Much Inspired by Gardeners World.

I watched Gardeners World last week and was much inspired by their simple account of easy gardening for the hobby amateur gardener working full time and only able to get out for 10 minutes between showers every other week.. I thought I would adopt their style.

So this weekend I looked out and consciopus of global warming I decided to grow my own vegetables. I started with buxom rusticulatum or sea-horse radish behind the potting shed before slipping a sharp spade easily into my fine tilth. My variety was called "Lively Lady" and I chose her because of her pendulous double stamens that dazzle in the early morning sun. Cultivation is very easy. You water every ten minutes during the night, and only 20 minutes during the day for the best results. I start mine off in an old shoe box which I leave in a damp corner of the Jacuzzi. Buxom is a heavy feeder and I used plenty of well rotted bull shit.

Next week I shall talk about my clemontones, gloriosa conperceptiii and growing them in a medium sized garden and I will enlist the help of a few villagers to run the threshing machine in the back field.

50 Years Ago : It snowed

50 years ago today I was taken protesting up to the 208 bus stop at Digby Road to wait for the single decker to take me to the Mothers' Hospital. I was simply told that my removal from the warmth of the terrace house in Marlowe Road was due to the urgent need to meet my sister, for the first time. As I was marched up the road under close supervision, not realizing the momentous significance of the events that would follow that would change my life for ever, I was stunned by the fact that it was snowing.

I shall further explore what happened as a result. I shall tell the tales of having to share everything I possessed. How my bike got completely broken. The further suffering will be outlined. But this must wait.

This morning I wish to recall that it snowed in April in 1958 and it lasted about 10 days. So when you speak of global warming do not use this weekends snowfall. There may be climate change but it's more complex than you would believe and snow this weekend is not necessarily good evidence of its own. It snowed for 10 days in April the week my sister was born.

My blood just boils.

My blood just boils.

I know I am no expert in this area but I also know that in the 1970's I was taught that teaching children to read is complex and is best done using a variety of methods including phonics and whole word approaches.

This morning on the radio John Humphries led a feature on literacy that lauded the phonics approach which led to "everyone being able to read" (more of less) he said. Such a low standard of analysis would never be allowed over politics, economics , environmental or health issues. Humphries sounded like Ali Gee with his simplistic comments. "Like this drug problem right? How can we get the quality of the gear to be better, right?" How much longer can we maintain this naiuve innocence about reading?

The last 30 years have been repeatedly puctuated by phonics is best-whole word is best debates in the popular press manwhile anyone in the know does both.

Well, it forced me to check with Ruth Miskin, the government adviser for literacy. She has a website. Well low an behold it states that phonics at first is a good thing but then for more complex reading, for words that are not phonetical, toher strategies might be used. makes good sense.

My sheer amusement came with the above example, M-O-M . I know no one in my local area that says Mom. Then again down our way we used a different phrase, one I still use today, which more or less sums up the limitations of just phonics. "Ennit, Muvva".

Etangs de Carlit

The Etangs de Carlit

The start of the 2-1/2 hour walk around the Etangs de Carlit is not promising. Parking the car under the concrete dam of the Lac des Bouillouses or La Bollosa, the landscape is bleak, and stony. Many gravel paths lead this way and that between the mountain hostels and bars, all unwelcomely closed in this October sun. A few tufts of dry grass shiver in a cool breeze between scattered pine trees, huddled in twos and threes. Vast pipes, and building works create an industrial air, if only there was some work being carried out. Above the cold expanse of a choppy La Bollosa laps at the granite shore.

We have left behind the pleasant drive up the winding tarmac road between the thickets of pine and the alpine meadows, which open out to reveal a winding bubbling stream. The herds of huge cows laden in calf, clanging their way up and down the roadway from one lush grassland to another. The herds of mountain horses roughly chomping at the undergrowth on the edge of the thick forest.

Up a dirt track and leaving the last hostel the path soon creates a torturous climb across enormous speckled granite boulders and between huge pine tree roots. Gasping at the thin air, for we are in spitting distance of the high altitude athletics-training centre at Font Romeu, we trundle upward along our stairway to heaven.

Along a semi dried up riverbank the yellow way marker stripes drag us along a bouldary high path and ominous yellow crosses forewarn the dangers of straying. However, the river is dry and we are disobedient, lazy walkers and take the more direct route. The path flattens and a bright sun burns on a patch of lush grass. We stop for a picnic and drinks. Before long we can lay back and feel the solar blast every inch of bare skin.

But we must away from this peaceful slumber if this two-hour stroll is not to turn to night time return. We glimpse through he trees the first signs of still water, blue and cold through the green pine screen. The path turns away and there is disappointment. However, it is short lived as beyond a sharp turn yet another lake beckons. Huge deep and cold. Shimmering wavelets ruffle every inch of the surface in the bright warm sun. This is “Estany de la Comassa” and she stretches off northward girdled by a granite rockery of mountain pine, and heather.

The path takes us away and another turn sloping down hill to Estany Sec. Sweet Estany, shallow and reedy. Brown spikes dotting up through the cold blue. We cross a dried river valley and climb again to a mile long ridge and the path wends off into the distance. Both left and right drop away rough grass and heather, a few scattered bushes and occasional clumps of juniper.

A short rest on a boulder allows us to spot the first fleck of an Eagle, soaring, circling in the distance. Then as if by accident another appears close to the first, in the clear blue dome above us. How it managed to piece the floor of the dome in the middle and just appear there is indeed wondrous. We would expect it to appear far off and then come closer but by magic Eagles just appear.

Across a dip before us lies the dark overshadowing Pic de Carlit, towering magnificently above us. A couple of ramblers gradually step casually closer. “Bonjour” is exchanged. “Vous ascend La Carlit”, aujourdoui? We are asked.” Non! Mon dieu. J’retorne. La Carlit un autre day”. We look once again with some longing

The ridge ends with a sharp fall down to the river and the junction is signposted. La Carlit another 2 hours. The return an hour and 40. We have been four hours already and the shadows are long and thin. The shallow “Estany de des Dugues” reflects the far mountains. We see our first fish. First a small fry and then further away the unmistakable shape of a small trout.

Around a spur, and away from the lake we are in shadow as we turn south. A cold win whips through the col. Pockets of unmelted ice have survived the warm day in the shadows. The col deepens into another river valley to follow us down to Estany del Viver. High above us a stag and hind take a few quick steps to move away from us. They stop and stare before deciding that their flight should not be interrupted and they stumble up the steep path through the trees.

Down the tree lined wide ravine we can see the flat grassland open out between the thick pine forest. Rivers converge on a flat terrace and our path crosses a narrow low wooden bridge a few feet from the churned up peaty, muddy, rivulates. Across the bridge and we are forced to leap the narrow stream again before the path heads back into pine forest and along the edge of “Comassa”.

We are back on the path leading up to this heavenly beauty and pass our picnic place now deeply in shade, the falling light behind us. We return some five hours later.

Towards Body Beautiful

Had my Gym review with Samantha yesterday and she says I should build up my muscles. I have been about 6 weeks since the holiday binge, walking, running, cross training, rowing,cycling all in the same room in Chigwell. I must have travelled about 100 miles at least. Best thing about it is that I have heard every decent track on my ipod for the first time.

I now have a diet of stomach pressing, triceps and bicep curls, stair walking, and floor exercises thrusting my pelvis. So there is no change there then. Mind you I have to add this to my existing exercise regime which might be more challenging. She assures me that this will lead to the sculptured body beautiful that we both want so desperately. I am not convinced she wants the same one as me though.

I told Samantha that my future new increased biceps mustn't get in the way of my dainty little ipod holder which barely reaches round my arm now.

I have my doubts about Samantha's new regime, but am willing to give it a bash. I am fearful of becoming muscle bound of course. However, she says there is a skiers exercise fest coming up which she is putting me up for. I bet they all will turn up with skin tight 5ft, 5 stone Lycra body suits. My mind boggles at the thought. Once again I'll have to dig out the baggy shorts and shredded rugby shirt with the fruit juice and red wine stains just to be so obviously not with them. The things I have to do because of fashion.

I guess there will be no one there doing my type of extreme skiing. Its a more specialist sport. I will think to myself "Slow, slow and slower. Rest. Look at the wonderful view. See how those clouds sparkle in the bright sun. I suppose I'd better go on a little way now. I bet Gina would love this. She would say it looks like New Zealand, and recite some wonderful romantic poem that had some reference to mountains or snow. Falling over is just such a great excuse to sit for a while, have a rest, and see the scenery. I must do it again. I wonder how many turns I can do without going down hill so I don't have to get in that queue to come back again. I wish all these skiers would go home and leave me in these mountains in peace."

The Kingfisher

Through my life
I have searched for you,
Illusive Kingfisher bird.
Because you are so rare,
I prefer to think that it is the sparkling blue beauty
that I so long to share.

A glimpse I yearn for,
before you dart away.
To dive and dip, for another feast.
So swift, sharp, with a foaming splash.

It needs a gentle step or stalk,
A watchful attentive peer,
through leaves on golden woodland walks,
or in green dingle glades you appear.

Patience is a virtue for those that hold,
in stark contrast to desire.
And those who wait patiently,
will they ever tire?

Or perhaps that bird,
in making haste,
sped off to another roost.
A comfort haven, for safeties sake?

Beware! Snow Warning!

Beware! Snow Warning!

“All school sin the city of Birmingham are closed for today due to severe weather” announced a senior officer from the local authority’ on radio four’s morning news programme. He went on top explain how ice and snow had made the roads and pavements hazardous. People should be careful. Not make unnecessary journeys. Transport was likely to be disrupted. I wasn’t surprised. I had heard the threat of extreme hazardness weather when a meeting in a local school was cancelled at the weekend four days before. Either the Met Office or the local authority, or both had done a good job.

I thought back to the winter of ’62. Snow fell early in winter covering everything in a 6 inch white blanket. Soft flakes fluttered sweet softly crashing to the ground with a melancholic pit, pit pit. Quickly a build up whitened the mean streets. For a while the inner city became Christmas box. You could almost see reindeer and horse drawn sledges filled with fat men with rosy cheeks, and white delicate women wrapped warm in coach blankets, with lilywhite hands deep in furry bearskin muffs.

Bit the snow stayed, it stayed for weeks, endless weeks. Weeks and weeks of cold monotonous snow. But the Christmas spirit changed. I can’t remember how long it took. I guess not very long for the blanket to be churned up by traffic, blackened by oil, dirt and grime. Slush filled the roads. Wet slidy icy slush that crept through your shoes. The even blanket was piled along the pavements through successive clearings and pedestrians had to climb across mounds of ankle turning ice humps if ever they needed to stray from the gritted swathes of walkways. It was great a first. The first few days but we grew weary after some time.

At first children rolled great mounds into giant snowballs, and turned some to snowmen complete with sticks and half bricks as eyes and mouths. I never saw a carrot as a nose until I watched cartoons on TV. Games of snowballing were fun, at first. Freezing cold hands and sopping wet feet could be warmed in front of a one bar electric fire on the table of my Nan’s kitchen. Six kids alternating hand warming with feet on the table in front of the fire.

I could hear in the voice of the local authority mandarin the fearful tremor of the hazardous extreme weather. I don’t think it was just the possibility of death, hyperthermia, or starvation for some poor people. Perhaps it was the threat of being sued if some poor person slipped and broke something or worse. “You are to blame!” they would say. “You didn’t act yet you knew the weather was extreme and hazardous. You did not close the school. You knew there would be traffic chaos yet you did not force us to stay at home. The simple solution. You must compensate me for your error” The tremor in the mandarin voice was clear when he said “stay at home”

“Forget attendance league tables. Forget day’s loss at work through absence. There could be 6 inches of snow for God’s sake. Stay at home! Forget lessons and learning. This is a hazardous weather warning and we can’t afford you to be taking risks.

Driving through the bare winter forest late that day the snow was already on the turn. Too much brown stump, shrubby bush and forest litter showing through the dabs of wet melting mush for a warm Christmas feel. Hordes of children slid on plastic sledges overlooked by many parents who did not work that day. Young babies tottered in Eskimo baby grows and toddlers learned the concept of snow, using the word for the first time.