And I’m still quite excited that I have my very own etalon to tune.
I risked heatstroke today for an observation with the solar scope.
The red image is beautiful and I could see the active region which is about to rotate off the disc, some prominences including one which was showing the classic loop shape, and filaments looking darker on the bright background. I am still training my eye and learning what can be teased out from the image with different eyepieces and by twiddling the ring which supposedly adjusts the etalon – handicapped by having the scope mounted on a flimsy camera tripod which wobbles like a b****r if you even breathe on it, and which of course has to be manually adjusted every couple of minutes as the sun moves out of the eyepiece.
Photography is an even more annoying animal, though I did get my little Canon out for an experiment. Quite apart from the wobbling thing and the lining up with the eyepiece thing and the focusing thing there is the exposure thing: based on today’s photos, if the exposure is long enough to reveal the prominences, the disc is so over-exposed that the filaments and even the sun spots disappear, and vice versa. And the camera can’t render the gorgeous vermilion of the image at all.
For what it’s worth, here is a fuzzy and almost featureless image of the sun but NB it does actually show some prominences. The eye of faith might even discern some indication of the active region (at about half past two on the disc). So this is progress. Let’s worry about focusing another time.
And did I get sunstroke? No; in true astronomer fashion (who cares what people think?) I fended it off by putting a small ice pack inside my hat. Dribbly!
Warning to non-astronomers: never look directly at the sun, especially not through any optical equipment such as binoculars or telescope, as permanent blindness is the likely result. The solar telescope I use is specialist astronomy equipment, which excludes almost all the light of the sun and is therefore safe to use.
… in being very hot indeed. Unlike many of my compatriots, I have a temporary refuge.
At seven o’clock this evening the day shift of holiday-makers was going home, and the second shift of local residents was drifting steadily in, but if you walked far enough there was elbow room.
Walking through the waveline is deeply enjoyable when you can happily allow the odd random biggie to splash all over your skirt, as the breeze is warm enough to dry it out in ten minutes flat.
Later the moon was low and the sky was high.
At 10.30 pm it is still 25°C and I resentfully notice that, according to the local live weather station, the temperature is edging upwards again. Where are those ice lollies I made earlier…
Anyone want to play it? Though the stave is a bit lacking.
Another root ball problem, and the plants have visibly ceased to cope, though they must have liked it until now as they have proliferated largely. I had to bash the pot from the roots with a lump hammer and saw off the base of the root ball,
and then my neighbour who loves to undo the inextricable came and did something fairly scientific with an axe,
following which I did something rather less scientific with my little hatchet. The pot yielded fourteen separate agapanthus plants, plus three completely random libertia plants which had wedged themselves in somehow without human assistance.
I’ve rammed them into pots with minimal compost, and now they have to go into plant hospital in the shade somewhere. We’ll see how many can cope with their necessary surgery.
The ruling passion has been snubbed by the cosmos once too often and I am off on another tack, muttering crossly: See if I care.
So it’s back to Old English, in abeyance for a while, but a fair bit of the earlier efforts seem to have stuck. It would probably make more sense to go backwards from Chaucer (easy enough), through Middle English (acquiring archaic forms and spelling by increments), and fetch up in the truly obscure (Bede and Alfred). Unfortunately the attraction is the properly old Old.
Since a little Bede goes a long way when you have to look up the pronunciation for four out of five words and check the meaning of half of them, some history could be a good side-by-side read. This is left over from a previous life
but is heavy in every sense of the word. So I had a Bargain in Waterstones with my loyalty points
and then in the local cheap and cheerful found another, even better, Bargain. Really did not expect to find anything relevant there.
Unfortunately one thing led to another.
Shhh. I’m reading…
My plans for the day were derailed by the arrival of a short poem, in which I promise to say what I mean. The tone can only be described as threatening.
But I don’t know what it means.
… complete with plant and compost. This was an obvious cue to re-pot all my large house-plants, which now look ravaged owing to my brisk way with the scissors, but again I am relying on their marvellous green resilience.
Compost on the head was also a (less obvious) cue to sort and re-shelve about 40% of the books – my fiction has not been in alphabetical order since 2013. Worrying about this sounds prissy until you need your Very Favourite Most Comforting Read* at short notice and can’t find it because it has randomly gone to ground somewhere among 382 other items.
*Complicated by the fact that the Very Favourite Most Comforting Read varies according to circumstances.
Ordered TWO batches of knitting yarn before breakfast. Extravagance, and it’s once more becoming a challenge to ram home the cupboard doors on the stash.
Found some ground rice with a use by of 2013. Not auditing kitchen stores – another black mark. But as I wanted to cook shortbread, I merely inspected it for crawlers trying to make an exit, then tipped it in.
Greed. Ate a lot of shortbread.
The standard of shortbread remains unslipped.
The gloriousness of cabbages. Not a phrase I normally expect to use.
July 2015 Plant a few winter cabbage seeds indoors
August, September 2015 Keep puling feeble seedlings indoors to avoid cabbage white caterpillar attack
October 2015 Plant out spindly winter cabbage plants
November 2015 Plants begin to develop leaves
December 2015 Wood pigeons strip infant cabbages down to their stalks
January, February 2016 Stalks stand shivering
March, April 2016 Stalks begin to produce leaves again – slug attacks
May 2016 Guinea pigs and I share some of the leaves, picked as spring greens
June 2016 Very confused winter cabbage begin to form hearts
I am aware of the imminent menace of this year’s generation of caterpillars, and maybe it would be best to eat the cabbages now. But it’s hard to cut them down just yet: pristine; exuberant; and glorious.
Only I’m not very good at waiting.