It's all in the Name.

Back in the UK, we are often encouraged to buy Georgian style light switches, Regency style kettles, or Victorian style TV's. Why not a Medieval style Smart-Phone?

I have heard of a Scottish railway Co that boasts a 'Jacobean Steam-Train', and I've even seen an advert for a 'Tudor style' electric door bell; what on earth was that?

Some avoid all this nonsense by referring to 'Heirloom style', or 'English Country style'.

But it does become a little far-fetched when an American home, for sale, was described as 'Queen Anne Tudor style'.

Our own small 1960's Brighton mews type house (above), was, of course, sold as 'Georgian style', simply because they had added a faux-Georgian portico and bay window to the façade. Otherwise there's not a scrap of Georgian about it.

Are the 'Trades Descriptions' chappies not concerned about such things?

One Man went to Mow...

I do like it when everywhere is mowed; it makes the scruffy bits look as if they're supposed to look like that!

I've got my mowing patterns pretty well organised. I never do all at once, I take it a third at a time. Each of the three sections takes about 30 mins, so provided that the weather is good (and the grass dry) I can take my time and enjoy the ride.

I'm growing all my Tomatoes in pots this year (below). They are filled with a combination of horse manure, compost, and mole hill soil. I have just 7 plants, 3 Supersteak, 3 Coeur de Boeuf, and just one round red Cherry Tomato.

If I don't get a good crop; I'll spit nails.

Down at Haddock's things are going well. I'm managing to keep the weeds under control, and our first Strawberries, and Artichokes are almost ready for eating.

In the foreground there are Strawberries, Red Onions, Aubergines, and Peppers. All are looking good. In the background there are 5 Courgettes that I'd just planted out; I've given them plenty of space.

Still to go in are all our Winter Greens; Swiss Chard, and Cavolo Nero. These are still in the seed bed, and need another week or so.

All we need now is some proper rain! It's raining this morning.

Imagine our surprise!

We don't expect old friends to suddenly appear on TV, but on Sunday night (May 2nd) one did.

The daughter of our old friends Gray and Tineke appeared on a World War 2 edition of the BBC's Antiques Roadshow, with a few treasured souvenirs from her mother's time in a Japanese prison camp.

Tineke never really spoke about her time as a prisoner. I knew that she'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and that she'd been very badly treated, but I never asked for details.

I now learn from the programme, that she'd been in Indonesia with her parents, and that after the fall of Singapore, the Japanese came and took them away. They entered her home whilst they were having dinner, and ordered them to 'pack a bag'. It was as simple as that.

Tineke had just had a new dress made, and refused to leave it behind. She stuffed it into a sleeping bag, and somehow it survived. The other remarkable souvenir is a patchwork made in the camp by her friends as a birthday present. Both are in the photo above. Tineke left the camp weighing 3.5 Stones.

Tineke was a lovely person; and I remember her daughter very well. It was so good to see her again after so many years.

What a wonderful surprise. 

 

Flars.

When Lady Magnon recently needed to send flowers, rather than buy a cheap bunch at the nearest petrol station, she bought a variety of cut flowers, plus a couple of potted plants to cut and add, in order to create her own unique 'bouquet'.

This above is all that's left over. Not only are they stunningly beautiful, but they also have a very pronounced perfume. They are currently living in the Kitchen, which now smells like a florist's boudoir.

I like all Lilies, but this one is superb. I've noticed that at the base of the cut stems, there is already some small growth appearing. If anyone has any advice about how we could keep them to flower again next year, I'd be most grateful.

Could they be planted out even?

 

Life can be cruel; especially in the country.

 

I can't remember the year, but I can remember the circumstances perfectly.

It must have been about 25 years ago, I could hear horrible 'screeching' sounds coming from a field about 300 metres away. I'd imagined it was a Buzzard in difficulty, but when I went to investigate I found a Roe Deer lying on the ground, and in pain. I imagine the poor animal had been shot, but not accurately enough to kill. It had escaped only to end-up unable to walk, and in obvious discomfort.

I returned to the house, put my small handgun and two bullets in my pocket, and returned to deal with the poor creature. First I apologised to him for what I was about to do, explained to him that it was for the best, and put him out of his misery. Not a pleasant experience.

On another occasion I found a Badger hanging from a wire snare half way up a steep nearby bank. In its attempt to escape, it had scratched away at all the earth around it, making its escape even less possible. Badgers are vicious beasts, and although I am very fond of them, there was no way I could liberate him; he was in a bad way. Again I returned home, fetched my 'priest', and disposed of him.

Yesterday, we (Billy) found an injured young Roe Deer. It looked as if it may have been hit by a car, and was having difficulty walking. Each time I stroked it, it screamed in that piercing dog-like barking voice of theirs. After a while I managed to get it up on its feet, and it slowly walked away. It didn't look too good.

I went with Billy to see if it was still there this morning; it wasn't. So, either it has regained some strength, or it has died. We'll never know.

Beatrix Potter would have us believe that all wild animals die in a comfortable subterranean home, in the warmth of a quilt covered bed, surrounded by weeping young offspring, but of course this isn't the case. Most animals die of disease, wounds from fights, or by being killed by bigger animals. Old Foxes killed by a pack of hounds were often far luckier than those who were died in the wild (but don't tell the anti-hunt folk that).

What goes on deep in the woods is not always as described in Fairy Stories; occasionally it's pretty dire.

Filthy Lucre. Dosh. Bread-n-Honey.

It has never interested me what other people are 'worth'; I'm much more interested in their talents, actions, or opinions. 

However, it did interest me recently to read that the average Brit' (?) is worth £172,000, which I imagine is based on property prices. 

I also read that 9% of Brits have no savings at all, a third of Brits have less than £600, and yet the average Brit' (whoever these average people are?) has savings of £6,757 (Building Societies, Banks, etc).

Low income families apparently have average savings of £95, and high income families of £62,885.

I do find these types of statistics a little puzzling. Who these 'average' people are, I'm not sure.

It is said that an economist/statistician is someone who believes that if you have one foot in boiling water, and the other in a bucket of ice, you should feel perfectly comfortable.

Still, I suppose that someone needs these figures, and someone has to produce them. Whether we're interested in them or not is another question. I'm hardly going to walk down the street wondering if the people around me have average savings of £6,757. Or perhaps now I will.

7 Generations of Male Magnons, past and present (repeat).

I'm re-posting this from Dec' 2019, simply because, once again, I saw my Great Grandfather's face looking back at me from my mirror, whilst I was recently combing my lack of hair. If we met in the street, I think he might recognise me as his Great Grandson.

Great Grandfather Magnon.

Grandfather Magnon.

My father.

Cro (the first scruffy Magnon).

'Kimbo' Magnon (No 1 son).

Harvey J and Ollie Magnon (London grandsons; now very grown-up). 

And finally, little Mischa, the most recent Magnon (The Cherub). The gent' in the top photo, with the big bushy beard, is his great great great grandfather! I have a feeling that they would have got on just fine!