Incense.

Call me an ageing hippy if you will, but I have been an active burner of incense sticks since the 60's.

Like many, I burn those lovely Nag Champa sticks in the blue pack; probably the world's favourite.

It was -6 C outside this morning, so as soon as I'd returned from my early walk with Dog-Face, I lit one, and allowed its beautiful fragrance to permeate the house. The aroma immediately makes one feel warmer and happier.

If you don't believe me; try it.

More Flooding in the UK.

One minute your house looks like this....

The next it looks like this!

How the hell does this happen? This lovely old 1840-ish house, known as Ackhurst Lodge in Chorley Lancashire is now under water.  

One can but wonder how many times the poor building has flooded before. Surely this can't have been a 'first', unless the town planners had only recently got their planning wrong; and that wouldn't surprise me!

I can see a new development above on higher ground. Nature is often unforgiving.

Early Reading, etc.

 

We all have certain books that we read as youngsters, which have left us with lasting memories.

Whilst I was still pre-reading age, my mother would always read me bedtime stories.  Pookie by Ivy Wallace, and the Ameliaranne books by Margaret Gilmour soon became my real favourites. I adored all these books and would ask for them time and time again.

When a bit older I discovered two books from my parents' bookshelves, that I read several times over. The Kon-Tiki Expedition by Thor Heyerdahl, and The One that Got Away (I can't remember the author).

My other favourites, at Prep' School, when I was still reasonably young were the Bulldog Drummond detective books by Sapper (Herman McNeile). I couldn't get enough of these.

After school I didn't have much time for reading until I went to Art College, where my reading was mostly art related, and curriculum based.

Later I remember reading every one of Hardy's novels, quite a lot of W B Yates, everything by Dylan Thomas, and all of Rick Stein. Otherwise these days I grab whatever's around, Lady M's castoffs, or whatever I'd been given for Christmas.

The only books that are ALWAYS by my side are my big Oxford Etymological Dictionary, Roget's Thesaurus, and my big English/Latin dictionary. Yes, I'm a sad old git.

Just for the record, my current reading is the catalogue from the 1972 Tutankhamun exhibition at the British Museum.

Just waiting.

I see my life at present as being securely in 'Limbo', that mythical place where Catholic children dwell before their baptism; somewhere in Hell's suburbia.

My life consists of being either awake or asleep, eating or in between eating, dog walking, sawing wood, lighting fires, cooking, listening to music, and laptopping. Frankly, not much else.

It's often quite cold, often rainy, and mostly very quiet. I seem to be constantly waiting for something, but I'm not sure exactly what.

Wills, Kellogg, and the boys, are at present en route for Mexico, so we don't even have the pleasure of their company. After a short holiday in Cancun, they'll go on to Miami where Boo Boo has already been enrolled in a nice private school.

On their final day in France (for a while anyway), we invited Boo Boo and The Cherub to a rather posh pre-departure dinner party, which they absolutely loved (parents were in Toulouse), as did we. Unfortunately, since then it's been very quiet.

There are a few workmen around to give instructions to, or remonstrate with, but my only other human interaction is my once a week, masked, brief, Tuesday morning shopping trip to Leclerc (other, of course, than chatting with Lady M).

I complained last year that I find myself constantly 'waiting'; I desperately want that waiting to be over as soon as possible.

We Need A Cure!

I hear there's been worldwide panic buying of Placebos, and I also hear that Trump has 'cornered the market'.

I bloody despair!

This (above) is my UK home town of Brighton, on England's south coast. The photo was taken on Sunday 17th January 2021; just one day ago.

During one of the world's worst pandemics, and in one of the worst affected corners of the country, I can't see a single mask being worn.

I am well-aware that Brighton has a reputation for being slightly eccentric, raucous, and in all senses liberal, but one really wonders what these people think that 'Lockdown' actually means. Do they never listen to government advice? Of course if the infection rate was to rise again, it will all be Boris's fault; and nothing at all to do with this lot. 

If people continue to behave like these idiots, we'll never get rid of Covid-19. And I'd really thought, this time, that people were abiding by the government's advice. No bloody chance!

That Russell Harty encounter.

The famous Harty interview with the unpredictable Ms Jones, tended to overlook its other two guests.

Lord Lichfield and Walter Poulter watch-on with horror as Jones sets-about the interviewer, who she accuses of turning his back, and ignoring her.

Lichfield was a cousin of The Queen, and a well known photographer. Poulter was also a photographer, as well as a Cosmetologist/Parfumier.

Of the three guests, Poulter was possibly the most interesting. He claimed he could instantly identify over a hundred perfumes, and as part of his work with Yardley, would often test his cosmetics on himself. There are tales of people encountering him taking photographs of wild rocky Yorkshire landscapes whilst wearing lipstick. In the Harty video, he is seen impeccably dressed, holding a pair of kid gloves on his knee.

I'm writing this because I was recently listening to a BBC radio programme about him, and attempted to find-out more. Google hardly mentions him, even though he apparently published several books of landscape photographs, and others of travel guides with hints on mountain climbing routes.  

He is a hard man to trace, but at least Harty thought him worthy of being a guest on what turned-out to be his most memorable programme.