Lifting my spirits........

 So, there has been so much isolation and restriction on our lives over the past couple of years, that it has had quite a detrimental effect on my mental health. Between boredom, poor health, spending too much time stuck in the house with all that entails, I have decided to make some positive changes to my life style.

I love cooking, but sadly, TOH doesn't necessarily want to eat what I want to cook, or what are the healthiest foods. So I thought, why do I have to eat what he does? We eat out a lot when the weather is good for riding, which means I can generally find something suitable for me. At home, I've been exploring different cuisines, and I either cook food for me and freeze the extra for later, or I pop the surplus round to the offspring to try.

Craftwork - I found myself with two huge sacks of wool and cotton balls left over from various projects. So I set to over the winter months and made various throws for our sofas, and various items for the charity shop over the road.

We quite often use a small cafe, run by a very nice family, who between them, have 4 girls of varying ages, and several assorted Barbie dolls. So I got myself a cheap second-hand one off Ebay, and started using the remnants to make clothes for her. I finally had a collection of over 100 outfits, everything from knickers to ball gowns. I took them down to the cafe, and the girls divided them up between themselves.

Other hobbies, I've been using YouTube to explore pieces of music that were unfamiliar to me, and I've found some real crackers to add to my playlist. I also 'found' Randy Rainbow - probably the funniest musical parody maker of the American political system. I just wish he'd come over here and let loose his wit on our poor excuse for a Government. I've just started to read his first book 'Playing With Myself'. If you watch his videos, that title will make sense

Finally, I realised that I actually need some serious 'me' time. With all that has happened, accommodation prices have rocketed to the point where I really cannot justify going away by myself anymore. I also need to get more physical exercise, but I'm not one of those people who can just go for a meaningless walk for the sole purpose of fitness.

I need purpose and something to distract my mind. Then deep joy, I came across QuizTrails These are little books, each one focused on a specific local town, which have a set route to follow and questions to find the answers to as you follow the trail. There are also lovely little explanations and enhancements. At the moment, they only cover Kent, and a couple of towns just over the border into East Sussex. So far, I've done three - all places I thought I knew well, but now realise I don't! I'm so impressed with them, I've purchased the entire range, and aim to do one every week. 

I ride to the town, park up, spend 2-3 hours walking around for up to 2 miles, answering the questions and taking lots of photographs (to be found on My British Isles blog) I then find an attractive route home. For example, when I did the Sandwich one, I rode over there (about 40 miles), parked up and did the trail, plus a little extra because the weather was so lovely. I then took a different route home, around the coast. That was a round trip of just over 100 miles and a 3 mile walk

I'm going to enjoy these!

Garage Update - the last one?

 So, the two main bikes have been replaced. He has the latest version of his go-to CB500X, which suits him so well. The latest version is a vast improvement over the last one, and is a gorgeous thing to look at 

Me? Well, I've finally had to admit that my beloved 650 4-pot was just getting too much for my ever-weakening muscles, and the fact that, over the past year, I've lost nearly 4 inches in height. At 74, I've changed for a CB500F, although not the latest version. The last one was still available, a little cheaper, and having had one before, I knew it was more than capable of doing what I need a bike to do. So, meet Hugo.....

So - why possibly the last one? I've developed Wet AMD in my right eye, for which I'm being treated. So far, the treatment is going well, and every session they have cleared my vision to be OK to drive. But they have warned me, that this may not always be the case, and if necessary, they will cancel my driving licence.

Add to that, one of my oldest friends (52 years a friend), is shortly retiring. Those of you who know me personally, will know who that is, and realise what a massive impact this will have on my future motorcycling habits. However, at this point in time, that is not my story to tell.  Hopefully, he won't go out of my circle of friends and move away, because I would miss his friendship sooooo much

New life for old

 Over the past couple of years, I have been closely following the restoration of a little cottage in Derbyshire. Why? Well, I came across it by accident one day, and I couldn't believe that it would ever be anything other than a complete ruin.

This is it. It's called Aquaduct Cottage, and it lays at the junction of the old Cromford Canal with a side arm that went out to a mill. The land around it once belonged to Florence Nightingale's family, and is now a Wildlife and nature reserve. It gets its' name from the fact that it stands at one end of the aquaduct that carries the canal over the River Derwent.

So totally ruinous, with trees growing up through the brickwork, no roof, and walls close to crumbling away, it appeared to be lost forever.

Yeah, right, I hadn't reckoned on the efforts of Mr. Ron Compton and his merry band of volunteers. Charitable donations have been sought, materials bought, and volunteers trained in the arts of stuff like old-fashioned lime mortaring.

Now? well, you wouldn't believe it. It nears completion, and the Nature Reserve will have its' own visitor centre, complete with a new staircase up into the heart of the wild wood, and gardens filled with native plants. 

Who'd a-thought it?

Hopefully, I'll be able to visit it for myself next year. Meanwhile, a round of applause for all the hard work is due! 

Hilary Mantel rules!

 'Virgins are so rare these days, they are sending unicorns out to find them'. I'm currently working my way through Hilary Mantel's historical output, and with words like that, why wouldn't I? Miss Mantel is a superb wordsmith, and I will give a due resume when I have completed the Wolf Hall trilogy (I'm currently on book 2, and at over 600 pages each, there's a lot of reading still to do!)

UPDATE: I have now read 5 of Miss Mantel's books, and I can't praise them highly enough. The 3 volumes of the Cromwell trilogy present a massive commitment, being around 600 pages in each volume. But I doubt there has ever been such an in-depth realisation of Henry VIII's marriage tribulations.

The other 2 were of a much lighter aspect, with one being downright comical. My suggestion would be to read one of the smaller stand-alone volumes first, before tackling the enormous trilogy!

Definitely a 5/5 for all of her books

With all that has happened...........................

 ................it's seems a lifetime crammed into the past year, when I've had neither the enthusiasm or the inclination to blog. 

After all, it's been a year of almost total isolation, with only the shortest of breaks last midsummer. Sadly, the rate of infection over Christmas 2020 was so high, we were locked down again, unable to see either friends or relations. 

We lost friends and family. First to pass was one of my work colleagues from overseas - dead from Covid and less than 30 years old. Then one of my friends who was Indian by birth, but who had married and become a Canadian citizen, had to return to Mumbai to deal with his father's affairs after losing him to Covid. Vijay walked out of Mumbai airport, was hit by a truck and killed.

The next was my darling Uncle Rex. He was in his 90s and suffering from dementia. He had a fall at home and was hospitalized so that they could monitor him. Sadly, in hospital, he caught Covid and died.

 SO ENOUGH OF YOUR ANTI-VAX NONSENSE. AND DON'T YOU DARE TELL ME THIS VIRUS IS A HOAX

Finally, one of our closest friends died of leukemia a few weeks ago. 

Then my daughter-in-laws father - maybe best not spoken about here.............

All this, plus isolation and not going out, has taken its' toll on my mental health. I badly needed a restorative trip away on my own this year. Sadly, that won't be allowed to happen. 

So forgive me if I'm not my usual positive self, and if I don't want to write or do anything much at the moment, except crawl into a dark corner somewhere, alone............................

Random jokes and amusing musings

 Legend has it that Fred Astaire opened the oven door once and his treacle sponge exploded...

He had pudding on his top hat, pudding on his white tie and pudding on his tails.................................. and I bet you sang that in your head

does anyone know what it was that the knights in white sat in?

Future Poet Laureate.....

 There's a 15 year old boy in Worcestershire, called Josh Dyer, and I'm a huge fan. He has a couple of poems entered in the Worcestershire Young Poet Laureate of the Year 2020 competition, and I can see him becoming a future British Poet Laureate.

This first one is for Remembrance, and is called ' One Thousand Men Are Walking'

One thousand men are walking
Walking side by side
Singing songs from home
The spirit as their guide
they walk toward the light milord
they walk towards the sun
they smoke and laugh and smile together
No foes to outrun
these men live on forever
in the hearts of those they saved
a nation truly grateful
for the path of peace they paved
they march as friends and comrades
but they do not march for war
step closer to salvation
a tranquil steady corps
the meadows lit with golden beams
a beacon for the brave
the emerald grass untrampled
a reward for what they gave
they dream of those they left behind
and know they dream of them
forever in those poppy fields
there walks one thousand men

isn't it great? For a young man to be so thoughtful and appreciative!

This second one, for me, is even more remarkable. He seems to really understand how dementia is for people. Perhaps his Grandmother is a sufferer, I don't know. But I find this one so beautiful, and so, so moving. It's called 'An Identity For Someone Who's Forgotten Theirs'

Her face is an ancient tapestry
Bleached by suns now dead and old
Her mind like a pond held stagnancy
Now that time had taken a hold
Her name to her was meaningless
Though it was spoken in motherly tone
Of course by now she was motherless
Of course by now she’s alone
Not alone in a sense of person for
She was packed in with them like mosaic
To sit and watch flowers forever more
Whilst the new ones became the archaic
It’s funny to say she was young once
That once there was youth in her heart
She made every decision with impatience
She cried ‘Romeo,Romeo,Wherefore art?’
Of course those days are gone now
Like the stars that once touched her face
But sometimes on a quiet summer sundown
The seams of time begin to unlace
As she smiles with that ageless rhapsody
I heard tales she should know to have told
I try to maintain her life like a tapestry
Now that time has taken a hold

I don't know what the future holds in store for young Josh; but whatever it is, I hope it's good. He has a lot to teach us about humility, respect and remembrance

Music with a meaning

You may have realised by now, that every now and then, I struggle with my feelings, and struggle with trying to explain to other people how I feel. When it gets bad, I find that other people, especially musicians, can express it better than I can. Sometimes, it's not even a singer or band I particularly like. It doesn't have to be. All they have to do is feel the way I'm feeling now



And I'd give up forever to touch you
'Cause I know that you feel me somehow
You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be
And I don't wanna go home right now

And all I can taste is this moment
And all I can breathe is your life
When sooner or later it's over
I just don't wanna miss you tonight

And I don't want the world to see me
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand
When everything's made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am

And you can't fight the tears that ain't coming
Or the moment of truth in your lies
When everything feels like the movies
Yeah, you bleed just to know you're alive

And I don't want the world to see me
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand
When everything's made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am

And I don't want the world to see me
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand
When everything's made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am

And I don't want the world to see me
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand
When everything's made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am

Betjeman and Oscar Wilde

Loving the works of both Wilde and Betjeman as I do, it seemed only too appropriate to add this poem to my favourites

The Arrest of Oscar Wilde at the Cadogan Hotel (1937)

John Betjeman

On 6 April 1895, Oscar Wilde was arrested at the Cadogan Hotel, London, after losing a libel case against the Marquess of Queensberry.

He sipped at a weak hock and seltzer
As he gazed at the London skies
Through the Nottingham lace of the curtains
Or was it his bees-winged eyes?

To the right and before him Pont Street
Did tower in her new built red,
As hard as the morning gaslight
That shone on his unmade bed,

“I want some more hock in my seltzer,
And Robbie, please give me your hand —
Is this the end or beginning?
How can I understand?

“So you’ve brought me the latest Yellow Book:
And Buchan has got in it now:
Approval of what is approved of
Is as false as a well-kept vow.

“More hock, Robbie — where is the seltzer?
Dear boy, pull again at the bell!
They are all little better than cretins,
Though this is the Cadogan Hotel.

“One astrakhan coat is at Willis’s —
Another one’s at the Savoy:
Do fetch my morocco portmanteau,
And bring them on later, dear boy.”

A thump, and a murmur of voices —
(”Oh why must they make such a din?”)
As the door of the bedroom swung open
And TWO PLAIN CLOTHES POLICEMEN came in:

“Mr. Woilde, we ‘ave come for tew take yew
Where felons and criminals dwell:
We must ask yew tew leave with us quoietly
For this is the Cadogan Hotel.”

He rose, and he put down The Yellow Book.
He staggered — and, terrible-eyed,
He brushed past the plants on the staircase
And was helped to a hansom outside.

William Barnes - poet

Now, you've probably gathered that I love poetry. Well, I've just been introduced for a poet totally new to me. His name is William Barnes and he wrote in the Dorset vernacular. Despite that, his poems of rural life are emminently readable. I particularly like this one, which reminds me of my father so much. There's a statue of Barnes' Dorset Shepherd in Durngate Street in Dorchester, and very good it is too.

THE SHEPHERD O’ THE FARM.

Oh! I be shepherd o’ the farm,
 Wi’ tinklèn bells an’ sheep-dog’s bark,
An’ wi’ my crook a-thirt my eärm,
 Here I do rove below the lark.

An’ I do bide all day among
 The bleäten sheep, an’ pitch their vwold;
An’ when the evenèn sheädes be long.
 Do zee em all a-penn’d an’ twold.

An’ I do zee the friskèn lam’s,
 Wi’ swingèn taïls an’ woolly lags,
A-playèn roun’ their veedèn dams,
 An’ pullèn o’ their milky bags.

An’ I bezide a hawthorn tree,
 Do’ zit upon the zunny down.
While sheädes o’ zummer clouds do vlee
 Wi’ silent flight along the groun’.

An’ there, among the many cries
 O’ sheep an’ lambs, my dog do pass
A zultry hour, wi’ blinkèn eyes,
 An’ nose a-stratch’d upon the grass;

But, in a twinklèn, at my word,
 He’s all awake, an’ up, an’ gone
Out roun’ the sheep lik’ any bird,
 To do what he’s a-zent upon.

An’ I do goo to washèn pool,
 A-sousèn over head an’ ears,
The shaggy sheep, to cleän their wool
 An’ meäke em ready vor the sheärs.

An’ when the shearèn time do come,
 Then we do work vrom dawn till dark;
Where zome do shear the sheep, and zome
 Do mark their zides wi’ meästers mark.

An’ when the shearèn’s all a-done,
 Then we do eat, an’ drink, an’ zing,
In meäster’s kitchen till the tun
 Wi’ merry sounds do sheäke an’ ring.

Oh! I be shepherd o’ the farm,
 Wi’ tinklèn bells an’ sheep dog’s bark,
An’ wi’ my crook a-thirt my eärm,
 Here I do rove below the lark.