#1412 theoldmortuary ponders

The Southern edge.

Which is the best thing to do in your city?

I like to find the edges of my city. In my case I am fortunate the edges are well marked. To the south is the sea, to the west the river Tamar and to the north Dartmoor. Only the eastern edge has the slightly blurry edges of urban sprawl but that is contained by Dartmoor running to the north and the sea to the south. So there is a fat ribbon of development to the east until that stops and agricultural land re-establishes itself.

I also love the centre of the city where I can find independent shops, a market and a museum and art gallery.

My least favourite part of my city are the burbs. Vast stretches of anonymous housing developments. I blame an obscure folk song from my childhood.

Little Boxes

Song by Malvina Reynolds

Little boxes on the hillside
Little boxes made of ticky-tacky
Little boxes on the hillside
Little boxes all the same
There’s a green one and a pink one
And a blue one and a yellow one
And they’re all made out of ticky-tacky
And they all look just the same

And the people in the houses
All went to the university
Where they were put in boxes
And they came out all the same
And there’s doctors and lawyers
And business executives
And they’re all made out of ticky-tacky
And they all look just the same

And they all play on the golf course
And drink their martinis dry
And they all have pretty children
And the children go to school
And the children go to summer camp
And then to the university
Where they are put in boxes
And they come out all the same

And the boys go into business
And marry and raise a family
In boxes made of ticky-tacky
And they all look just the same
There’s a pink one and a green one
And a blue one and a yellow one
And they’re all made out of ticky-tacky
And they all look just the same

Source: LyricFind

Songwriters: Malvina Reynolds

Little Boxes lyrics © Audiam, Inc, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC

I was only young when I heard these lyrics and I would not have known the word dystopian but I absolutely knew that this was not a future I fancied in any shape or form.

On the whole I have avoided anonymous suburbia. I know that it is hugely comforting and homely to millions of people. Funny really that my view of my city or indeed any city was shaped by a folk song.

#1411 theoldmortuary ponders.

Calm reflection in a flower pot

What’s a mystery from your own life that you’ve never solved?

Now this is a question with a million answers. I am fairly certain the resolution of many of my mysteries will always be just out of reach. I have been the oldest family member in my known family for more than 30 years. Giving me a big bag of family mysteries. Then there are the workplace mysteries. Why did certain things go the way they did? Then there are the domestic mysteries, those are often the least interesting and yet the most pressing.

As an avid ponderer I think mysteries are either a superpower or the essential fuel of the craft of pondering.

If I eradicated all my mysteries what would I do all day?

I prefer the latin word for ponder.

Somehow it gives pondering, or indeed mystery solving more importance.

Mystery is infinite and all the better for it.

#1410 theoldmortuary ponders.

Steps at Ocean Studios ©theoldmortuary

What a difference 24 hours make, yesterday I was writing about a sublime experience at a ballet  performance. Today I may need to comment that unknown to me I was a little under the weather at the theatre. Unknown to me a 40 year old root canal was quietly and painlessly giving up the will to live in a tooth. What became very obvious later in the night was that not only was he in terminal decline but he had unfortunately affected and infected his neighbour. A tooth with a fully functioning nerve system!

Some emergency dental treatment is a wonderful thing. Ultimately I will have to lose both the teeth but for now they are at peace. Painkillers and antibiotics are wonderful things.

I have been very fortunate, 40 years ago I had my first experience of toothache and 24 hours ago was my second.

Despite being warned that root canal work might only provide a short term fix my little tooth hung in there, only changing colour very slightly recently. He endured through two pregnancies and orthodontic teeth straightening. All things that might have affected his longevity. He has endured periods of a busy life and an irrational  fear of dentists, that stopped me attending once my adorable dentist retired.

Curiously my little tooth is a marker of time. 40 years ago I had two parents, and no children. Now I have two children, no parents.  A wealth of life experience and changes.

Toothache and ballet. They make you think.

Sunset at Tinside ©theoldmortuary

The two pictures illustrating this blog have nothing to do with teeth. But they do both have colour sensations that are not too dissimilar with my experience of toothache. Especially when displayed in a tile format.

#1409 theoldmortuary ponders

In the 1990’s I was a busy working mother of two, wishing that Plymouth was more like Brighton.

My Brighton life was mostly carefree. Plymouth was the settling of my new life,consolidating being a parent and doing a job that I didn’t care for to make parenting easier. The comparison was not kind to either city. In the 90’s two bands in particular kept me sane . The Verve, all dirgy, and melancholic and Daft Punk, Electronic Dance music with something extra

Plymouth was represented by the Verve.

Brighton got Daft Punk.

I love them both but Verve love is hollowed out . Daft Punk the love of escapism.

With tthe distance of time I can see that both loves have equal merit as do both cities

Which is a long preamble to natter  about a contemporay ballet I was intoxicated by last night.

Body and Soul by The English National Ballet.

Source: BalletcoForum https://share.google/tSHdWk7W0gCG1ra6s

Two distinctly different choreographed ballets that might seem, and were unconnected . Maybe a pairing not for anyone but to me they made perfect sense. Both hugely expressive pieces using gorgeous, perfect human bodies to unfold a story or a feeling. The music of Part 1 was not at all Verve like but Androgynous dancers performing such mind blowing emotion took me to that hollowed out place that I felt as a newish parent in a strange place. I had no care for the gender of the dancers, just mesmerised by the places they were taking my head too. There should be more words for erotica and sensual.

Or maybe completely new words that describe sublime pleasure of being cocooned in the moment of contemplation by writhing human bodies who are just there to make you think, nothing sexual or intimate. Just thoughts.

Part two was so much closer to my 90’s Daft Punk vibe and similarly thought provoking. It was by its nature, bawdier,closer perhaps to sensual and erotic. With May Day vibes of flesh and lust sanitised by white drone like and sexless creatures. Just there doing their thing  perfectly and simply to make us think.

Not knowing or caring what gender any individual dancer was, allowed for a huge amount of buttock envy. My goodness those dancers had the most amazing bottoms.

My head was quite properly blown. All that gorgeously stimulated thinking and some absolutely peachy bottoms. What a night out.

https://www.theguardian.com/stage/2026/mar/20/english-national-ballet-body-soul-review-sadlers-wells-london-kameron-n-saunders-proper-conduct-crystal-pite?CMP=Share_AndroidApp_Other

I am still thinking about it. Wondering at the ability to have my head completely taken over by movement and music. Loving the hollowed outness and the escapism in equal measure.

If only we could have two new words to express the joy of being made to think unexpected thoughts in a theatre by honed and expressive bodies.

#1408 theoldmortuary ponders.

What did we do on May Day? Quite a lot as it happens. In the evening we went to an Art Exhibition Private View, held in a Social Club.

The art was fabulous but the excess of laminated signs and instructions was almost an exhibition in itself.

Reproducing more than one would be snobby and judgemental. Which I can be. But this sign is a grand example of why a fool, a computer, a printer and a laminator should never be let loose on walls in public spaces.

What is even better is that if you read this sign using a mock West Country accent you could easily be mistaken for a local.

I always love going to these exhibitions more than once. But I know that on a second visit the laminated signs would be my primary focus. Shame on me.

#1407 theoldmortuary ponders

A Fiery Sky for Beltane.

Beltane the fiery and traditional welcome to Summer. Celebrated on 30th of April or the 1st of May, May Day.

Maybe Lola was feeling the beat of Pagan drums through her paws yesterday when she was feeling so excited about being out and about in the fresh air.

Beltane was the traditional time for putting livestock out to summer pastures. Lola is the closest thing to livestock we have.

Since Hugo died our dog-walking life has taken a different pattern. Hugo favoured walks and adventure over all things. Lola prefers bed and sleeping over all things.

Until yesterday I would never have noticed her excitement at being out on a particular day. Because Hugo was excited to be out every day.

Dogs just like children give me parental guilt. Am I a good enough and effective parent for them to thrive and be happy.

I was a parent to children long before I was a dog mum. I wish it had been the other way round. But life is life and a constant learning experience.

This morning Lola has reverted to bed Lola. Beltane is done for her.

#1406 theoldmortuary ponders.

Tidal Pool

Lola declared that her personal Spring had Sprung this morning.

She wanted to be out and about early today. For no particular reason, the sun was up and so was she.

Nothing out of the normal in the gastric or intestinal department. She just wanted the sun on her face and the wind in her whiskers.

Not a bad attitude for a sunny morning. It was pretty chilly though.

As it turns out she was every bit as excited by the evening walk. Spring must at last be smelling fabulous for her.

#1405 theoldmortuary ponders.

The Yard 2026 ©theoldmortuary

Two inconsequential recipes to share today.

People have asked for my organic dog poo processing recipe . So here goes with that.

We have been dog owners for 13 years . Most of that time we were city- based with either a small garden or, as now, a small yard. For a while we lived in the countryside and this method worked well there too.

A long time ago I had friends with two big dogs and a large garden who long before the internet buried a bottomless compost bin 1/3 into the ground in an area out of the way. When their dogs did a poo in the garden it was popped in the bin with tea leaves and coffee grounds from the kitchen. Worms and other creatures who chomp on unthinkable things found their way into the bin. There was never a smell and the bin seemed to settle at about 2/3 full

Our small London garden could not have housed such a big item, but we experimented with a terracotta rhubarb forcer. The same organic magic happened. Just poo, tea leaves and coffee grounds. Our Rhubarb forcers also seem to settle at 2/3 full

In both cases our friends dogs and our dogs were not habitual pooers in the garden . This system works for dog bathroom emergencies. It might well work for larger quantities. I see no reason why it wouldn’t .

The only time the system needs to be disturbed is when moving house or relocating the Rhubarb Forcers.*

The first time I moved the Rhubarb Forcers was because of a house move. I approached the job with trepidation but ultimately all was well . We had stopped using them 3 months before. Collecting our garden dog waste in poo bags and delivering them to poo bins that the council provided on the streets.

Trepidation was completely unnecessary. The compost created was almost perfect. Fine, light brown compost, no smell. Had I been presenting a gardening programme I would have romantically run my fingers through it in the style of the opening scenes of Gladiator, as Maximus runs his fingers through ears of corn. The only minor problem was that some t-bag bags did not seem to be biodegradable but as we always split them it was easy enough to pick them out. We decided to only use actual tea leaves and coffee grounds in future.

One rhubarb forcer per dog seems perfect. When one is nearly full we put a lid on it and open the other for business. Allowing rain and sunshine in.

The other two times I have had to move the Rhubarb Forcers the results have been the same. Lovely compost.

*Rhubarb Forcers are bottomless terracotta pots

Enough of poo . Now for miraculous results.

Two Rhubarb Forcers, a palm tree and a black gumtree.

Hidden under our rogue Pampas Grass was this palm tree and to a degree the mid to lower levels of the gumtree. Now the Pampas has had serious remedial cutting-back the almost unbelievable growth of the palm tree has been revealed. He was certainly on Death Row for the last 5 years but 2 years ago I moved the Rhubarb Forcers very close to where he was planted. Last year he did not do much that I noticed but under cover of far too much Pampas Grass he has made a ridiculous achievement of growth. I wonder if the Pampas and the Black Gum are also benefitting  from the close proximity of dog and coffee organic matter. Who could begin to guess, but now we are down to just one dog I wonder if supply and demand may be a problem..

And so onto the second inconsequential recipe.

There is an element of  squabbling in one of the organisations I work for. Not a life or death issue but troublesome to those involved and troubling to those on the sidelines. Intervention might be needed and then again it might  not.

My father and grandfather were both rural men at heart but whose career choices forced them to manage other humans. Other humans are complex creatures with foibles and opinions or views on how life should be.

Intervention is sometimes needed but timing is everything.

My grandad would reassure my dad that , ” Sometimes people need to be left to stew in their own juice for a bit”

My dad would say the same thing to me in the early stages of my career.

I have no idea if this was just familial advice or East Anglian wisdom passed down.

But I do find that allowing  squabbling humans some time, “Stewing in their own juice” is a very effective recipe for some types of conflict resolution.

Two recipes on a Wednesday that may never be needed. Until they are.

Mr Palm, no longer on death row.

#1404 theoldmortuary ponders.

Drying Washing in the Yard 2025 ©theoldmortuary

We have not yet hit the giddy heights of drying washing in under two hours, as we can easily do in the Summer months. But in just under a week our washing lines have gone from support for our festive winter lights to drying an enormous load in eight hours.

The progress in our yard in one week is madness. We have gone from rain every day since Christmas to no rain for 10 days.

We were definitely late to start yardening jobs this year. 10 days of dry weather has kicked our yardening backsides. There have been some winter casualties, drownings mostly. All consigned to compost over the last weekend. One miraculous recovery.

We have had a Palm tree for about 10 years, he has moved, in a pot, from London to Cornwall and now Devon. 10 years in survival mode, never really thriving but surviving in a pretty lacklustre way. He was planted in a raised bed two or three years ago and just sat there, moodily surviving, not really bothering to make roots or friends with any other nearby plants.

Over the weekend I cleared the debris from an unplanned Pampas Grass . Hiding under the fringes of the Pampas was a glorious and vigorous palm tree. Solidly rooted into the ground and probably a foot taller than when I last saw him. There is no horticulural logic to this. He has been living in a bog for the last 6 months, his only source of nutrients is our dog poo, coffee grounds hygienic/organic dog poo disposal system.

Further tidying up will prepare him, for the first time, for some proud yardening  photos. Not something I ever imagined doing.

#1403 theoldmortuary ponders.

A late blog that is already a week late. On our trip over a week ago to the Cornish Tea Plantation we also threw in an extra stop off to a favourite churchyard. At St Just-in Roseland. I realise churchyards are not to everyone’s taste but we enjoy the peace and tranquility that a country church yard exudes.

It was a late evening visit and the sun was breaking through the Spring foliage at sharp angles.

William and Anna Maria Roberts having their moment in the sun.

It is the most beautiful place for both the living and the dead to rest their bones.

The harshness of life before the twentieth century is writ large on historic gravestones where adults die barely into middle age and their children die in infancy.

Not such a problem in the latter half of the twentieth century where other more middle-class messages are carved in stone. X and his wife Y both deceased well into old age, but wanting it known that they were not ‘Common’ people their gravestone informs us of both of their home addresses. Oxford and St Mawes. No mistaking them for Rif Raf!

It helps that the graveyard and the church are in the most spectacular landscape.