A mile is a mile, right?

 

A mile is a mile, right?

Speedometer showing kph and mph, and odometer showing current journey mileage and lifetime mileage 
Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

 A Scandinavian mile or mil, excluding Denmark, is equivalent to ten kilometres or six point two miles.

The mile, formerly known as the English mile, is now called ‘the international mile,’ and is not seen on signposts in Scandinavia, the kilometre being the standard for published distances. This is to avoid any confusion, because in informal speech, ‘mil’ is still used. Five kilometres is referred to as ‘half a mil.’

‘Mil’ is also used when business travel is calculated for tax reasons, and for publishing odometer readings when second-hand cars are being advertised for sale, even though car odometers show kilometres.

If, while walking in the mountains, you should come across a signpost in Norway or Sweden, showing a distance in ‘mil,’ be prepared for a much longer trek than you might have anticipated. Five mil will equate to fifty kilometres or thirty-one (international) miles.

Olives

 

Olives

                                        Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

Al was unhappy, cold, and miserable. How had he ended up on this pillar without a stitch of clothing, and why was he holding a gigantic wing?

The last thing he could recall was the olive eating challenge. He had just swallowed his fifty-first olive and was definitely on a winning streak. There were only thirty-five seconds left before the bell would ring to signal that time was up. He didn’t know what the prize would be, but was sure it would be something he would like. He hoped so, anyway, as he didn’t really like olives very much, but his friends had encouraged him to take part.

He was swallowing the sixtieth olive when he began to feel rather peculiar. Too late, he realised that the olives were preserved in alcohol, not brine. Combined with the several drinks he’d imbibed for Dutch courage before the contest, they had served as a sedative. He dimly remembered collapsing slowly to the floor – as with all accidents, time seemed to slow - and hearing raucous laughter and bellowed shouts of encouragement.

He chewed his fist and stared glumly at the ground. He wasn’t very high up and it would not be difficult to climb down, but modesty dictated that he remain where he was until the giggling crowd pointing at him went away.

Suddenly, a young woman pushed her way through the crowd and strode towards him. With horror, he recognised his fiancée. She was furious.

‘I knew this would happen if you let Dan organise your stag party. Some best man he is,’ she fumed. ‘I hope it was worth it. Here’s your prize,’ and she handed him an outsized jar of olives. ‘We’re getting married this afternoon, or had you forgotten? Don’t be late.’

As she turned and stormed off, Dan stepped sheepishly from behind some trees and handed Al his clothes. ‘Sorry, mate,’ he mumbled.

The crowd cheered and clapped as Al pulled on his crumpled clothes and clambered down from the pillar, swearing to himself that he would never enter another competition. He tucked the wing under his arm, wondering what use it could ever be to him. Maybe, in years to come, he and his wife would laugh about this foolish incident.

Maybe . . .

Ten years

 

Ten years

It is ten years since our last Dalmatian died. Frodo the Faller was fourteen years old, quite a good age, considering all the ailments he suffered. He was preceded by Buddy Liver Spots, Dominie, and Cariadd, all of whom lived long active lives.

Barry had run with them for years through fine weather and foul, but his knees were increasingly painful. Once his new chrome alloy knee joints were in place, he didn’t want to wear them out, so running, a life-long pursuit, was replaced by other activities, and another Dalmatian was out of the question. Thirty years of Dalmatians had been great fun, but we recognised our new limitations and anyway, Labradors are so much easier.

The only Dalmatians we now have are ornaments, and some Disney-type iterations. I think they were toppers from large tubes of Smarties. I always loved Smarties, and they’re so useful for number work and simple music theory with young children.

Origins

 

Origins

I have little idea of the origins of some of the plants in our garden. For example, we have masses of violets and I’m quite sure I’ve never introduced them. Certainly, I have transplanted some over the years and I’m always delighted to see them. They self-seed so they’re popping up all over the place now, which pleases me no end.

I had noticed some green leaves in a flowerpot, but didn’t pay them much attention until I realised they were producing flower buds. This provoked me into closer inspection. 

Using my iPhone app, ‘PictureThis,’ I discovered that the stranger was green alkanet (Pentaglottis sempervirens) a perennial which can sometimes become a nuisance, though it does provide good ground cover.  

The flowers are blue with white centres and are sometimes confused with forget-me-nots, though the plant stems are covered in bristly hairs and the leaves are also hairy, unlike forget-me-nots.

Green alkanet is a rich provider of pollen and nectar for bees, butterflies and hoverflies, flowering throughout the summer. Its leaves give food for the day-flying Scarlet tiger moth (Callimorpha dominula) and shelter for invertebrates at soil level.

                        Scarlet tiger moth (Callimorpha dominula)

Scarlet tiger moth images courtesy Wikimedia Commons

It used to be considered edible, although it did not taste very pleasant. Its pretty flowers were used as garnish for many dishes. However, latterly it has been discovered to contain carcinogens. In addition, the bristles can cause skin rashes, so it’s advisable to wear gloves when handling it.

Green alkanet is not native to Britain and has its origins in Spain, France, and Portugal. It was first brought to Britain around 1700, as an ornamental garden plant and was available for sale in plant nurseries. Inevitably, by 1724 it had escaped and quickly established itself in grass verges and hedgerows. It is common in southern England.

A change in routine

 

A change in routine

Jellicoe

We feed Herschel and Jellicoe in separate rooms, to prevent them stealing from each other. Herschel eats much faster than Jellicoe, and likes to investigate his brother’s bowl to see if there are any morsels left. He is adept at opening the sliding door between conservatory and kitchen, so we make sure it’s locked, otherwise Jellicoe is unceremoniously pushed aside.

Jellicoe also likes to check that there’s nothing left in Herschel’s bowl, and trots into the conservatory as soon as the door is opened. Recently, he has been abandoning his food in his desperation to sample Herschel’s food. They have the same food, in identical dishes, but Jellicoe behaves as though Herschel is receiving gourmet rations.

Yesterday, he would not eat his three o’clock meal and we began worrying that he was becoming ill or senile. He and Herschel are twelve years old and show no obvious signs of ageing, but we are aware that dementia can affect cats as much as any other *living being. We put Jellicoe’s food in the conservatory after Herschel had finished, hoping that would do the trick. Lo and behold, Jellicoe tucked in without further ado.

Jellicoe is known to the vets as ‘One Of A Kind.’ When he has to spend a day with them, they have noticed how attuned he is to food. When it approaches his usual feeding time, he sets up a loud yowling, to remind the feckless humans that the worms are biting, and he needs sustenance immediately. Should other animals in his vicinity receive their rations before him, his voice becomes ever more demanding.

At home, he just edges closer to me as the hour hand moves towards the feeding time.

I think cats do these things just to keep their humans on their toes.

Herschel

*It is not only mammals that develop dementia. Mrs Nesbitt had a pet gander called Jo, who was always very fastidious about preening. When he stopped looking after his feathers, and displayed other worrying behaviours, she took him to the vet, and the conclusion was that poor Jo had dementia. What a sad end for a splendid fellow.

 

 

Roomba

 

Roomba

Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

We have a self-emptying electric floor vacuum. It is an iRobot Roomba. It has been set to follow a particular pattern in whichever room it’s put to work. I wouldn’t have bothered, as I quite like the random nature of things, but Inspector Gadget cannot resist programming everything in sight.

He’d programme me if he could.

I have mentioned before that we have a vast collection of remote controls. I long for the days of simple on/off switches on easy-to-understand devices.

The current Roomba (the first one was donated to Susannah and was called Veronica) is called Felicity. I don’t know why we gave the thing a name – it’s not our usual habit to name appliances – and we can never remember the correct name, anyway. It buzzes round, noisily, drawing attention to the fact that it’s doing a job that any human could do. Eventually, the bin is full, and the machine trawls off to its station to empty itself. This involves even more noise and a horrible smell, causing all around to waft their hands in front of their faces.

It does a decent job, thoroughly investigating every nook and cranny, spinning, and sweeping until it is satisfied that it has gathered every last mote of dust. The floors look spotless for all of five seconds, before one of the two or four-legged animals moves, and then the poor Roomba weeps on its charging station.

We have a standard vacuum cleaner, too – one that has to be operated by a human. It looks very smart, but has so many filters that it’s almost impossible to use. As soon as one filter is clogged, which happens ferociously fast in our household, it has to be gently teased into work again. This is done by cleaning it, usually with a handheld, battery-driven vacuum cleaner. DO NOT remove all the filters at the same time, as remembering which goes where is a fiendish test of memory and patience. Why would anyone be tempted to displace all filters, you ask? Well, simply looking does not always indicate which is the troublesome one.

In a nutshell, we have vacuum cleaners to clean our vacuum cleaners. Is it really necessary? All we’re really doing is shifting the dust from one place to another and it will all have to be done again tomorrow . . . or later today.

I keep saying we should employ a cleaner, much as I dislike having other people in the house, to which the stock response is, ‘We can do it ourselves,’ usually followed by, ‘I enjoy housework,’  and, ‘It’s good exercise.’

I think the pleasure and satisfaction of the job may be wearing off, though. Barry has had to do everything in recent weeks, and he has done it all remarkably well. I may just delay my return to certain tasks a little longer. Would that be cruel?

Back to the Roomba – is it a good thing? It certainly makes the house look spruce and it’s useful to have it working while another job can be undertaken. I think that for anyone living in a tidy house, with no pets, it would be wonderful. Having said that, it is nice, to paraphrase Genesis, to look upon one’s floors and find them good.

Living with Inspector Gadget rather skews my thinking on certain things, but, on balance, his instincts are correct. I have had to put my foot down on certain ideas, however. For example, I had no wish to have a mobile holiday home in a double-decker bus, even though he would have made a wonderful job of converting it, just as he did the builder’s van, in which we spent a few happy holidays. A hot air balloon was also a step too far. I didn’t fancy a garden railway, either.

 

Snail trail

Oh, me, oh, my, a wondrous sight,
The snail’s been busy through the night, 
 A perfect artist in slime.

A tracing of silver, lacy, light,
Not leaves, not flowers, not quite right,
The mollusc’s wasted his time.

Ignoring my initial reaction of distaste, I had to admire the tracery on the lampshade. Where the snail was going, no-one can tell, and where he is now, no-one knows. The plants in the conservatory are undamaged, which is quite surprising.

 

Stick or cane?

 

Stick or cane?

What I call a walking stick is more accurately referred to as a cane, as Red from Hiawatha House pointed out, backed up by Anvil Cloud and Mad Snapper N Beau. My impression is that North Americans are inclined to call them canes. Mostly, I use walking poles, just to confuse matters.

I found this explanation: ‘ . . . although the words "walking stick" and "walking cane" are often used to mean the same thing . . .  there can be distinctions between the two. A walking stick, especially one with a novelty handle, is designed more for use as a fashion accessory but may still provide some stability and balance whilst walking for shorter periods of times, while a walking cane is designed for regular everyday use as a mobility aid to support your full body weight and take the pressure off. ‘

I wanted to know the correct terminology for the anatomy of a walking aid. (See how neatly I avoided the problem of using the right label?)

There are four main parts to a walking cane: handle, collar, shaft and ferrule. The handle can take many forms. It may be a knob, which is not very comfortable for walking and is probably more for show, a carved head, an ergonomic design, or a crook, with many variations in between.

This one is a simple Derby handle on my decades-old folding walking stick.

Ergonomic handle (right hand)

The collar hides the joint between the handle and the shaft, strengthening the bond. Sometimes the collar is intricately decorated. 

                    Adjustable shaft on my carbon walking pole

The shaft is the length of the cane from handle to ferrule. It may be made from any strong, load-bearing material, from beechwood to carbon fibre and many materials besides. The length of the shaft is important: too short and the walker will stoop, too tall and the user may suffer neck and shoulder problems.

                                                    Rubber ferrule

On the end of the shaft is the ferrule, which may be rubber or metal, and adapted for different surfaces. A spiked ferrule is useful in rough terrain, but dangerous on polished floors. A rubber ferrule provides peace of mind and stability on a slippery surface. For further stability, a user may opt for a tripod or tetrapod stick.

                                 Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

Sticks come in many guises, from the everyday aid to the ceremonial.

The shepherd’s crook was a useful tool as well as a defensive weapon. The curved hook was used to help in recovering animals from danger, catching them by the neck or leg. As a sturdy support, it aided the shepherd in his travels across sometimes rough ground, and provided him with a useful stave to fend off predators.

In the form of a bishop’s crozier, it has been used by high-ranking religious leaders to symbolise the leadership and pastoral care of their congregation or ‘flock.’ A crozier is traditionally much taller than a shepherd’s crook, perhaps to be more readily seen by the congregation.

Some countryside walkers opt for thumb sticks. These are made from woods like hazel and have a v-shaped section of wood or antler in which to slot the thumb.

Another form of stick is the shooting stick, which combines a folding seat with a walking stick. It is a useful for short-term seating at outdoor events, or to provide a swift perch when out walking and needing a rest.

An Irish walking stick is called a shillelagh. It is often made from blackthorn and is a traditional symbol of Irish heritage and a formidable weapon, though not principally used as such in modern times.

Modern sword sticks, a hollow walking stick concealing a sharp blade, are considered offensive weapons and it is illegal to carry them in public, although antique examples are exempt, which is odd, as even an old blade can be sharpened and used for nefarious means.

It is important that any walking or trekking stick is the appropriate height for the user. Many modern sticks are adjustable, but those in which the shaft is made from a single piece of wood must be tailored to the user.

Some sticks are foldable and a useful alternative for people who need to use a walking stick only occasionally.

 
Elbow crutches

Carved ivory handles from the Salar Jung Museum 

Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

Tiny teapots

 

Tiny teapots

Miniatures have a peculiar appeal. Queen Mary’s Dolls’ House is the largest and most famous dolls’ house in the world. It is a delight to see it at Windsor Castle, but there’s always such a press of people that there’s little time to study and appreciate the intricate detail.

I enjoy seeing other people’s dolls’ houses and marvel at the fine and considered work that goes into them, though I have not the patience to embark on one for myself. Nonetheless, I do like small things. Two that I have recently acquired, mainly because I like the look of them, are two tea infusers.

Both feature tiny teapots. The first is blue and white and measures 4 x 3 cms. It is attached by a chain to a wire infuser of 4½ cms which holds a quantity of tea leaves and is good for the more robust mixtures of larger leaves.

The second one is also a teapot which measures 6cms from spout to handle and 3cms from teapot lid to base. It is the actual infuser and has a smaller capacity than the teapot-weighted infuser. It has a tray on which it can be rested after removal from the cup by its short chain.

 

 

Walking Stick Park

 Walking Stick Park

 Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

Walking sticks have been made in Sigulda for more than two hundred years.

The park was created in 2007 in the area encompassing Sigulda Castle in Latvia to commemorate the history of walking stick manufacture. Within the castle complex is a workshop in which walking sticks are made. Visitors can see the whole process of creating a walking stick and can make their own as a souvenir of their visit.

 Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

There is also a place called Walking Stick Woods in Chicago.

It’s all black and white

 

It’s all black and white

Image source

Like many people, I enjoy looking at toys and books for babies. There are so many choices, in such lovely colours. Therefore, it is surprising to realise afresh that newborn babies have limited colour perception and respond most actively to black and white images.

Babies’ eyes are poorly developed at birth. They can distinguish shapes, or the difference between light and dark. Their range of vision is limited to fifteen to thirty centimetres (six to twelve inches), which is just about the distance from their parent’s faces.

Black and white images present strong contrasts and stimulate the eye muscles to develop. By the age of four months, babies can begin to discern assorted colours and can be exposed to and start to enjoy the riotous shades available in most playthings that manufacturers produce.

 

Image source

Anne-Claude-Philippe de Tubières

 

Anne-Claude-Philippe de Tubières, Comte de Caylus  

All images courtesy Wikimedia Commons

Anne-Claude-Philippe de Tubières-Grimoard de Pestels de Lévis, Comte de Caylus, marquis d’Esternay, baron de Bransac (1692-1765) was a French student of antiquities. He was also an archaeologist, studying protohistory,‘the period between prehistory, (before written records) and written history, using material culture and limited written records to reconstruct social, cultural, and historical processes’ and a writer and scholar.

He produced many etchings, working from drawings by French and Italian masters and his friend Antoine Watteau and sculptures by Edmé Bouchardon.

His etchings give a flavour of the time.

A Woman from Savoy 1742

Pea Shellers 1737

The Sign Poster 1742

Sewing Apprentice 1737

Well Cleaner 1746

                                            Young Milkmaid 1737

                                           The Cobbler 1737 

Walnut Seller 1738

Water Carrier 1742

I know these illustrations give a somewhat romanticised view of life, but they are appealing.

Last week of March in the garden

Last week of March in the garden

 

                                                    Apricot blossom

Kerria japonica

Pieris 

  

                                                                  Forsythia

   

                                                Apple 

                                           Plum  blossom               

         

Spring starflower

                                            Kilmarnock willow

  

Kilmarnock willow

  

Magnolia

                                                    Hyacinth

Mahonia japonica