#938 theoldmortuary ponders

A day of transforming a yard from off-white to white turned out to be both extraordinarily colourful and a self-limiting occupation. The colour change can be seen just by the O of off-white. The early morning dog walk set the colour bar high when I noticed that the luminous cows had moved.

To make way for a very fancy shoe, advertising a Theatre show.

Nature also created wild flower paths between cows and shoe

Dog-walk over it was time to flip off the paint pot lid. With just a moment to tweak Pure Brilliant White into something a little more lively, with fingers still clean enough to touch my phone.

Radio at the ready and I was off.

6 hours later, I had not reached the end of the job but  the end of the pot of paint was a most welcome sight.

So much for providing myself with many different audio treats, mucky fingers meant I was stuck with Radio 4 for the day.  My ears and mind were taken to places I might not necessarily have chosen. Other people pondering the concept of unconditional love. Very thought provoking. I had some thoughts to add, but radio isn’t like that unless the show offers a phone-in and I would not have had clean enough hands for that sort of shenanigans. Rolling news reports. And some poetry, who could possibly have predicted gentle tears while painting.

Phillip Larkin

#906 theoldmortuary ponders

The West Country is a great place for enduring and reviving traditions.

See below for a winter banishing tradition in Penzance.

https://www.cornwalllive.com/whats-on/whats-on-news/gallery/tradition-once-banned-being-noisy-9266817?fbclid=IwZXh0bgNhZW0CMTEAAR0DG7vy77viGEpyarF11q1VbCd8dvDRwfOYwQDm_7Qti1I68hcF7WLEpu8_aem_AZDaMRuxXE6sCCCQI_WXoGxKkIJZFjjdWsq_vcZBX_I6U19fzSKuKZg8YFg6Fe1QukO_vkDrThwrUjHhGxFNbQOV

Inadvertently we chose the first Sunday of May to banish mould and grot from the yard. If mould and grot are works of the devil with slugs and snails as devilish familiars then we did a good job. The yard is ready to welcome summer just as soon as Spring takes things seriously. In an entirely pragmatic way some beer traps have been set to encourage slugs and snails not to eat the new growth on our awakening plants.

We found this extraordinarily dense spider web in an unused plant pot.

A bit of digital tweaking and it becomes very beautiful.

And, as we live in the West Country I can pick out the face of the Devil/Winter retreating as the pot is cleaned and ready for planting up.

#707 theoldmortuary ponders

It is not often that the days ponder must wait until after the sun has started to set. Today this was always going to be the case. I was up early to buy croissants to fuel a morning of lively conversation with the bobbers. Straight after that a chat with some fellow Bookworms and then deep conversation with a one year old. My day was replete with gorgeous, gregarious women who all talk about anything and everything with wit and wisdom.

A chance encounter with a word perked up my day even more.

Some time ago the bobbers swam in a sea filled with Pilchards and White Bait. The seagulls thought all their Christmases had come at once, with a huge shoal seemingly trapped in Tranquility Bay. They swooped and dived as we bobbed and swam. Their disturbance causing millions of fish scales to be loose in the water. We emerged, twinkling like a troupe of exotic dancers. Fish scales stuck to our skin so tenaciously that even vigorous rubbing could not remove them until we used soap and hot water.

R.Morton Nance revealed a word precisely designed for this phenomenon which afflicts fishermen all the time.

Gollowillians are fish scales incidentally attached to humans.

Now this may be the first time Gollowillians knocks tatterdemalion into second place in a blog. I had planned to natter on about things that are dilapidated but that will have to wait for another day. Because the sun has finally set.

#690 theoldmortuary ponders

I think it might be time to accept that autumn is in full swing and that summer and even an ‘ Indian Summer are behind us. These last couple of days have been liminal spaces with some spectacular sunshine but dropping temperatures.

This was the view two days ago,but last night our evening swim was a chilly, grey affair. The water temperature was a balmy 16 degrees while the air temp was 12 degrees. There was much talk about putting the heating on at home. Our winter swimming kit is slowly making an appearance and we didn’t linger on the street corner for an extended farewell natter. But moments later I did linger to take this picture of an autumnal leaf resting on a curb stone.

This gives me the chance to recount some second-hand Plymouth history.

As regular readers will know Plymouth was one of the worst harmed cities in Britain by the German bombing raids of World War II. I suppose this little historic ponder is about a small part of the clear up that followed.

So many of Plymouth’s historic streets were blown up,there had to be a very clear plan to salvage whatever could be reused when rebuilding began. I browsed an old book yesterday that described the aftermath as an ‘exploded’ city. The small detail of salvage included the collection of all curb stones from bomb damaged locations. Many of those curbstones carried scars from the devastation caused by shrapnel or hot molten metal from the fires that raged. As the city was rebuilt the salvaged curbstones were reused as streets were repaired and returned to normal use.

The location of this particular curbstone may or may not be its original location. It is an old cobbled street, now thinly covered with tarmac, very close to where there was some significant bomb damage. In the photograph above the autumn leaf has settled almost perfectly into the scar. A lovely visual analogy for nature healing the harm that humans cause.

#687 theoldmortuary ponders.

Meet the neighbours. If our neighbours were in any way’normal’ I would not take photographs of the stuff I saw in their home. Our neighbours are the Royal Marines and we live exceedingly close to their actual and spiritual home. So close in fact that when their guests arrive by helicopter our house trembles a bit. As a significant military establishment the area is not open to the public and is guarded night and day by armed guards. Yesterday their neighbours were invited in for a tour. Three hours of fascinating facts and historic architecture. Since I love both those subjects I was fully engaged and could have listened and learned for many more hours. Rather than regurgitate all I learned I will share a link to two useful websites.

https://www.royalnavy.mod.uk/our-organisation/bases-and-stations/marines-base/stonehouse

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stonehouse_Barracks

Leaving me to natter on about two things that we can all relate to. A chair and a sandwich.

I had no expectations of this visit beyond getting to look beyond the gates of something I walk past every day. We were very well informed and entertained by Charlie, an avuncular Royal Marine with many years service and much love for the organisation he represented. As a civilian I have always struggled with the military being a mirror reflection of the British class system. See below.

https://www.theguardian.com/education/2016/feb/24/privately-educated-elite-continues-to-take-top-jobs-finds-survey

It will come as no surprise that the Officers Mess was a very grand building but it was here that we met a fairly normal chair. That once was the place where Napoleon Bonapart placed his bottom for three years of his incarceration. With its original upholstery.

It is said that Napolean died at the age of 51 from a gastric ailment. Oh the things that velvet may have had to endure.

Moving swiftly on,to the upper end of the gastrointestinal tract, we come to the 4th Earl of Sandwich. A man, who as First Lord of the Admiralty was not a fan of the many formal meals that Officers were obliged to attend and socialise at. Instead he liked to have working meal breaks and had cold meats, cheeses and bread brought to his office. Where he assembled what came to be known as a sandwich.

Here he is presiding over the grand dining room. Somewhere he avoided in favour of a humble sarni.

#686 theoldmortuary ponders

I’m English so talking about the, weather is a cultural necessity. My regular dog walks show me some pretty bizarre colours as storms arrive or leave in the bay. Yesterday was quite the day in the bay and the Tamar Valley. An expensive hair cut and style lasted about 10 minutes and all the curl taming products that had been lavished on my head became gorgeous rivulets down my neck and throat. The rain gave curl control in a much more basic way.

I should have known that an early hair appointment was a silly idea. It just allowed me to fill the day with a series of events in many locations. Each transition involved a downpour.  The last one,  involved flooded streets with inappropriate footwear and dogs who refused to walk.

Being in a constant state of dampness may have been inspirational. I did finally manage to depict the mist of a storm arriving in the bay. My hair however, is crazy. No pictures of that here.

#655 theoldmortuary ponders

With the return of sharp summer sunshine my morning dog walks are illuminated by sharp shadows. Scaffolding is set up against many of the local houses. Casting abstract shapes on old walls. The air is full of the metallic sound of bolts being tightened by electric spanners and ratchets mixed with music from high up radios, the age and ethnicity of the builder/painter/roofer identified by their choice of music. Sometimes the men working highest up play the oldest music. Surely a reflection of skilled, artisanal roofers being nearer to their pensions than their youth. Even the local church has a mantle of boards and scaffolding poles. The accoustics of the bell tower reverberating with heavy metal and dance tracks. Possibly the most fun the tower has had in a long time as I have never heard a peep from a bell or anything else in the tower since moving here two years ago.

But back to the sharp shadows of early morning and an agapathas against a grey wall.  Just fabulous.

#640 theoldmortuary ponders

There is a new Muriel in town. This lovely mural depicting barrel rolling and sailing boats has been freshly applied to a local pub. I never fail to think ‘ Muriel’ instead of “Mural” when I see Street Art like this. My Welsh Nana found words that finish with a blunt end, impossible to pronounce correctly. Her Welshness required an uplift at the end of words. The extra syllable made the word more acceptable to her way of talking. So Muriel it is, but only in the privacy of my own head.

The pub has also renovated an old slipway which has been a sorry sight for the whole time we have lived here. It has been fenced off with safety fencing which has made the outlook ugly and uninviting. A shame because the location is a fine place to watch the sun go down. These waterside heritage sites of old boat builders yards or commercial wharfs once carried the names of men, famous around the World. Brunel the innovative engineer who built railways, bridges and boats, and less acceptably, Hawkins, cousin of Francis Drake, who was a favourite mariner of Elizabeth 1st but heavily involved in the Slave Trade.

How I wish I had photographed the first sunset without ugly railings but we were too busy discussing the potential of swimming from the slipway once it is extended. So to end this blog there is a ‘ Muriel in progress shot’ too bad I never caught the artist ‘ at it’ Nor do I know the artists name. Things to research this weekend, we may be forced to pop in to the pub!

http://thevot.uk/

Below is the Instagram account of the artist. Camilla Rose Signwriter

https://instagram.com/camillarosesignwriter?igshid=NTc4MTIwNjQ2YQ==

#632 theoldmortuary ponders.

A very late blog with the working title of, the morning after the night before.

Nothing bad happened but long summer evenings segue into early summer mornings with barely a gap to natter. This bollard clearly had had quite the night. In two minutes the pedestrians passing by didn’t even notice his predicament.

South West Coastal Path walkers.
Royal Marines heading for a PT session.

Mr Bollard was just chilling in the long grass.

Anyway enough of Mr Bollard, I was at a lovely summer party last night and then up at the crack of dawn to walk the dogs before going off to do some research in the most idyllic settings imaginable.

Life has eaten up my time today. The few minutes when I could have blogged I dead-headed our lavender bushes. Surely one of the most fragrant jobs on earth.

Normal service will resume tomorrow.

Ps. I have only just realised that the coastal path walkers were part of a celebratory walk for the 50th Anniversary of the South West Coastal Path being formed. Two teams walked the entire North and South Paths meeting at The Royal William Yard which is where the Headquarters are.

© Lynette Selbie

#621 theoldmortuary ponders

The usual early morning view, but photographs don’t tell the whole story.

Out on the horizon and beyond there are warships taking part in Thursday Wars. A weekly Royal Navy plus others, event when war-like scenarios take place all around Plymouth Sound. What these tranquil views can’t show is the sound of rapid fire gunshots and weaponry being practiced out at sea. Conversely they also can’t show the amazing and constantly changing fragrances that were floating in the early morning air.

On mornings like this the dogs push for a longer walk than usual, if I am enchanted by the fragrances they are overblown by the smells of late Spring. Without dogs I would have been tempted to swim, but that is scheduled for this afternoon. But our extended walk did present a long anticipated treat.

A cinema is nearly ready to open close to home, no more schlepping out to a character-less box, on an entertainment park or going to the new but disorientating cinema in the city centre.Time to enjoy films and the experience of being at the cinema.

And after the dog walk, breakfast of a spinach smoothie while doing some window-box care.

May is my favourite month.