My walking and swimming destination of the day. A day when the summer,which ended just one day ago, has been declared the best on record.
In between my idyllic swim this morning and the afternoon dog walk. Rain fell briefly, in fat, heavy, blobs. Followed by fabulous sunshine. Meteorological Autumn has started in a frisky mood. My raincoat is officially out!
Unlike yesterday my great swim did not propel me instantly into a great confrontation.
Instead a chilled glide around a supermarket. I am not sure a supermarket is the best place to glide in a chilled way but it was essential to our overall household wellbeing. Some practical domestic admin is now needed for household wellbeing.
Stuff needs to go into the attic.
Neither supermarket shopping nor attic hopping is particularly visually appealing. So another swim spot image it will have to be. Full disclosure I did not have the swim spot to myself today. 5 people and a dog were launching there at the same time as me.
One puzzling pile of lost property. A single left shoe and a left knee brace. Makes you think of possible scenarios…
Some days the tide and time come together to create the perfect swim. What I had not expected was for the perfect swim to set me up for the perfect uncomfortable encounter.
Some time ago myself and one of my dogs were attacked by a large local dog who had been allowed off its lead. We were both injured and traumatised, the owner of the dog left the scene of the attack without apology or any obvious concern. The incident was reported to the Police bur despite being initially supportive their interest dwindled to nothing. It has been in my mind for some time to confront this man if the chance arose. Which it did today after my perfect swim. I was somewhat surprised by my calm conversation with the individual. Since his behaviour and that of his dog on the night in question was indefensible, he had little to say and none of it of any value to me. But it feels good to know that I am no longer his silent unknown victim. He is now in no doubt of the harm he caused. A small victory but one that I am glad to have delivered eloquently.
Somewhat shaky when I got home though. Thank goodness for the perfect swim earlier.
Hard on the heels of yesterday’s blog comes todays’. I failed to push the publish button yesterday. Too busy getting out of the house to join the bobbers.
The tides and the weather are being kind this week. This is not our usual location for a bigger bobbing group but the perfection of tide and weather had made our usual jumping off spot very congested.
This location with slopes and steps is perfect for solo or two person swimming, but as no one else was there it accommodated 9 bobbers and a dog very well. But it was the previous day swim for two that prompted this illustration that prompted this blog
A friend and I had planned a late afternoon swim the previous day. Beyond the swim she arrived very much as a woman on a mission. She needed chocolate and she needed it now. So as no swimmer should ever do we headed off to the pub first.
The pub in question the V.O.T serves very good cake.
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As it turned out the pub sold exactly the cake that would set my friend very much on an even keel. She said, throwing in a nautical cliche.
She chose an epic chocolate cake embellished with creatively deconstructed Snickers bars.
Choosing the healthy option I went for Blueberry and Lemon embellished with gold leaf.
Both cakes set us up for a wonderful, seemingly endless swim, and a good long chat and laughter that definitely put the worlds to right.
Not much more needs to be said.
Summer Solstice started with a burst of colour over Firestone Bay as two bobbers and about 100 other swimmers took to the sea at dawn, the conditions were perfect.
Then the Solstice took a more practical turn as twenty volunteers, including two bobbers, took on the annual task of painting the Tennis Club Clubhouse with preservative.
Then it was back to the sea for more swimming at sunset.
So much exercise in one day and not a gym in sight.
A day painted perfectly.
In other news, the Solstice was celebrated in the local Tinside Lido.
And, of course, at Stonehenge.
Celebrated as a timeless place of worship with peace, love and traffic holdups.
Another lonesome bob and a few minutes of tinkering with a phone camera and some Polaroid sunglasses and wet rocks.
Like all rocks, the rocks in our swimming zone are infinitely more colourful when they are wet and Polarised lenses enhance that effect.
This image is constructed by digitally double exposing two separate images a second apart and with some inevitable movement both me and an incoming tide.
What it demonstrates is exactly why this area is called Firestone Bay.
Lonesome Bobbing is not my normal way of sea swimming, but it is not unheard of. Bobbing with the Bobbers is the normal way of things for safety and sociability. Is it even bobbing if you are alone?
I wasn’t even truly alone on my lonesome bob. Two neighbours and a dog, were there before me. And thank goodness they were because in an attempt to capture a pet portrait I dumped my keys in the sea.
I was so busy doing the constricted-undressing- in -public towel wrestle I didn’t even notice their loss. When Tim noticed the brightly coloured key cutters bands and rushed in to rescue them. The photo is a fake, post-processing tweakery. They dried out quickly on a warm step,retrieving them I noticed the vivid colours ,created by bright, morning- sun and my sunglasses at a really low angle, close to the incoming tide. I popped my sunglasses over the lens of my phone camera.
Blurry but interesting, this impromptu image needed a little tweakery, but I might make a little polaroid filter for my phone camera for these brightly sunshiny days.
Lonesome bobbing, thankfully not truly lonesome.
We are a long way from the sterile, plastic- lawned, dog toilet yard that we bought four years ago. Our planned urban jungle has leapt into action this year. A warm dry Spring has been followed by a very wet early summer. This is the corner that overlooks a semi-subterranean garage and is about 4 feet above the back lane behind so it has the feeling of a very substantial balcony.
Like all good balconies there is an element of privacy whilst observing others. There is very little visual observation of other humans except an occasional shadow of an unknown neighbour. Deliberately oversized in these pictures because the shadow represents all the shadowy figures who enliven our viewpoint.
Aural overlooking, overlistening if you like, is the thing. The back lane is a stone-walled corridor that links a small car park with the road that leads to the sea or the city. We can hear but not see the people walking up and down. Swimmers chat animatedly, dog walkers are quieter. Largish groups of Royal Marines who occasionally run down the lane have two distinct personalities. One is heavy and mildly worrisome when they are fully kitted up with guns and big boots. The other is more chattery and indeed fragrant as they do the same run in sports gear.
Evenings are quieter, couples and groups heading out to restaurants or the cinema.
But early mornings are my favourite thing. There is a sweet spot when all the singing birds are at their peak, just before the seagulls get up and move them all on.
This blog could go one of two ways or it could just celebrate the first Passion Flower of the season. Passion flower plants were a gift from our builder last May. He gave us three leggy plants to trail over the trellis he had just installed on the top of our wall. They put on a bit of growth last summer and were repotted this Spring. A flower and later in the season edible Passion Fruits is on our wish list.
Not on our wish list was a domestic fatburg. When you buy an old house things like drains are a bit of a dark art. With no warning our kitchen drain failed spectacularly this week. The first sign was when the dishwasher suffered from reflux and bleated pathetically. We did not recognise this as an early symptom of an apocolypse. Dynarod were booked but not for several days. In a very busy week I had planned myself a day of domestica yesterday.
The blocked drain was a bit of a head scratcher. We do not have the modern luxury of an inspection cover or any means of identifying the direction of flow or indeed stasis in our case.
This being an Edwardian house I attempted an Edwardian solution. Boiling water/ Bicarbonate of Soda/ white vinegar. A lava like eruption of gunge bubbled away at the access point of the drain. Probing with a stick revealed standing water to a depth of almost 3 feet, a metre even.
Armed only with a pair of surgical gloves for human examination* and a plunger more serious intervention was required.
Laying on my belly I plunged my arm and plunger into the depths and achieved a very good attatchment to something. My plunger resolutely hung on to whatever unseen object I had chanced upon. One hand in the supersoft and slippy water was not enough so another hand had to go in. This is taking moments to write but it was easily two hours of time as I pondered and considered each next move.
After several awkward pulls on my plunger there was a sudden movement and a giant domestic fatburg was delivered at face level. Not a pleasant experience. Dirty water gurgled and then settled, only at a slightly lower water level. I waited a bit, hoping for a miracle but none was forthcoming. So I repeated the plunger experiment. This time things were a little easier. One more two handed pull and a second fatburg was delivered and with that the grungy water disappeared with hollow glugs and the sound of a minor victory.
Dynarod cancelled.
And so back to the Passion Flower, and there is a connection. Firstly the passion flower cheered me up on my many trips back into the house, once to receive a parcel, for a neighbour, that required photo evidence. Not a bit of me was a photo opportunity yesterday.
The colours of the fatburg were very similar to the Passion Flower. Mostly creamy with evidence of culinary adventures with turmeric, chilli, tomato, beetroot and inexplicably a blueberry colour.
Twin fatburgs and a plunger and a Passion Flower. Quite the Day.
Except in this village in a city, the pavements are littered with quotes from the Sherlock Holmes stories by Conan Doyle. This one is entirely appropriate.
P.s On one of the sites where my blog appears Meta offer an analysis. A case of Metapondering perhaps?
When I moved to the Plymouth area for the first time from Brighton, in the late eighties, I was not so sure it had been a wise move. The cultural and societal differences between a liberal and multicultural seaside city and a post industrial port were vast and uncomfortable for a long while. I quickly found my tribe by joining an art class.
Plymouth artists liked to drink in out of the way places. One such place was the Victualing Office Tavern, a grubby pub in one of the roughest parts of Plymouth. We went there to enjoy live jazz , rock and folk. Just as the quote says, we were a very broad gathering of people from all works of life. People creating art in council flats and some in homes that were mentioned in the Doomsday Book. There is a theory that artists are the first sign of gentrification….
Now I live in the exact same area as my 1980’s art excursions, after a ten year return to London. The VOT has gone up in the world, as has the area. Queen Victoria should have swapped the word dangerous for interesting.
Visionary rather than vituperative is a better way forward even for a Queen
Just a blog to use one of my favourite words that rarely gets an outing.
Queen Victoria was a Vituperative Old Trout.
The VOT best bar in Devon!
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