entitled "Ancient Life" -- featuring characters reclining on couches drinking wine, reciting poetry and all the other things that ancient characters did at home -- which had been drawn to my attention by Maureen and which I thought might be quite amusing to assemble and paint. The shop didn't have that, but rather than leave immediately I found my attention drawn to the various boxes of model soldiers of the ancient world produced by the same (Russian) company -- Republican Romans, Carthaginians, Scythians, cataphracts of an indeterminate nationality....and Macedonians and Greeks of the 4th-3rd centuries BCE, as led by Alexander into Asia to destroy the Persian Empire.

Yes. (You're surely ahead of me here.) I bought a box each of Macedonian cavalry, a Macedonian phalanx, and Greek hoplites. "It's just as well you have plenty of free time, isn't it?" said Judith when I showed them to her later. Indeed it is. With a bit of luck, I might even get around to painting and mounting them before I retire from full-time work in a couple of years' time. Even though I really ought to acquire some Persian model soldiers to oppose them as well....

Home Again Home Again, Bippety-Boop

We are back home in London again, safe and well, save for one moment of excitement as we approached Singapore Changi airport at the end of the Darwin-Singapore leg of the flight: the aircraft descended towards the runway, the flaps extended, the wheels were lowered, the engines began to be throttled back, the runway lights slipped past underneath us....and then suddenly the nose pitched upwards at a sharp angle, the engine noise increased to a roar, and the aircraft climbed back into the sky. I suggested to Judith that the landing had been aborted at the last moment because of another aircraft on the runway; this was confirmed a few minutes later by the pilot apologising for the "missed approach" because of a "slower than expected" aircraft ahead of us. "Two landings for the price of one," said Judith. How close we came to going KABAM! KABOOM! KABAMMY-BOOM! may be known only to the Singapore Air Traffic Control people investigating the incident (and perhaps to the inattentive ATC officer who may now be in peril of their job). Certainly, if we'd actually touched down before the abort instruction had been given, it would have been very difficult to take off again....

I then slept most of the way from Singapore to London (more than Judith, in fact); since arrival home, we have unpacked, been to Tesco to replenish the larder, had an early lunch (because we had an early breakfast, at 4.00am, so it feels later than it actually is), and then I cut the grass and sorted my mail while Judith napped for a couple of hours. She is now processing the worm compost in preparation for a trip to the allotment tomorrow, to catch up with things there. The only other issue of note to report is that our robin's nest has not survived our absence, having been pulled out of its hiding place on the fence (presumably by a cat or, more likely, a fox). What happened to the chicks (if indeed they hatched) we cannot say. However, it seems unlikely that any bird would wish to use that nest site again: thus the end of the first and perhaps last attempt by a bird to nest in our garden. Bum poo donkey smells, as we sometimes say.

Exciting News!

There are five eggs in the robin's nest. (Photograph taken a few minutes ago -- presumably the bird was off foraging somewhere.)

Zena - arrival time?

Z have tried dto email you, asking what time on Thu 14 you actually arrive Perth, so we can plan when to head for the big cottage to meet you... Pls email Rosie and me with your flight time details. Hope you all had a good time at Smith Lake...

Spring Flowers

Not sure what this one is called. (Were there a Wugster about, I could ask.) It's growing against the shady fence, where it never gets direct sunlight, which is presumably its preferred habitat.

A Forest of Dandelions

I went to the allotment this morning, to strim the grass before departure for Australia; that took an hour, which was about half the time I expected to spend on the task. It was such a lovely sunny day -- unseasonably warm for April; so warm in the sunshine that I was, as is my wont on such occasions, legging about in next to nothing -- that I was tempted to stay, and dig out the dandelions which always sprout at this time (but only, thankfully, in the beds we didn't dig over in February or March to take the bean and potato crops). But I couldn't because this afternoon was the 2011 AGM of the Tottenham Civic Society, of which I am (and was re-elected as) the secretary. (I was sorely tempted to propose an emergency motion to move the meeting, in a hired room at Bruce Castle, to the lawn outside, but then our guest's presentation wouldn't have worked -- no cabling of the length required, ambient light too strong for anyone to see the screen, etc. etc..) Instead, I took a couple of photographs of the dandelion crop. By the time we return, a month from now, the flowers will have been replaced by puffballs, and indeed the seeds of the puffballs almost certainly have been released hither and yon, generating colossal quantities of dandelions all over the plot next spring. So be not surprised if I utter a curse or two about the timing of Kellie's wedding as I fork over the soil in April and May 2012....

Photographs of Spring 2011

I've added some more photos to the Facebook photo album of the signs of spring in our back garden over the past couple of weeks. Use the embedded link to view the new images.

Robin Redbreast Again

The robin on its nest in the ivy, photographed about half an hour ago this morning. I took several such photographs; it seemed remarkably unperturbed by the whole business.

Robin Redbreast

We have put feed out for the birds every day since we bought our house. Having started with a wooden RSPB birdtable (which ultimately succumbed to the weather, and disintegrated), we now have an array of feeding stations, caged or hung in such a way as to prevent the local squirrels from getting at them (and, inter alia, also excluding the larger birds such as feral pigeons -- in fact, the feral pigeons seem to have given up on our garden, and "larger birds" now means exclusively wood pigeons and collared doves). But not once in the past seventeen years have we ever had birds nesting in our garden -- chiefly if not wholly because we have no suitable nest sites: the only trees are fruit trees and, except for a few spots, the wooden fences are kept clear for food plants to grow up.

The weekend just past, however....

On Sunday, Judith was cutting back some sweet cecily on the southern side of the garden (i.e., adjacent to the north-facing fence) when she spotted a robin fluttering around the ivy which cloaks the part of the fence next to the greenhouse. It flew past her and down onto our small lawn, which had been given its first cut of the year on Saturday afternoon, and picked up some of the newly exposed moss. Nest-building material? Indisputably -- it flew back into the ivy, and a minute or so later came out in search of another beakful.

We retreated into the greenhouse, to both give it more space and get a better view of the nest it was constructing. By evening the following day (i.e., yesterday) it appeared to be finished: you had to know where to look, but the curve of the bowl was quite clear. But of the bird itself there was no sign -- not sitting in the nest, not flitting about the garden, not singing from the trees in the adjacent gardens. Nor was there any sign of it this morning (although the drizzly, blustery weather this morning was not conducive to birds being out and about).

The overriding problem with the nest site, however, is that it is startlingly low down: on the bottom of the fence's two horizontal rails and thus only about a foot off the ground, which makes it hugely vulnerable to predation by the neighbourhood cats (not to mention the local squirrels and the local foxes whom we know have visited our garden in the past). Although adult robins are tough little birds which should be able to escape if attacked, whether their nestlings will make it to the fledging stage (if indeed the eggs aren't taken before they hatch) is another matter altogether. But was the bird's absence a sign that it had already been attacked, and was either dead or had abandoned the nest before laying a single egg?

We don't know. Nor, if the bird has survived, will we know what happens in the immediate future, because we are shortly due to depart for a few weeks in Australia, and will therefore be away for most of the period during which we can expect eggs to be laid and hatched. We hope very much that will happen, and that a brood of robin chicks will be there on our return; otherwise, we may have only the bowl of the nest to remind us that a bird was once there at all.

Another Sign of Spring

The pear blossom in our back garden, taken about an hour ago.

Spring is Sprung, the Grass is Riz....

Well, maybe not quite yet. But, posted to Facebook (and tagged as public so that everyone can see them) are five photographs of the back garden -- pear blossom, daffodils, other flowery things -- that I took this morning while the sun shone and the temperature, though not exactly warm, was bearable enough. But then I'm part Scots, I can wander around outside in a pair of running shorts and look suitably macho (or nearest equivalent) for the neighbours. Must be my Scottish genes, or something....

The Gardening Year Continues

To the allotment this afternoon, to plant out our potatoes....or some of them, anyway: there wasn't space for all of them in the one bed. So next weekend we'll have to dig up our remaining leeks and turn that bed over to potatoes as well.

Here's some photographs of Judith digging trenches for the potatoes we did plant out and then covering them over with some nice rich compost from one of our bins.





Meanwhile, having renewed one set of bed edging -- and having identified two other sets which also need replacing -- I sorted through the planks stacked against the side of the shed to weed out those which had been there for too long and had started to rot. That meant, in the event, most of them, which must teach me a thing or two about hoarding stuff: it would surely have been more productive for them to have rotted in the ground. But it does mean that before I can renew any more bed edging I'll need to break up the wooden fork lift pallet that's been on the allotment since, er, last September, I think....

Magnolia Stellata

Here is a photograph of the Magnolia stellata to which Judith referred in her previous post, looking very attractive in the cool of the morning. The photograph was taken at 7.00am on Monday (three days ago) in those few minutes when the sun is still rising above the horizon and the sky is still an opalescent grey. (I had just been out jogging to fetch the newspaper.)