Village Brocante 2018.

Sunday the 29th was the day of our village Brocante (boot sale), and I returned home with just one purchase.

It's a pretty classic early ecclesiastical wooden pricket candlestick. Probably early 18th C, it is part carved and part turned, gessoed, then painted in a rather dull grey/brown colour; most of which has since come off. It reeks of age.

A nice little (50 cms tall) piece that will compliment my collection of early rustic objets. It was probably the oldest thing there!

The Embarrassed Headmaster.

Above is an arial photo of my old prep' school (6 to 14). The school is now closed, but in it's hey-day was a pretty classic school of its type. Set amongst the beautiful Sussex weald, it even boasted a magnificent cricket pitch, that had been specially laid down for the visiting South African test teams.

These schools were found all over southern England and elsewhere, but especially in Surrey, Sussex, and Hampshire. The word 'Preparatory' meaning that pupils were 'prepared' for both the rigours of the dreaded 'Common Entrance' exam, that hopefully gave access to one's upper school, and also to the extremely tough life ahead, under the liberal use of canes by sadistic Flashman-style 'prefects'.

I was beaten rather a lot at The Abbey. School rules, as silly as they may seem to outsiders, were to be broken at peril, and beating was the normal punishment for even the slightest infringement. Whacker-in-chief was a Mr FRITH; joint owner of the school. He was also my classics teacher, and, I must say, a very good one. He was responsible for my later being awarded a Classics Scholarship, with a bursary worth a staggering 13 guineas a year!

At the age of about 24 I met up again with my old tormentor, by chance, whilst I myself was teaching at a Sussex Preparatory School (just before my leaving for France). The Abbey, by this time, had closed down, and FRITH had returned to being just an ordinary teacher (no different to me) at another prep' school. He had accompanied his school Cricket team to play against the one where I was teaching.

I spoke to him all too briefly, and couldn't help noticing that he was extremely uncomfortable in my presence. He looked as if he was expecting me to punch him on the nose at any moment, and he scampered away looking very sheepish.

I suppose the moral to this tale is that one should never do things that one would be ashamed of in later life. Strangely, I felt rather sorry for poor old FRITH; his world had fallen apart, and the likes of me had finally become his equal. No wonder he scuttled off so quickly with his tail between his legs.

Pumps, Sand, and Glass.

Yesterday we changed our pool's sand filter (the big round thing above). Luckily I was able to find the exact same model as a replacement, and the idea was that our man would just take the old one out and replace it with the new.

I can hear you all shouting "Nothing is ever as easy as that, Cro"; and you'd be right.

Firstly the delivery man refused to deliver the new one because our drive is a bit narrow, and having come about 200 Kms, he immediately turned around and went home. Having been suitably reprimanded, he returned 3 days later and Lady Magnon and I carried the above box 50 metres to the house.

To all intents, the new one (below) looks no different to the old one, which had offered 14 years loyal service, but of course those clever people at Hayward make sure that there are very slight differences; just to annoy us!. Our man had to 'melt' pipes in order to absorb the slight differences in measurements. Thank you Hayward.

There was a lot of swearing, scratching of heads, and waving of arms; but eventually he installed it.

What IS different, however, are its contents. One would imagine that a sand filter was filled with sand; but no more. They are now filled with glass. 140 Kilos of it.

Large granules go into the bottom (above), then it's topped up with much finer granules (below).  

Sand lasts approximately 5 years; glass about double that, and the price reflects the extra five years usage. 

So, when you put your empty Clicquot bottles into the recycling bin, you never know; they might end-up being crushed, and put into Cro's pool filter. Recycling at its best.

Tomatoes.

I cannot claim to have had a perfect crop of Toms this year, because I've been attacked by viruses; YET AGAIN.

However, it hasn't been all bad, and here is one of those infamous Portuguese Tomatoes that I was going on about.

They really are a wonderful fruit. They are big, solid, and delicious. They are slicing Tomatoes, perfect for that simple lunch, al fresco, under the shade of a big old Linden tree (or our auvent). 

Sliced Toms, finely diced onion, Feta cheese, a few good olives, a very simple vinaigrette, and Bob's your uncle.

July 27th. Belloc Night.

Tonight (July 27th) is Belloc Night; that wonderful night when all good Sussex folk, as well as those who value humorous poetry, read a few verses from the great man's repertoire, whilst eating bread cheese and pickles.

This year I shall be regaling our guests with Belloc's 'Henry King'.


The Chief Defect of Henry King
Was chewing little bits of String.
At last he swallowed some which tied
Itself in ugly Knots inside.

Physicians of the Utmost Fame
Were called at once; but when they came
They answered, as they took their Fees,
``There is no Cure for this Disease.

``Henry will very soon be dead.
His Parents stood about his Bed
Lamenting his Untimely Death,
When Henry, with his Latest Breath,

Cried, ``Oh, my Friends, be warned by me,
That Breakfast, Dinner, Lunch, and Tea
Are all the Human Frame requires...
With that the wretched child expires.

Jeremy Corbyn praises Venezuela.

Venezuela's inflation is set to rise to 1,000,000% by the end of this year ("a different and a better way of doing things" according to Corbyn). Venezuela's version of extreme socialism, and the 'allegedly' anti-semitic Chavez, were both held in high regard by the wonderful Jeremy Corbyn.

Beware UK. Elect this clown and exactly the same could (will) happen to you!

Here he is, explaining why Chavez was such a wonderful chap.

Althéa.

I have several of these plants. This particular one, above, which I believe is one of the most common, is possibly the best of the lot.

This white one with the red centre is good, it always flowers really well.

This one tends to stay 'furled', only a few open-up completely. No idea why.

                            

A few years ago, I admired a double white one in a friend's garden. She saved some seeds for me, but they always reverted to single. Later she gave me a plant, but that too turned out to be a single (above). We both gave up!

A surprisingly easy plant to grow. Some call them Hibiscus; I shall continue to call them Althéa.