Category Archives: Vegetable

With the aid of a twenty-seven-day moon

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and the last hour of a falling tide, it was possible to walk further along than I have been before.  (Click a thumbnail for the gallery.)

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Things to do when you can’t sleep: lxx

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lxx  :  Have an argument

No, not the kind taking place in Room 12A.  In the darkness before today’s sodden dawn the pen scrawled reluctantly across sheet after sheet of file paper (can’t produce a good argument using a word processor, however ten-fingered I may be).

Looking at the result is like looking at holiday packing: gloom at the shabby aspect of one’s possessions, grave doubts that the right things have been selected, wondering what is the essential item you have certainly forgotten, and a growing conviction that this monstrous heap will never all go in.

Difficult to get on

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… with anything much, when there is water dripping through the ceiling, and the plumber clonking about detectively.

With November imminent, it was appropriate to groan and say, Here we go again, and cut out paper.  Every year the most tiresome part is trying to squeeze uniqueness into a hundred squares, each no more than an inch and a half on a side, when there is barely room to turn the scissors (the large squares are much easier).   So I applied the worst-first rule.

Seventy-five minuscule squares later, and with a shiny new ballcock in situ, that seems to have been a sound decision.

A matter of routine

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… obviously, as I no longer pause for photographs.  Still, being on the inside of a large damp cloud all day may have had something to do with it; not even the cathedral could manage to be photogenic in the gloom.

It is a great treat to be on the loose in a real library again, though I must say some of these are rather forbidding tomes.  The one I fancied most was entitled Dissenting readers.  Then I looked again and found it was really called Discerning readers, which put me right off.  Very Freudian misreading.  There was also a fat anthology of literature just called DEATH, which looked inviting, but I didn’t have enough borrowing allowance by the time I’d selected the others.  Another time perhaps.

In a way this is the one I’m most looking forward to:

It’s years since I had a Homeric binge, and I’ve heard good things of this translation.  And it doesn’t come with a time limit (apart from good nature on the part of the lending library).

Not quite incunabula

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I’ve been looking through some photos from last week.  There was little time to go anywhere except the College itself, or a quick doddle round the Close for fresh air.  Luckily, there was a fascinating exhibition in the library, and the cathedral always rewards.  (Click a thumbnail for the gallery. If you want to see texts properly, click on link from gallery to full size.)

 

“‘Tis the Last Judgement’s fire must cure this place…

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… calcine its clods …” I muttered gloomily, though Browning was not thinking of kitchen shelves.

I had an outbreak of Usefulness, and in fact was genuinely useful (as well as being annoying).  Disheartened, though, as past a certain age and level of neglect kitchens become finally uncleanable:  the greasy steam seeps into every cranny, soaks into the cupboard doors, coats every tile and pipe, and, scrub as you may, the tackiness persists.  But at least the new owner should be able to find his sarcasm when he needs it.

Austerity

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Today I went looking for a quiet place on the stairs in which to find a teasing line.  Instead I found an image, obscure at first but clarifying into black comedy.

I don’t think he or she made it.

So goodbye to the lectures and a brief hello to some nearestsanddearests; full of apple crumble we admired the Close and the cathedral lit by what looked like about seven million lux, killing the stars.

I have swapped my austere hall-of-residence style bed for something even more austere, having no bedstead at all; but the ambience is friendly, and I am cooched up on the sofa with the Middle English Metrical Paraphrase of the Old Testament:

In this boke that cald is Genesis
ther may men see the soth unsoght
How God, that beldes in endlese blyse,
all only with Hys Word hath wroght
Hevyn on heght for Hym and Hys,
this erth and all that ever is oght.
This erth was wyde and wast
and no gud on yt grovyd;
On the heght the Holi Gast
abown the waters movyd.

Milton, eat your heart out.

Stocking up on seaside …

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… while we have the chance.

Wild as a witch

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With a few gleams of sun on a good drying day, I raced the mower up and down the soggy grass, one eye cocked to the sky for the next shower, and the wind blowing my hair out of its pin into witchiness.

Having got round before the rain, there was time to visit a few neglected perennial pots.

Harebells whipping on their wiry stems

The slightly nibbled elegance of schizostylus

A spot of welcome richness on the grey afternoon