Pirate Weekend in Plymouth. A weekend to celebrate a time when Plymouth was Queen Elizabeth I’s Pirate or Privateer major port for repurposing, recycling and most importantly reusing stolen goods from the high seas.
This year, Pirate weekend was enhanced by 2 days of warm sunshine and large crowds. My photographs were a bit rubbish due to sharp shadows and crowds. But the vibe was brilliant.
Bold bosoms oozing out of basques, laced tight, were de rigueur for lady pirates . While tricorn hats and eyeliner were what any self respecting pirate chap started the day with. What all pirates of any persuasion ended the day with was sunburn and a lot less doubloons in their pouches.
A huge cruise ship moored just off Drakes Island. With guests being brought into the Barbican by small boats.
From thisTo this.
Not quite a regular day trip to Plymouth in 2026. But things might have looked a bit similar in 1566. But then again maybe not.
What’s the most interesting local custom you’ve encountered?
I am interested in local customs and the human need to touch the legacy of previous generations, by doing something that has been done many times in the past. Let’s be honest, some local customs are barbaric, inhuman and fueled by fear. I am intrigued by the little ones that cause no harm. Like nailing a hot cross bun to a pub ceiling every Easter or Maypole dancing in May.
Maypole dancing was my first ever experience of a custom. Normal games classes were suspended late in April at my primary school, for us to be taught to dance round a tall mast with ribbons hanging full length from the top. We were encouraged to skip and dance around the mast, weaving a never ending plait of colour down the length of the pole. Nobody ever explained why we were doing it and as soon as the first blush of May was past, the mast was taken down and games lessons became tuition for the summer game of Rounders, far preferable to me. As an adult I know it is some sort of fertility ritual connected with Spring. But until today I have considered it no further.
Time to head off to Googleland.
I have never photographed a Maypole event , so did a quick little sketch with my travelling art pack.
With the accuracy of an Art App and Ai on my smart phone the header image was produced. One of the dancers even looks like 5 year old me taking the whole thing very seriously. But not hanging on tight enough to my ribbon.
Which gives me great hope for my quick summer , plein air drawings.
They usually sit in the sketch books, only a few ever become a real piece of art. Maypole dancing has shown me a new way of using them. May fertility of the creative mind.
May 2018 Mist and Sunlight reflected off a train going somewhere else
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If you had to describe your ideal life, what would it look like?
What is an ideal life, would be my next question. Human nature would suggest that I should aspire to something better.
I can’t imagine anyone describing a life that was less good as ideal.But wishing for better might not be better. A micro ideal that would not rock the boat too much if it turned out to be less than ideal, sounds ideal.
But I have hundreds if not thousands of those.
Brake discs basking in the sunshine.
Sometimes wishing for better is the enemy of good.
Putting the brakes on better, might well reveal that now is ideal.
Early morning dog walk for voting. So early that I had to wait for the coffee shop to open.
I rewarded myself with the laminations of a croissant.
I have a habit of voting early, having missed the vote once when I lived in Lambeth. I had left for work before the Polling Stations had opened and due to the unpredictability of working in Cardiac Cath labs arrived at the Polling Station with only a half an hour to go. Almost the minute I got off my train there was a strange vibration in the air. The Polling station was less than five minutes from the train station. There were outside broadcast camera operators and journalists and an enormous queue. Some sort of drama had occured and there were record numbers of voters. There was no way that everyone in the queue would get to vote and no chance that anyone joining the queue, like me, would get the chance. To queue, to make a point or not to queue. Either way I was denied my constitutional right.
The Lamentations of a choice, no croissants involved. The cafes were all closed.
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
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.
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.
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.
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.
Janner must have told Argyle there were rich pickings in our yard and that scaling the expensive fence extension that we built was a world of wonder .
Argyle researched her great escape earlier in the week.
What Janner had failed to mention to Argyle, was Lola.
I can’t add much to fill a whole blog. Lola buried her face in Argyle’s ample bottom. Our neighbour came round to collect his chicken and not much more can be done. Our wall extender is as high as it can be legally. Only the climbing plants can ‘accidentally’ increase the defensive barrier. Only steroids would make them grow faster.
The sun and a hill are not on our side.The sun arcs across the sea to the south of our East/ West yard. All the tender young shoots of the climbing plants turn their faces to the sun and grow towards our neighbours yard. Delicious nibbles for adventurous chickens have been available since early April. On the chicken side our eight foot wall/fence combo is only about 4 feet high. The massive 18 inch,thick stone wall is an easy chicken hop from their much higher ground level. It was also an easy bunny hop but the large lop eared Dutch rabbit that hopped avoided capture by our dogs and made good its escape across our subterranean garage and was never seen again.
Only yesterday I was congratulating myself that the wall extension and climbing plants were at last providing greater privacy in our yard. The secondary consideration beyond livestock control. Pride came before chicken invasion.
I sense a sketch might make this all the more understandable. Top to bottom our yard probably drops about 10 to 12 feet.
Looking South from our French Windows. Chicken not to scale.
Life on our Peninsula has been compromised by a block of flats at a road pinch point being declared unsafe. Residents of this block and surrounding buildings have been evacuated and roads are closed. Dreadful for all those people whose homes are compromised.
There is a complex one way road system in place to protect everyone from the potential risk of this building falling down.
Everyone on the Peninsula has had to alter plans. I was so successful at changing my Monday plans that I thought it was a Tuesday. So yesterday I cracked on early with my day doing my Wednesday jobs only realising I was a whole day early when one destination was closed.
Having returned home using the complex current arrangements for roads, I relaxed until a call from my Tuesday appointment at 11 am reminded me where I should be on Tuesday. By midday I was on track for Tuesday jobs on Tuesday. By midday today, Wednesday, I am on track for all Wednesday jobs for the second time this week.
All minor stuff really compared to all those people who are out of their homes but strange how a wrinkle in normal life can disrupt thought processes.
But today is also World Earth Day, not just any old Wednesday. Wherever we are the Earth is our shared experience. I am extremely lucky that my current normal day at the office looks like this.
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