Busy again

Or just rushing around getting (almost) nowhere.  Yesterday was such a rush and bustle that it nearly slipped past without me realising it was May Day!  Appropriately enough, our maiday rose - I know it's called maiday but I think I have forgotten how to spell it - came into bloom yesterday.  I don't recall it ever blooming quite so early, the first flower generally appearing about 8th May.

It didn't help that I was a bit too free with the snooze button on the radio alarm so after I had eaten breakfast, washed up, walked the dog and drunk a restorative cup of coffee while reading about the new England football manager, I had only just enough time to read my emails and post a blog before heading off to the dentist.  Who was running seriously late.  So late that I had to go out and put more money in the parking meter.  (Yes, I know it's illegal but I did it anyway.)  As this was my first visit for three years, the dentist insisted on taking x-rays (which added to my time there) before announcing in tones of great wonder that I need just a small filling and a visit to the hygienist.

Back home for a quick cheese roll before changing to go off to a funeral, that of a member of a local Lions Club whom I have known for many years and counted as a friend.  I have never seen the chapel at the crematorium so packed.  People standing not just at the back but well down the aisle.  (I most sincerely hope there will not be so many people at my funeral as I would like to outlive all the buggers!)  I had only just enough time afterwards to get to the local newspaper office before the copy deadline to place the ad for our book fair, a job I had not managed to do on Monday.  Then it was walk the dog time again and it was a great relief to get up onto the Roman Camp with time to think and to remind myself - as I do nearly every day - how lucky I am to live in such a beautiful part of the world.

In his comment on (or to) yesterday's bolg, Skip mentioned Burney, a small town in northern California that I visited, with Skip and GS, way back in September 2006.  It tempted me to post a picture from that time but I will stick with my beloved South Downs.  Continuing from yesterday's picture, a little further along to road is a large field with an enormous flock of sheep - and their lambs.

More hot air

Yesterday's paper reported a study by scientists that had come to the conclusion that global warming is caused by wind turbines.

No, I must be honest and not allow my in-built dislike of wind turbines to lead me astray.  That opening sentence was, I admit, both an exaggeration and a simplification.  All that was discovered by the research was that temperatures near the ground in the vicinity of a wind farm are higher than elsewhere.  I'm not at all sure quite what, if anything, that discovery does for the future of Planet Earth.  In any case, I always take these research projects - or the reports that come afterwards - with a very substantial pinch of salt.  They so often seem to come up with pointless facts like left-handed people who put on the right sock first are less likely to die than synchronised swimmers or standing on your head for five minutes every day will improve the long-term memory.  We all remember (don't we?) how one week marmalade caused cancer but the next week it cured the Big C!  I do, however, take to heart the very occasional recommendation.  I religiously drink my glass of red wine every day.  Or a glass and a half.  Or two glasses.  But sometimes it's white wine.  Similarly, I eat my two squares of dark chocolate every evening.  Only I eat four squares so that must do me twice as much good.  But, as usual, I digress.

I don't like wind turbines partly on the grounds that they spoil the countryside.  The French are putting up the wretched things faster than they can eat snails or frog's legs - and a large number of those turbines are being erected in beautiful countryside.  Of course, the French don't seem to care for country views.  Why else would they grant permission for a factory to be built on top of the higher ground in an area of outstanding natural beauty?  And then paint it in purple and yellow vertical stripes with a red roof so that it blends in with the background?  I exaggerate, of course, but these wind turbines do so very often seem to be in the wrong places scenic-wise.  There is a letter in today's paper bemoaning the fact that some of these machines have been erected on the moors that inspired the Bronte sisters.  Just imagine the effect of a wind farm on Castle Hill in the picture below.  (If you do scroll down now to look at the picture, don't forget to scroll back up to read the rest of today's rant.)

But I must accept that not everybody will share my opinion.  Indeed, it may well be that in years to come, people will regard the few wind turbines that remain as attractive parts of the scenery in the way that we see windmills today.  I doubt it, but it could happen.

My main grip is that I don't think wind turbines are an efficient or cost-effective way to produce electricity.  I see a lot of them as we drive through France and almost every farm has about half the turbines not working.  Whether that is due to faulty manufacture or lack of the right wind speed, I obviously know not.  But I do know that at any given time a large proportion of the machines are standing idle.

I could go on, but I think you have probably got the gist by now so I will just comment on today's picture.  It was taken last Friday when I walked the fields alongside the Ditchling Road to the north of Brighton.  After passing the end of the northern spur of Stanmer woods, the scene to the east opens up and provides what is one of my favourite views.   We look eastwards through the Stanmer valley and over Mill Wood to Castle Hill, the whale-back hump on the right horizon, and Firle Beacon, the pointy bit in the far distance.

Busy day

Not just busy, but it's also a bright, sunshiny day - I've been keeping my eyes open for flying pigs but have not yet been lucky enough to spot them.

So, what's on the agenda to keep me so fully occupied.  First, I must find time to go to the local newspaper's office to place the ad for the Lions book fair to be held next Saturday.  This is a regular event on the first Saturday of the month but I have yet to work out how to place a recurring ad in the paper when the date in the ad changes every time and the publication is on the Thursday and Friday before the first Saturday of each month.  Nor can I do this online.  Still, it does give me a reminder to check the collected specs at Asda as I have to park in their car park.  The newspaper has no parking facilities and there are double yellow lines all around.  Asda has an optician's in-store and they collect spectacles for recycling by the Lions.

Then the Old Bat has her hairdresser coming round so we have to have lunch early so that I can walk the dog in time to go and collect my granddaughter from school.  This evening I am part of the Olympic squad.  No, not the London Olympics.  This is a series of social evenings organised by our local Lions Clubs with various "sporty" themes.  Tonight's sport is pub games so we get three for the price of one, as it were - darts, pool and shove ha'penny.  I'm in the shove ha'penny team.  There is a meal served - lasagne and garlic bread - so that will save the Old Bat cooking as she is coming with me.

To get back to where I started - the weather - today and possibly tomorrow are providing a very welcome break from what has seemed like incessant rain.  This was the view of a neighbour's sycamore tree yesterday morning.  Special effects by the Weather Clerk- Photoshop not required!

Jinxed

It is almost two weeks since I wrote about time lapse photography.  That was when I declared my intention of taking a picture of the view from the bedroom window every day with the intention of joining them in a slide show to illustrate the changing seasons.  Since then we have had, I think, two mornings when it has not been raining or foggy - and on one of those it was still rather grey.  Nonetheless, I have religiously taken the daily picture and I am just hoping that the weather lords will smile on me again eventually.

Although it was grey first thing on Friday, the day turned out to be very pleasant and I thoroughly enjoyed a walk on the Downs in the afternoon.  I parked by the Upper Lodges to Stanmer Park and walked northwards across the field running alongside the Ditchling Road.  From the first field, this was the view looking west.  I watched the farmer sowing that spring wheat (probably barley) a few weeks ago - the picture can still be found here.

It's alright - we're Scouts

Occasionally, just very occasionally,  a long-lost memory comes unbidden to the forefront of my mind.  I have not as yet determined what it might be that triggers this involuntary recall: it may perhaps be something that somebody says or does, or maybe it's just another of those things that come along as the good old anno domini pass on their merry way.  One such memory came to me a few days ago and has been stuck in my mind ever since.  It is my sincere hope that by writing about it here and telling the whole wide world, I might exorcise the beast.  Of course, I fully realise that I might not, but it seems to me that I have nothing much to lose - especially as this memory what I am about to relate does me no real discredit.

At the age of 11 I joined the Scout troop attached to my new school.  From time to time, during our Friday evening meetings, our scoutmaster would send us all out on a wide game.  (For the uninitiated, a wide game is simply a game played over a wide - or widish - area as opposed to one played on, for example, a football pitch.)  These games usually involved one party trying to attack the scout hut which was being defended by the other party.  The scout hut stood in the school grounds which extended over quite a large area - enough space for three rugby pitches, a hockey pitch and a cricket square with space to spare.  One side of the grounds, the side at the back of the playing fields, was open to a road except for a fence of iron railings.  At one corner was a gate with a catch which could be used as a foothold to climb over.

I can't remember if, on this particular occasion, I was defending or attacking.  Either way, I was by the gate - as was Roderick Dolling, who was one of the opposing force.  One of us wanted to climb the gate while the other was determined to prevent the incursion.  We ended up rolling around on the ground, yelping and snarling like a couple of puppies.  It meant nothing, of course.  As Shakespeare might have said, "Full of sound and fury, signifying nothing".  As we were rolling around a little old lady happened to come along.  These days, of course, no self-respecting little old lady would be out at dusk (it was that time of the evening) and if she were and came across two teenagers rolling on the ground, she would quickly cross the road and avert her eyes, being afraid that she might be mugged.  England was a different world half a century ago.

Anyway, the little old lady stopped and exclaimed, "What do you two think you are doing?", whereupon both Roderick and I jumped to our feet, snapped to attention and gave the Scout salute.  "It's alright, madam," one of us said.  "We're Scouts."

"That's all right, then," said the little old lady and she went on her way.  Roderick and I went back onto the pavement to continue where we had left off.

~~~~~ 

And so to today's picture.  This is Home Farmhouse, Stanmer.  It stands just across the road from the well house pictured yesterday.

More of Lions - and other things

I have been asked to propose one of the toasts at my Lions Club's charter night. For those who might not know it, the annual charter night (or, nowadays more frequently, charter lunch) is the birthday party of the club. Brighton Lions' charter night is not as posh a do as it used to be when ladies all wore long evening dresses but the majority of the men wear dinner jackets and the ladies choose cocktail dresses. We do things somewhat differently from other clubs (Brighton has always liked to be different) in that our toasts and speeches are , well, idiosyncratic could describe the names and order.   After dinner the first toast is, of course, the Loyal Toast.  Then the President proposes a toast to Lions Clubs International and District 105SE.  Just that - no speech.  The District Governor (or whoever is the official Lions guest) responds and ends by proposing a toast to Brighton Lions Club.  The President then speaks in response to this toast.  The last toast - the one I am to propose - is a bit of a catch-all.  This is to the City of Brighton and Hove, the Ladies and Our Guests.  We have to include the City if the Mayor is to respond - and what Mayor can refuse a free dinner?  He (or she) is always at our Charter night.

I have started giving my speech a little thought - just a little as I still have getting on for two months in which to prepare - and have decided that  must try to work in a quote from Keith Waterhouse about Brighton being a town which looks always as though it is helping the police with their enquiries.

~~~~~

Looking back I see that both the preceding paragraphs started "I have" and I very nearly started this one the with the same words!

Since some time in 2009 I have been posting daily pictures of Stanmer and Around on another blog.  These pictures have, for the most part, been of the South Downs (including Stanmer Park and woods) just to the north of Brighton, although I have wandered from time to time and included pictures of Brighton itself and even places further afield.  However, from today the two blogs are merged into onw under the "Pebbles" banner and here is the first (or next) photograph.  This is the donkey wheel house in Stanmer village where donkeys at one time walked round to bring up the water.  I do like the weather vane!

Thoughts on a Thursday

That picture is one I have borrowed from here.

It doesn't seem to very long ago that the sight of a cowslip growing wild was a cause of some jubilation.  They really were that uncommon.  Nowadays they are to be seen almost everywhere, sometimes in very large patches.  Those growing on the verges of major roads and motorways might be the result of seeds sown by the highway authorities but the plants growing in our garden and on the grass verge of our suburban street are more likely to have been distributed by birds or wind.  I wonder how long it will be before the cowslip is considered as much a weed as the dandelion of the common daisy.

~~~~~

I have come to the conclusion that there is a class of people which is, in large part, in danger of slipping through the cracks and being completely disregarded or considered.  Perhaps that is putting the case a bit strongly, but it has come to my attention that there are many people who, because they are caring for disabled or sick relatives, are in need of care themselves.

It is easy for me to feel sympathy with my cousin, confined to a wheelchair by MS.  But what people tend to overlook is that it is not only she who is housebound, but her husband is in almost the same situation.  Yes, he can get out and about easily.  Physically, at least.  But naturally he will not go to places and do things if his wife cannot be included.  He is suffering from MS as well even if not to the same extent as his wife.  At the end of our visit at Easter I commented on the extra work that we had caused him.  His reply was that it was good to have different company and gave him at least a partial break.

My next-door neighbour is in a similar situation.  His wife has suffered a couple of strokes and is now almost bed-bound.  Apart from getting out to do the shopping, he can hardly leave the house and is woken two or three times at night to tend to his wife.  He, too, is in need of relief.  I must make a point of asking him in for a coffee to give him some different company for half an hour - and the chance to look at different walls.