Monthly Archives: October 2014

Thursday is “Pirates” Day

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I may call it “Pirates” but in truth the Thursday night class over at the Leisure Centre (not) is nowhere near as exciting as a class for budding pirates (imagine… no ‘step’ but ‘walk the plank’, and no trampoline but ‘climb the yardarm m’hearties’; I really mean Pilates, in case you’re wondering. In fairness, Pilates is quite hard to master – everything is done slowly and intensely; in fact you could say that it is intensely slow. There is no music to help it along and the class members, albeit that they all look fit and slim (apart from me), tend to be fit and slim older people in the main (apart from me – hopefully). I like Zumba Class on Friday evenings – that’s my favourite. But today is Thursday.

This morning it struck me that if I cycled all the way over to Rosie’s farm, where Mary is farm-sitting this week, I would burn off loads of calories and feel justified in skipping “Pirates” later on. Chris wasn’t too keen on the idea of me cycling on the narrow country lanes, which have a great deal of uphill, and rain was forecast. But I was too keen to be put off (the thought of avoiding “Pirates” was uppermost in my mind) and I donned my cold weather gear (including a scarf), and I put my waterproof jacket in my pink backpack.

Luckily, the ninety-mile-an-hour gusts (well it seemed like that) were behind me and I made it to the farm in what seemed minutes, rather than hours, in spite of the steep hills. I was so quick that Mary, thinking I would take hours, was out walking the dogs when I arrived and I had to kill time picking apples in the orchard.

While we sisters went inside and had a good time petting the four dogs, chatting and eating soup – Mary had made vegetable soup with next to no calories for me and I had made tomato soup, similarly low calorie, for her – the weather outside worsened. At three o’clock I put on my shower-proof jacket and made to leave.

“You can’t go in this, it’s pouring down,” said Mary, “You could wait until it clears or I could drive you home.”

“No, no, I want the exercise,” I stressed.

An hour later I thought I had better make a move before the peak traffic time; on the way over I had met two cars and had been forced to get off my bike and lean into the hedge – it would be twice as bad if I left it any longer.

“But it’s still raining…” began Mary.

“Good for the hair,” I walked over to the barn to get my bicycle and my hair got wet immediately.

Then Chris phoned….

The bike went in Mary’s boot and she drove me home. We didn’t meet any traffic but it rained full pelt.

“Are you going to ‘Pirates’ Chris asked a little later.

“No,” I laughed, “think I’ll do my blog instead.” Chris laughed back knowingly.

I’m on a ‘go slow’ this evening – it has nothing to do with me being a tad saddle-sore

 

 

Fronds, Romans, Countrymen… A Joke

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This joke about fronds came from my naturalist frond friend, Roland. Likewise, he took the photo of a funny sign on the cheese counter of a shop in a country town called Beaudesert.

 

An anthropologist came home after spending close to a year on a remote South Sea island.
A friend asked him if there was anything that he saw that might be of benefit  to modern society?
He replied that he did see a tribe that used palm leaves to cure constipation.
“How good were they” his friend asked.
“Well”, he said, “with fronds like that who needs enemas?”

Inspired by Memories of Chestnut Hunting

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Yesterday’s blog post about chestnuts brought back treasured childhood memories to at least one my readers. This evocative poem came from inspired poet Mr R.U.Shakespeare (previously barred) who lives in Australia…

 

Chestnut  (Not an Old Chestnut)

A magnificent tree with big strong limbs and broad leaves that could blot out the sun,
As well as its splendour that magnificent tree gave bounty and hours of fun.

I knew where the trees were and what to expect,
And I knew what to gather and what to reject,
Green spiny husks lay all around,
Some half split open after hitting the ground.

My anorak pockets full to the fore
Of shiny brown nuts, and my hands so sore,
And so on my bike – no ifs or buts –
There’s light enough still to roast my nuts!

The flames diminish but the embers host,
And it’s time for me my nuts to roast.
Four young lads gather round the fire,
Eating roast chestnuts skewered on a piece of thin wire.

The once shiny skin now charred and black
Is only a reminder that I will have to go back.

 

Origins of ‘an old chestnut’.
http://www.phrases.org.uk/bulletin
That’s ‘an old chestnut’ means, usually, that a joke is old and well known. The origin here goes back to a near forgotten melodrama, The Broken Sword [1816] by William Diamond. The play, first produced in 1816, has one of the characters forever repeating the same joke, albeit with minor changes. The joke concerns a cork tree. On one occasion the character, Pablo, fed up with the same joke says; ” A Cork tree. I have heard you tell the joke 27 times and I’m sure it was a Chestnut!” The quotation was used in real life by the American actor William Warren who, at the time, was playing the part of Pablo. He was at a dinner party when one of the guests started off on a well worn joke. Warren interrupted with the quotation, much to the amusement of the other guests. As a result the expression entered into the wider language.

Ah So… Chestnuts!

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On the way back from Cockwood Harbour this morning I dismounted my bike at the top end of the bridle path – also cycle track and convenient dog-walking path (not too good when there is an excess of dogs or bikes!) – and said my goodbyes to Chris, who had something pressing to do at home (not the ironing); I had other things in mind, other than going to the gym, which I intended to do but just not yet… The gym would wait. The chestnuts, blown down in the recent storms and high winds, would not wait – or so I imagined.

Actually, I was right; no sooner had I parked my bicycle against the fence and kicked open a few prickly chestnut shells than three Orientals, a girl and two men, came along. At first I thought they were walkers only and, rather naively, I began to tell them that the chestnuts within the green prickly shells are good to eat. I don’t think they understood my words – their English was negligible – but it soon became apparent that they had come to the spot for the sole purpose of picking chestnuts; the girl carried a yellow carrier bag and they all began kicking and stamping, just as I was doing, on the green balls strewn over the length, breadth and sides of that section of path through the small wood.

“Are you Chinese?” I asked.

“Yes,” the girl answered when both the men looked to her to respond.

“Do you have chestnuts like these in China?” I inquired, stamping hard on a resistant clump of prickles.

“Yes, same,” she said with a nice smile that compensated for her lack of conversation.

“We the same too,” I said, stamping exaggeratedly like a clown, “Chinese, English, or Australian, we all stamp same way on chestnuts!”

They nodded, laughed and stamped in unison with me.

Quite a few of the chestnuts had not yet reached maturity for the expected shiny brown inner shells were partially white. Now I know that it is a little early for gathering chestnuts but, being an Australian, I’m not exactly an expert so I asked the girl:

“Are white bits okay to eat?” I showed her the two-toned nut in my hand.

“Ah, babies. That good,” she pointed to the brown end first and then to the white end, “that no good.”

“Poison?” I asked.

“No, don’t think so but.. the… the…” and she pulled a face.

“Texture?”

“Ah yes, texture, no good!” she was pleased.

“Floury?”

“Yes, floury,” she confirmed my suspicions.

Like silent movie stars, we carried on with our antics for half an hour or so, stamping and kicking our way down to the beginning of the path, where the fallen chestnuts proved to be less mature. I stayed a little longer at my task than the Chinese threesome, who had walked on, perhaps to the Chinese take-away just down from the corner (I didn’t see because I was too busy stamping).

My bounty stayed in my bicycle basket while I went to the gym, where I rowed for ten minutes on the rowing machines, ran more than three kilometres, at great speed, on the cross-country machines, and pulled weights on a machine designed to hone arm muscles.

At home again a short time later, legs aching a tad (from all the unusual stamping activity), and starving, I had a lunch of roasted chestnuts (not on an open fire – as the song goes). They may have been a bit small but they were delicious; and if, after reading this, you should happen to fancy some yourself, I have a feeling that chestnuts might be on the menu at the Chinese take-away on the corner near the garage – just before the bridle path on the right…

 

Cabbage Tree Point Painting Finished

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I did say it would be finished by Tuesday!

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Tide Out – Cockwood Boat Club In!

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I knew the tide would be out at Cockwood Harbour (it’s the same tide we see from our windows) but it is always a good idea to cycle over to Cockwood on a beautiful sunny morning like today.

I wondered if the Orkney Long-liner had been sold, not that I would know simply by looking at it. Mum said she would buy it for me when her “ship comes in”, which, hopefully, will be before someone else snaps her up. I can see myself on that sweet little twelve-footer… I’d clean her up and paint her – before taking my mum out fishing in her. Ah Cap’n Sally….

“Everyone’s Wearing Them” – A Joke

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This one came from Roland in Australia….

 Bill sees his friend John with an earring; somewhat perplexed Bill thinks to himself, “Strange I’ve never seen John with an earring before?”
Curiosity got the better of Bill and he decides to walk over and ask John the reason for the earring:
 “None of my business John I know,” said Bill, “but I’ve never noticed you with an earring before?”
“No big deal” retorted John, “every one’s wearing them these days.”
“That’s true,” Bill responded, “but you were always the conservative type. When did you start wearing the earring?”
“Since the wife found it in the back seat of the car two days ago,” replied John.

Making Waves

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The afternoon high tide brought big, restless waves with it. Apparently (according to one of my neighbours) the waves were smaller by the time I had ventured onto the terrace to take these shots.

The Earth Shook

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I am, in case you’re wondering, referring to the tempest that raged outside last night whilst we slept, or tried to sleep. It was the first of the “October gales”. Unless you are a newcomer to my site you will be aware already that our house is part of a Victorian terrace built into the cliff above the railway line and sea wall at Dawlish. You will also remember that our beloved sea wall, which protects our homes, thus enabling us to enjoy living with a constantly changing panoramic view of the sea, fell prey to the ravages of the storms early this year; and actually, the repair works are not yet finished. Listening to the wind and the wild waves as we lay in bed, Chris and I hoped that the machinery and equipment left on the sea wall would not be swept off.

Cocooned in winter bedclothes I felt cosy and safe, and it did not take long to fall to sleep. Every so often I was roused by the sound of turbulence beyond the double-glazing but I pulled up the covers and snuggled back to my slumbers. During the small hours, when deep in dreams, I awoke with a start to the crash of tons of water hitting against sea wall… and the earth shook (or rather the sandstone cliff, the foundations of our house shook and our bedroom, on the lowest floor of our house, shook).

In the morning Chris drew back the curtains to welcome the day; through the streaks of rain on the glass was a scene of grey mist  – no sky, no horizon, no out-to-sea – and waves, discernible only because of the white spume as they tumbled in on their way back out.

Three hours later the sun came out and I took some photographs of a completely different scene… Incidentally, the rig and all the equipment for sea wall repairs appear to have survived the storm.