#1401 theoldmortuary ponders

It is Fig time, I eat them and often paint them. Today I learnt a new empowering word. Foundress.

I am almost as thrilled with the word ‘foundress’ as I was when I discovered the word ‘mistresspiece’.

This all came about because I arranged a still life for a future painting. 6 figs on my favourite plate.

At the time I pondered if the irregular area , obvious on a cut fig was anything to do with a fig wasp.

The life cycle of a fig wasp is an interdependent, lifelong cycle spent entirely between the inside of a fig’s flowering structure (called a syconium) and flight to a new tree.

On entering the syconium a female wasp becomes-

The Foundress

Finding a tree: A fertilized female wasp (the foundress) flies to a receptive fig tree guided by its specific scent.Squeezing inside: She enters the syconium through a tiny, tight opening called the ostiole.Sacrificing her body: The opening is so narrow that she typically breaks off her wings and antennae while squeezing through.

Pollinating flowers: Once inside the hollow cavity, she brushes against the flowers and transfers pollen she carried from her birth fig.Laying eggs: She inserts her egg-laying tube (ovipositor) into the ovaries of the tiny flowers to lay her eggs.

The mother/ foundress fate: Her job finished, the original female wasp dies. Enzymes in the fig dissolve her body.

Larval growth: The eggs hatch into small larvae (grubs) after several days.Feeding inside galls: Each larva feeds on the surrounding plant tissue inside a protective swelling called a gall.

Wingless male wasps emerge from their galls first. The males mate with the female wasps while the females are still trapped inside their galls.The wingless males chew an escape tunnel through the wall of the fig for the females, then die inside the fruit without ever seeing the outside world.

Before leaving their birth fig the newly fertilized females pass by the male flowers and become covered in fresh pollen.Restarting the cycle: They fly out through the tunnel made by the males to locate a new flowering fig tree and repeat the cycle.

You may have to read this a couple of times.

No Fig wasp comes out of this alive, there are no happy endings.Lady wasps are held captive until they are fertilised. Gentlemen wasps die building an escape route that they will never use.

My love of figs as subjects for painting and eating figs seems cruelly nonchalant compared to the eternal circle of tragedy experienced by the fig wasps.Even the discovery of a new-to-me word seems pretty trivial with this tale of brief, tragic life and certain unpleasant death. From start to finish this has the feel of an epic drama.

Foundress, though, the word does sound rather fabulous. I sense it will never be the plot for a film or book

Six figs on my favourite plate.

P.S this is a trial blog, using new software

#1400 theoldmortuary ponders

Green Smoothie on a cafe table. Almost an Alien Seascape

It has been a busy week. So busy, I was unaware that theoldmortuary had pondered its way to #1400 blogs in the most recent iteration of blogs.

The Garden Painter started things off in South London.

Pandemic Pondering straddled the London/Cornwall years.

theoldmortuary ponders is Devon based.

The Garden Painter was a blog , exploring my immediate post-graduate of Fine-Art years as  a full time radiographer doing art in our South London back garden in the snippets of time available . The Garden painter blog was even more infrequent than the snippets of time. It has not been archived, or maybe I need to look harder. The blog covered a 10 year journey of exhibiting all over London and learning how arts organisations run.

Pandemic ponderings started on the first day after an Art exhibition I had helped to plan was cancelled due to the Covid outbreak

Pandemic Ponderings #1

#theoldmortuary ponders started on a blogging course on 10 th October 2021. For no particular reason, except that at some point, thank goodness the pandemic was going to run out of steam. So why not just jump to a new title on a random Saturday. Covid had the last laugh, I caught Covid for the third time during that weekend.

#1 theoldmortuary ponders.

In researching these two ‘first’ blogs I realised that at some point in July of this year I got my numbers wrong.

My blog numbers sequence dropped a 100 blogs.  This is irritating but not wholly unusual , I am quite disnumeric. It goes hand in hand with my synesthesia.

I really have to concentrate when numbers are involved. When required I can do maths to a reasonable level because I have had to learn to do so, but in a relaxed place my head is a little frightened of numbers. Blogging is certainly a relaxed place, my punctuation suffers , not as often as my numeracy, but it still suffers.

So there we are, #1400 when I thought I was on #1300.

There were just under 1,000 Pandemic ponderings. Even I can add up 1,400 and a 1,000 . There were not really many The Garden Painters so at a rough guess that is about 2,400 blogs over 16 years. That is a lot of pondering. Thanks for pondering along with me.

#1289 theoldmortuary ponders.

Farewell August, you have been particularly fine this year.  August is never one of my favourite months, nor is it one I actively dislike. It is the bringer of shorter days and unpredictable weather. I will never be a fan of shorter days, but after a summer of heatwaves from May onwards, the unpredictable nature of August has been delightful. Two days running we have been dodging really heavy rainfall . Which is pretty normal for late August. Usually it is a little dispiriting, but compared to the baking days of most of our summer, the rain felt like a welcome and quirky distraction.

Breakfast, blog and dog spot

During August and the heatwaves, Lola and I have developed an early morning routine of walking to the seafront most mornings. The timing being the difference in our routine rather than the destination. Late August’s slightly cooler weather brought a new changed routine. The timing was less heat specific but I would take breakfast with us and we would settle in one of the alcoves overlooking the sea.

Lola, in camouflaged comfort, waiting while I have a swim, write a blog or just take in the views before we both tuck into breakfast before heading for home.

Going forward I wonder if we might stick to this rather lovely breakfast, blog and solo bob habit.

Thank you August.

#1352 theoldmortuary ponders

Summer Bobbers.

What’s a promise you made to yourself that you’ve actually kept?

8 summery bobbers met yesterday for our regular weekly swim. About half of the number of registered bobbers who turn out at Firestone Bay in all weathers to swim, chat and eat cake.

If there was anything positive to come out of the Covid era this group of acquired aquatic friends is my favourite thing.

There is nothing good about my swimming. I am not fast, strong or stylish. But during the Covid years I learnt that being in the sea, bobbing about was something that I loved doing.

Before the Covid era I was not someone who made promises to myself. I was fortunate, a boomer, a post-war child born into an optimistic era. Too young to understand the threats of the Cold war. Covid was the first time I felt threatened in a way that was beyond the control of  myself, society or the world. I promised myself I would keep swimming with the bobbers and keep writing a daily blog.

Faced with a Global Pandemic those were the only two intentions I had to battle an invisible enemy. Written down that looks quite pathetic. Also as promises go they are hardly earth shattering.

But history will probably call us the Covid Generation. The big stuff will be researched and discussed at conferences and academic institutions. But the little stuff is what we all had to do to get through.I do little stuff.

5 years ago we were just emerging from Covid restrictions. We attended a wedding. The blog I wrote on that day is below.

My promises to myself may well be a bit inconsequential but so far I have stuck with them and that is good enough for now.

Reflecting on this I realise there were two pivotal moments that made both blogging and swimming both possible and promisable.

In early Covid I was recalled back to work in London. At the time I was living in Cornwall. Even in normal times that would be a near impossible commute. Had that happened there would be no sea swimming.

In early 2020 I had been accepted to train as a theatre critic,  barely had the email landed when Covid arrived stamping its big gnarly foot on training or aspiration of any sort. Had the Theatre Critic thing happened there would be no blogging.

My tiny promises were created by a massive global  crisis.

#1534 theoldmortuary ponders.

Putting my feet up.

We are doing some extra grandchild care while my daughter recovers from a broken shoulder. The yard has gained a new facility. A paddling pool, after a day of frenetic activity the pool is a warm and peaceful spot to write a blog. The early morning dog walk is done and my next commitment is two hours away.  One of my early morning habits, a new one to go along with Wordle*, is to read my old blogs written on this day. I have enjoyed revisiting the last few years. They are all like old friends. I am a bit critical of some and wonder if they quite hit the right tone. But I remind myself that they are all about preserving the details of a day. In the spirit of putting my feet up I thought I would share the 7th of July with you all.

My Place-Brixton East

Pandemic Pondering #469

#261 theoldmortuary ponders

#654 theoldmortuary ponders

#971 theoldmortuary ponders

#1353 theoldmortuary ponders.

July 7th 2026 has some predictable shape. Not thrilling, I will admit, but life is not all about the big ticket items.

A robotic lawn mower demonstration.

Some tennis club admin.

A quick dip in the sea.

Some art.

Of all of the 7ths of July, the one I most enjoyed revisiting was the 2017 one. Brixton East, a fantastic gallery space in London. 9 years later it has disappeared and is now a very swanky venue for weddings, celebrations, photo shoots and product launches.  I mourned the loss of the space for artists and easy accessibility to a beautiful space. Sadly in these 9 years it is not the only exhibition space to be reimagined as something different. Beautiful spaces to show art are becoming increasingly difficult to find.

Onwards to my day, I have a robot waiting for me.

#1509 theoldmortuary ponders

Something is up in blogland. Inexplicably my reader stats for this year have jumped. Not quite half way through the year my blogs have already been read by the same  number of people who read my blogs in all of 2025.

A red letter day of sorts. It seems appropriate to share the blogs of past June the 15th’s.

Pandemic Pondering # 89

Pandemic Pondering #447

#239 theoldmortuary ponders

#632 theoldmortuary ponders.

#948 theoldmortuary ponders.

#1321 theoldmortuary ponders.

Some time hopping for you all. Which is a really crafty way of throwing in a book review. This morning I was awake early finishing a book that I have loved. I just couldn’t quite finish it last night.

Time hopping in books is either to your taste or not. No spoilers here but the time hopping element in this book is as near perfect as any that I have read.

And if that were not enough the book stops almost exactly where my blogs for June 15th start. In a shop just after restrictions were lifted post Covid

Picture from June 15th 2020

In another quirky little coincidence the bakery, where I bought this doughnut, has been in business for 5 centuries. The exact time span of Tracy Chevalier’s book. Life is every bit as strange as fiction.

My 5 year effort seems pretty tame compared to 5 centuries.

#1451 theoldmortuary ponders.

This day in history. I have been blogging for 9 years. Here are some posts from 28 th May for the last 9 years. Only 7 because blogging wasn’t always a daily habit.

The prettiest site for a music festival

Pandemic Pondering #71

Pandemic Pondering #429

#624 theoldmortuary ponders

#930 theoldmortuary ponders

#931 theoldmortuary ponders

#1303 theoldmortuary ponders

Listed for me just as much as anyone else. This blog is illustrated by the communal yurt at the campsite. I suppose communality is the link word. I write these blogs for my personal pleasure, as a record for my family and to record a normal life in the 21st century. I have chosen to throw them out into the world and a small community has gathered around them.

28th May, not much happened and yet so much happened.

#1375 theoldmortuary ponders.

So much for me being inspired to be creative yesterday. There were good creative intentions but there were some tedious domestic tasks that also needed attention. Somehow they became the focus of my need to be creative. And when I say tedious they were really very dull. Stuff needed to go into the roof space. Other stuff needed to come down. Car detritus from the old car needed sorting and put in the new car or the camper van. Along with daily domestica. However all those dull things achieved gave me  a power burst and I framed some pictures, which is not the creativity I aspired to but is actually creative in its own way.

Two paintings are the illustrations for today. Done on 26th March in years past when my muse did not direct me to domestica. The 27th has not bloomed either, maybe the muse was just teasing me.

#1367 theoldmortuary ponders.

You’re going on a cross-country trip. Airplane, train, bus, car, or bike?

The prompts that sometimes fuel these blogs are set by my blog host and are generated for International bloggers.

I am British and have lived almost exclusively in London and the Southern parts of England. A cross-country trip in the  South of England has an enormous geographic problem . Every place in the South has roads that have prioritised getting to London. Public Transport follows that model. The only comfortable way to laterally cross-country would be in a camper van. Walking would also be possible using a combination of minor roads and footpaths. Walking would not be a safe prospect.

But what would motivate me to do such a journey? I suppose it would be the ability to visit towns and villages whose names are familiar because I drive past signposts that their names are on or stations that fast trains speed me through. 

To get the longest possible lateral journey I would need to drive north to Bideford on the North Coast of Devon and then proceed eastwards to Margate.

I think I could get the line straighter by avoiding Motorways and A roads. It is not quite the longest lateral journey available in Britain but it is the longest involving one country.

Two facts that I was oblivious to until I wrote this blog.

Neither journey is ever likely to be made by me but I have pondered what would motivate me to do such a thing.

* Late Spring/ Early Summer.

* Independent Coffee Shops and Farm shops with Cafes in beautiful locations.

*If money were no object then the ability to book the most luxurious Air Bnb’s along the route to spend a little longer exploring areas I have never visited before.

The thought intrigues me, no such thing really exits. The only Lateral path that exists is the Coast to Coast path established in the North of England.

Blogging…

It makes me think!

#1364 theoldmortuary ponders.

Yesterdays blog was written using an old stored prompt, because we were having a busy day doing really dull jobs on industrial estates. So I just needed a little help getting motivated.

Link to yesterday’s blog below.

#1363 theoldmortuary ponders.

More about yesterday’s blog later. Because the Industrial Estate jobs were not without their moments.

We have been having a rocky patch car and campervan wise. Both have required a lot of attention recently hence the all too familiar trips to Industrial Estates.

Yesterday’s industrial Estate trip took us to the inner edges of Dartmoor, where traffic problems almost immediately take on a different meaning.

Somnolent sheep and prancing ponies are the biggest hold-ups to hitting a mechanic’s deadlines.

Even when they clearly have deadlines of their own.

We all know the feeling on a Friday afternoon when the last client/patient/customer does not arrive on time.

3pm said the man with a workshop on the edges of Dartmoor. We made it, but not without the anxiety of waiting for the sheep to shift, on their own somewhat slower schedule.

So that was why a slow day blog needed a bit of a prompt.

Anyway the daft idea that anyone could create a small list of things that were essential to life, must have irritated my sleep because I had a vivid dream of absolute panic that I had not included Christmas Cake and Mince Pies on my list.

Why on earth would my sleeping head think these two items would need to go on a list of just three things?

Having had a disturbed night of sleep, I can confidently say that the list of 3 would be unaltered.

Daffodils

Books

The Sea

However were I to compile the list of 300, I would certainly include Christmas Cake and Mince Pies.

P.s I used to commute diagonally across the whole of Dartmoor for work. The traffic jams were unimaginable…

Sometimes I was late.