Happy Birthday Billy

Today is Billy's birthday. He is THREE. 

What was inside his present? A very smart new brown leather collar. Nothing fancy; just good quality. He hasn't worn it yet, so I can't say if he approves or not!

 

St Nicholas of Myra.

I've always loved early architecture; Churches and Cathedrals in particular.

This is the church at the bottom of our road (complete with Seagull). The Church of St Nicholas of Myra was mentioned in The Doomsday Book, but the building's current form is mid 14th Century. The tower on the left contains a wonderful peal of ten bells that entertains us on most Sunday mornings.

The church is built of flint, with carved stone openings. It's an attractive building, and was the original Parish Church of old Brighton.

On the left of the photo you will see a 'column'. During the big storm of October 1987, many of the churchyard's big trees came down. One branch fell on the top of the column, and broke off bits of pinnacles, it's a miracle that it's still standing. I'm not sure what the column commemorates; it doesn't say.

On the right, the gravestone surrounded by railings is that of Phoebe Hessel.  She was a remarkable woman who disguised herself as a man to follow the man she loved into the army. She managed to serve 17 years, and her gender was only discovered after having been wounded. She's worth looking-up on Google if you have a minute.

On the inside of the church there's a Norman font (above). It is reputed to date from around 1170, and is carved from a single block of French stone. Its origin is something of a mystery.

I'm not a religious person, but I do like having the church on my doorstep. Billy enjoys the use of the churchyard too!

I'm hoping to go to a midnight Carol Service there this year; if I can stay awake.

Fed up already?

I'm not really feeling 'Christmassy'; I think it's the effect of having been bombarded with Christmas ad's, trees, shop windows, street lights, mince pies, etc, ever since mid-November.

The two week build-up to that wretched 'Black Friday' has become no more than a transparently commercial path towards Dec' 25th. And I fear it's getting worse.

I probably say the same thing every year; Christmas should remain traditional, and we should stick to the twelve days, six either side of the big day. Twelve days of decorations and festivities are long enough.

My, how time flies!

Both my parents died in the early 80's; around 40 years ago.

During those 40 years, so much has changed of which they would have been astounded; as often am I.

They never got to see the computer revolution. Laptops, digital cameras, mobile phones, etc, all had yet to be invented, and my mother, I'm sure, would have loved them all. Father would probably have found it all 'soppy nonsense'.

It's amazing how much we now take for granted. In my mother's day, had she wanted to send a photograph to Australia, she would have had to first take the photo, take the roll of film to Boots, wait for a week for it to be developed and printed, put the picture into an envelope, buy the stamp, post it, and wait another week or more for it to be delivered to Oz. From photo to delivery would have taken a minimum of two weeks, if not a lot more.

Now I can do the whole operation in a matter of seconds. Not only has the whole process quickened, but the quality of the photo has also improved dramatically.

No longer do I have a pile of reference books by my side (other than a Thesaurus and a Latin dictionary), as Google will supply almost any information I require. I no longer go everywhere with a lumpy 35mm camera. And letters are hardly ever written; not even Christmas cards.

Cheques have almost disappeared; as has physical money! Banks are closing by the dozen, and we have all become our own cyber Bank Managers.

My people did, of course, manage to avoid the disastrous foreign policies of Bush/Blair and all the ensuing slaughter and fleeing of refugees, the crazy rise in the price of UK property, and the current panic surrounding Covid-19 et al.  They also missed Trump, Jeffery Epstein, and Brexit, so not all has been bad.

I now wonder what the next 40 years will bring. I won't speculate, just pray that it will be healthy and peaceful. The world desperately needs a period of calm, and some better leaders; but I suppose that's up to us.

The 50's Kitchen.

Not too long ago these white enamel metal dishes, with the dark blue stripe, were regarded as far too 'common' to be found in the kitchens of chefs, foodies, or the chattering classes. 

These days it's all change, and I see them being used by 'celebrity chefs' (including Jamie), and even in smart restaurants.

They do have a primitive appeal in a 'lets all play country yokels' kinda way, but I can't see them gracing Her Majesty's table. Far too 50's.

Anyway, I found this example at the back of a cupboard, and thought it ideal for a rustic Cottage Pie. I've never used one before, but I can be trendy when I try!

A nice cast-iron Le Creuset Tian dish would certainly have looked nicer, but this had a different appeal; I shall certainly use it again. I don't think my mother ever used one, but I'm sure we had them at school.

 

WHAT?

There was I, enjoying a delicious lunchtime slice of Melton Mowbray Pork Pie, when I noticed the rather strange label on my jar of Pickled Onions.

They are described as Pickled TRADITIONAL ONIONS. Not (as one might imagine) Traditional PICKLED ONIONS.

What on earth are 'traditional onions'? Are there non-traditional onions?

I think we should be told!

French Cemeteries.

French cemeteries never seem to have much age. They contain plenty of graves and 'mausoleums' (sometimes inside a form of greenhouse), but they never seem to be much earlier than about 1800. I have no idea why that should be.

Most are surrounded by a high wall, over which private grave-tenders tend to throw anything unwanted. If you wish to spend an interesting half hour, walk around the outside of any country French graveyard wall; with a trowel.

I didn't make a practice of this, but on the few occasions I have, I've found everything from old bottles, glasses, urns, beaded garlands, crosses, photos of the deceased, etc; nothing was beyond the scope of the mourners as they tidied around the graves. Over the wall meant out of sight, out of mind.

My favourite discovery has to be this rather tatty Corinthian Capital. I think the sculptor must have become bored with his task as it's only half carved, and what is carved is very simplified.

Still, I took it home, cleaned it up, and turned it into a Lamp Base. 

I does look vaguely like an archaeological find from ancient Greece, but in fact it's just a broken piece of French grave. Thank you; whoever abandoned it!