For a woman who spent her working life in the gloomy, daylight starved, environments of Medical Imaging Departments, it is quite the turn of events to turn my transferable skills to the management of a Tennis Club by the sea.
Yesterday we were entertaining Tree Surgeons doing remedial work on trees damaged by winter storms. The first of two such days in June.
All of our trees have Tree Protection Orders on them so licences and permissions have taken some time to be obtained.
But two young men with some very fancy equipment soon trimmed our ailing Ash tree into something that may or may not survive a disease process. But at least now he no longer has any big boughs to drop over our neighbours wall.
But he is not a thing of beauty anymore.
Taking a jump from one world to another in semi-retirement is a fascinating process. Every day is a school day. Transferable skills flex and expand. My treasure trove of knowledge has some truly eccentric and unexpected nuggets of new information and I have some different or enhanced skills. I also have a much bigger and prettier office!
Marking time. A 100 year old tennis club gets an address. The 21st Century has arrived.
1966 was a big year in Great Britain. The men’s football team won the football World Cup and Postcodes were introduced.
Between 1966 and 1974 every address in Britain gained a postcode.
For reasons, lost in the mist of time, our Tennis Club missed out. I imagine other places must have done too.
For 60 years the club has managed. Firmly occupying a corner of land where the road bends and meets the sea. But the world has moved on and increasingly the digital age just cannot see something that does not have an alphanumeric code.
In fact the very act of applying for an official address and postcode without a postcode proved to be a challenge. A challenge that was ultimately successful. Although to achieve filling in a digital form correctly but inaccurately the club was declared a ‘new’ build.
Increasing companies and organisations have systems that simply cannot interact with our club because we had no postcode.
So yesterday really was a red letter day. Although as yet no actual letter of any colour has been delivered. That would require a postbox!
Small steps.
Yesterday turned out to be the last day stuff had to be delivered to a members address and then walked or driven to the club for redelivery. Nothing inconsequential, like an Amazon parcel that could be tucked into a coat pocket or bag.
Four park benches for the watching of tennis or just taking in the view.
The lovely feeling of mirth bubbling up through absurdities
Another day of domestic and Tennis Club administration loomed yesterday. Embellished by a trip to two different beaches at either end of the day.
My first minor skirmish with authority was with an armed escort as I returned from the tidal pool to home on my morning dog walk. Following hard on the heels of Royal Marines returning from their morning walk.
My next walk of the day was with a friend to explore the historic but hidden walls of our maritime town.
We wandered with our dogs and looked at ancient walls hidden amongst small housing developments. Crenellated walls providing shelter to chickens and an urban orchard.
A much wilder area of bigger walls was inaccessible to us but appears to be being cleared to provide a place for lunch breaks and beehives for a local boatyard. Although local, intrigued historical sleuths were discouraged by the deliberate placing of fallen branches and brambles.
We had to make our way out via a shiny car dealership. Now the trouble with locating historical defensive walls is that they are effective. We couldn’t scramble down a possible rampart.
So we had to make our way through the car dealership. Not under the watchful eyes of keen eyed Archers with poison tipped arrows, aimed at us or our dogs. But CCTV cameras with Cyclops eyes following our every move in case we made off with a new car tucked in our pockets. We had been seen. We carried on our history ramble for maybe twenty minutes or so along the course of a reclaimed river bed.( Once the location of the actual Shit Creek where sailors were trapped without a paddle)
Soon enough we found ourselves back where we started near the car dealership. We may not have caught the flinty eyes of Archers on battlements but we had raised the hackles of Car Salesmen . Two men in bright white shirts, over tight trousers, and trendy, but cheap shoes were fixing hastily created laminated signs to their perimeter fence.
In the search for history we had transgressed. Historically things could have been so much worse!
So that is me done with close encounters with authority but history was not done with me for the day.
For about 8 weeks I have been trying to apply for a postal address and post code for the Tennis Club I help to run.
The on-line form just didn’t work for me. Two failed attempts had disheartened me and earlier this week I took the last chance advice of the website and wrote a snail mail, old school letter to the advice desk of our local council. I won’t bore you with all the complexities of the situation but there have been a lot of boxes to tick and I feel I may have ticked them all and still stumbled.
Less than 24 hours after the snail mail was posted I got a helpful email reply from the council. History has bitten me on the bum! The box I needed to tick for a 100 year old tennis club without an address or postcode was …
New Build.
It really was a day where my funny bone was tickled by the absurdity of modern life clashing with history.
Wembury
A day of admin, absurdity and beaches, with history as the entertainment.
The temperature and wind however were quite another matter.
An over large and over optimistic deck chairNormal sized deck chairs acting as windsocks.
Deck chairs had been put out but their only useful function was to act as windsocks.
On reflection and protection from a bitterly cold wind Lola dragged us into a warm cafe.
Lola staring into a cafe mirror.
Now the truth of this blog is that Lola is always a cafe dog. Even on our late night walks she is known for resting her brown nose on the door of any cafe that we have ever visited.
So a bit of very cold, very strong wind was absolutely in her favour. She doesn’t always get her own way. Today she did.
An early start yesterday for wildlife. Not this beautiful seal, she was definitely a bonus. But one of my regular meetings with a Pest Control contractor called Annie. The Tennis Club I help to run is very close to the sea and considered to be a Winter Palace for the rats who choose to live on the coastline. For two years we have been diligently discouraging the Winter Palace theory with bait boxes and regular surveys of the rat population. Diligence has paid off, living in a Tennis Club is no longer seen as the Winter Dream of the local rat population. They will never be eradicated anymore than our Seagulls , but their numbers are manageable.
Of course the rats, seagulls and resting seals were all living here long before humans arrived possibly during the Iron Age. And certainly before humans thought it would be a good idea to run about hitting small balls across nets.
Seeing the seal just calmly doing her thing with no care for what century she was in was just a lovely peaceful way to start the day.
The cold light of day arrived yesterday and with it, sharp light penetrating dark corners.
Our dark corners were an artificial construct. Late November and December were busy months. We had a bedroom and a three storey hallway decorated. ‘Stuff’ was moved out of the way. We went on holiday, had an unexpected pet death and Christmas was upon us. The newly decorated bedroom became a dumping ground for all the ‘Stuff’ that was homeless, moved into the bedroom and the door was closed. Then the rain came and many days of dullness allowed the door to stay closed. Until yesterday when daylight flooded in. Something had to be done. As is always the case the whole process created more mess before two tidy rooms appeared. Things went into the roof. Including a portrait of me aged 40. The one of me at 45 is easier to live with.
45
I had a bookish moment as I rested the painting against a roof truss.
My day of house chores involved no selling of my soul, no moral corruption and my debauchery was limited to a restorative cup of tea. No sudden or unexpected youthfulness in this house.
For half an hour on Friday evening 12 Bobbers ( our cold water swimming group) gathered in our front room. Each one fully clothed, drinking fizz or tea. With thoughts of Comedy rather than freezing our t**s off.
The noise of chatter when we swim together is impressive. The noise when we were planning to laugh together was, when contained in one room, joyous. A curious, supportive and delightful friendship group forged in the dark days of the Covid Crisis that has evolved into a social group, predominantly for swimming but not exclusively so.
There is always laughter but 6 years in we are also there for each other for the sad and difficult bits as well as the life affirming moments.
Less than a minute from leaving the house we were in a warm and welcoming school hall. A stage area designated by glittery curtains and the stalls filled with chairs and tables suitable for 6 year olds. The first laugh of the evening seeing 6 foot adults folding themselves in and out of childrens furniture.
The comedy was sparkling, words were said and songs sung that would not normally be welcome in a school hall.
One comedian would definitely get a school report of ” Could do better, and needs to enunciate” the rest were all ‘A’ grade performers.
The bobbers had a great night out , for once with their clothes on.
It has been a tough week at the office. Three large storms have taken one tree down and two huge boughs off others. Storm Chandra the last of 3 arrived yesterday and took down another already damaged bough.
On a positive note this morning, no rain, just wind, a lot of wind and some sunshine.
Tranquility Bay was looking and feeling fairly untranquil.
A day that required a dry robe and wellies.
The dry robe had a bittersweet moment for me in one of its huge pockets . On the day our dog Hugo died we went walking on the beach and I found a rock that looked like a cracked heart.
I had tucked it in my pocket and forgotten about it. Until this morning.
So while I was busying about photographing damaged trees for Tree Surgeon quotes the heart shaped pebble found its way into my hand. I immediately realised what it was. A comforting sensation rather than completely sad. I might keep it in my pocket.
There was some serendipity in Firestone Bay yesterday. 5 Bobbers met at the bobbing zone without planning an official bob. 2 Bobbers decided on a short notice morning swim, 2 other bobbers and a grandchild went for a dog walk and just a little later another lone bobber turned up for a dip. As is the way of serendipity one thing led to another and hot drinks and radiators were offered to the three bobbers who actually went for a swim.
The night before, the Finale of Celebrity Traitors had aired. The minute all bobbers had gathered together in a warm house one of them announced that she had not seen the programme so there was to be no Traitors talk. Thankfully there was a 3 year old willing to host her favourite card game while everyone warmed up.
Probing and often delightful questions that could be aimed at three year olds or Centenarians. Predictably we only played a few rounds because 3 year olds have better things to do than entertain cold swimmers. But there was one golden moment when the question asked what we would all like to be doing in ten years. All 5 bobbers wanted still to be bobbing with the Bobbers. After a chilly November swim that is a fabulous response. I suspect all Bobbers would say the same thing. Our curious Covid-19 hobby has become more than a bit addictive.
I have been a bit of a ‘natural’ light pedant this weekend. I am creating a woven collage abstract of the tidal pool.
Natural light because I am weaving and colour matching.
Early weaving placement.
Glueing, weaving and moving strips is curiously time consuming.
Close up.
I am slightly obsessed by the colours of the sea in Firestone Bay and the way the rocks and concrete collect lichens and marginal seaweed.
Close up.
I am about a quarter of the way through the sticking and moving process and daylight is in short supply. I am loving this new process . I quite fancy doing something similar as a flower meadow in pastel colours that would be completely out of my comfort zone.
theoldmortuary.design 