ABC Wednesday Y is for Yellow

Yellow is such a cheerful colour in the garden particularly after the often dreary winter days when daffodils bloom in Spring . . .

 . . . followed by Kerria japonica which often flowers again in summer

Yellow Archangel (Lamiastrum galeobdolon ) is a wildflower native to central and southern England and common in Europe. It is a plant of ancient woodlands and old hedgerows, its yellow flowers in May and June bringing brightness to damper, darker areas. It grows well on chalk or heavy clay but can be invasive in the garden. Young leaves and shoots and flower tips can be eaten when cooked. In herbal medicine it has been used to treat sores and ulcers and to stop bleeding. It is rich in nectar and attractive to bees.

Yellow nasturtiums and marigolds also attract bees

Yellow pansy

Yellow courgette flower followed by green or yellow courgettes

Yellow honeysuckle

Yellow roses

Yellow honey bee (Apis mellifera)

We saw very few of these in 2011. I hope there will be more in 2012.

Yellow sunflower. 

Until last summer I thought all sunflowers were yellow but there are some very pretty red ones.

Click here for more Wise Ys

Tales from the Academy - Spurs and Eyesight Tests

The day an officer cadet is commissioned is a proud one indeed. First there is Sovereign’s Parade in front of exalted guests and proud friends and family. Stirring music is played as young men – and for several years now, young women – march in perfect order, saluting the Guest of Honour.

After the excitement of the day comes the Commissioning Ball when young officers don the mess kit of the regiment or corps into which they have been commissioned. I understand that they now keep their rank badges covered until midnight when the 2^nd Lieutenant’s pips are revealed in all their pristine glory. This was not the case in the 1960s.

Those going into cavalry regiments or units associated with cavalry had to put on spurs. These pushed into a spur trap or box and jingled pleasingly as the wearer walked, a different note to each spur. Rather, they should have jingled. 

One young officer, maybe dressing in haste or with his mind on other matters, had great difficulty walking in his spurs. Indeed, rather than ringing clearly as others were, they were making an unpleasant scraping sound and causing the wearer to skid and slide. Onlookers might have been forgiven for thinking that the young man (now a respected magistrate somewhere in England) had taken up figure skating, such was his progress across the polished floor. In fact he had inserted his spurs upside down. This caused much hilarity.

This same young man was determined to join the Parachute Regiment, following in his father’s footsteps, who had parachuted into Arnhem in WWII. Unfortunately, his eyesight was not good but, undeterred, he learnt the eyesight chart by heart and confidently rattled it off to the examining doctor.

Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

The doctor was impressed and congratulated him but told him that regrettably the chart had been changed and bore no relation to what he apparently had just read. The best-laid schemes o’ mice and men gang aft a-gley!

Dear Diary . . .

Every year since 2006 I have bought an RHS (Royal Horticultural Society) Diary. I’m not a great diarist but I love the illustrations in the diaries – flower paintings of great delicacy. I also have an RHS Address book to replace the battered one I have had for many years.

Last year both Barry and I started writing daily journals. His is full of references to world affairs, causes of conflict, esoteric measurements and abstruse comments. Mine is far more mundane – the weather, family affairs, the animals, comments on books I’ve read and those I’m attempting to write, what I prepared for supper . . . on that latter point it’s rather worrying that, despite all the wonderful cookery books I have been given, my culinary ‘arts’ do not spread further than roast beef, spaghetti carbonara, curry, casserole and trout.

Bethan’s fiancé told me I was a good cook – I assured him that he’s simply been lucky thus far to have been offered edible fare. On that note, by the end of the year they will be married or so we are assured. No date yet – but I’m sure they’ll let us know in good time. (Thinks: how long does it take to lose four stone, acquire grace and elegance and develop witty repartee for clever discourse with wedding guests?)

Also last year I started another collection – or rather, Barry initiated one for me. Fountain pens! How many pens does one person need? That’s rather a different question to ‘How many pens does one person covet?’ I have some beautiful pens now and naturally Barry insisted that I have some suitable journals in which to record my deathless prose. We both started with Moleskine but the ink bled through so now we have Rhodia. Even a shopping list is a work of art on good paper, not that I would defile my journals with anything so mundane.

As with all things there is an interesting subculture concerning pens, nibs, inks, papers – some people devote their careers to determining the very best but it’s all subjective in the end.

My diary entry today will undoubtedly make reference to the walk I shall take with the dogs shortly. It is pouring with rain and already, at 2:00 pm, quite dark. Nonetheless, we shall enjoy our outing. Barry is in bed nursing a cold so will miss the pleasure of sloshing through puddles and skidding on mud. When we return I will endeavour to deter damp dogs from rushing up to share the warmth of our bed with him.  Maybe the sun will shine tomorrowJ

Bertie's First Christmas

The first indication for Bertie that something different was happening was the sight of the Master and Mistress filling black bags. His inquisitive nose investigated as we attempted to make enough room in the bedrooms for guests to reach their beds. An indecent amount of washing and dusting, vacuuming and tidying went on as his familiar surroundings became unfamiliar. Settee cushions were upended so that his friends and relations could not climb on them. Winston, being a cat and therefore superior (and lighter) managed to balance on them and Bertie developed a trampoline act on the webbing. Meanwhile, big strong Gus panted and worried over the changes taking place.

As the house was divested of dust, extraneous goods such as old music tapes, mountains of odd socks, old pillows and clothing that adult children had stored and forgotten, chewed slippers and remnants of the various childhoods of now grown offspring so it simultaneously filled with parcels and boxes and enough food to feed an army. The dog freezer (for frozen dog food, not dogs) was filled and the old freezer in the garage was brought into service to accommodate the overflow. Five dogs and two puppies consume a lot of food in a short period. Likewise the human freezer (for frozen human food, et cetera, as above) and the fridge were organised to within an inch of their lives to take in the extra provisions needed to sustain human life during the Christmas period when, Heaven forfend! the shops would be closed for an entire day. (Actually, I was horrified to discover that the local shop would be open until midday on Christmas Day.)

The most disturbing thing for Bertie was when his puppy pen was dismantled. Suddenly his dining room, rest room and secure zone disappeared. This was the downstairs pen in which he had eaten and slept in safety from his first day in our house. He shared it with Buster when he visited and now it was gone. Oh, calamity!

Bertie (left) and Buster  - 8 weeks old

Sharing the pen with Jenna . . .

 . . . and with Frodo

In front of the pen with Gus

Finally the house was ready. Bethan and Robert arrived on Friday to be followed by Bertie’s brother and his family. Everyone brought piles of boxes and bags and more food and all the effort of the preceding days seemed to have been in vain. 

Bertie (left) and Buster

Bertie (left) and Buster

Sometimes the boys were too tired to share a bed. Bertie slumbers.

Bertie and Buster played themselves to exhaustion.

On Christmas Eve some of us went to Midnight Mass - a beautiful introduction to Christmas Day when Gareth and his family arrived. The day passed in a blur of people, food, wine and gifts. Boxing Day was a repeat performance with slight changes in personnel. On Tuesday, everyone departed to their own homes and life suddenly seemed very quiet once more. We all enjoyed our time together and though there will undoubtedly be gatherings during the coming year, none of them will be quite like Christmas, and none of them will bring similar dramatic changes in Bertie’s little life.

Oh, and quite a lot of the items we have been storing have gone home with their respective ownersJ J

At some point we will erect Bertie’s pen again so that we can leave him safely but he’s quite a responsible young lad now and the need is not so pressing. New Year’s Eve will pass quietly – just the two of us, four dogs and Winston Ocicat.

Happy New Year to you all and may 2012 be Healthy, Fulfilling, Peaceful and Prosperous.

Home Brew

Home Brew – two words to strike fear chill into the heart of anyone with any semblance of a sense of taste. A few years ago, well, more than thirty years ago, (because Bethan had not been born then and she’s just thirty) Barry embarked on home brewing.

As with all his enthusiasms he went headfirst into the business and we were soon bursting at the seams with demijohns (carboys), rubber pipes and bungs (which looked strangely threatening), fermentation locks and bottles into which the delicious end product/s would be decanted. Visitors quickly learned to wave away a proffered pint of whichever vintage Barry had just completed. The beers were never started from scratch but from kits that contained all the vital ingredients apart from water.

Eventually, even Barry admitted that the beer wasn’t up to much was horrible. Maybe wine would be better, he thought. Our neighbours gave us a huge quantity of apples which produced a light golden wine that was quite acceptable but the best of all was the dandelion wine. Bear in mind that we had three willing slaves children at the time who relished the idea of picking dandelions even though there was no chance that they would be invited to sample the wine. 

The five of us picked for what seemed like hours. Our hands were yellow and we proved conclusively the untruth of the old wives’ tale – our beds remained dry all night. As far as I can remember the resulting wine was delicious but the process was too labour-intensive and was never repeated.

Home brewing became a chore and finally dropped out of favour but the empty demijohns hung around for a few years on a high shelf in the kitchen – Barry is averse to throwing things away in case they should be useful in the future. Really, what purpose could a demijohn serve other than to store alcoholic beverages? Too big for a flower vase, too heavy to carry water for thirsty dogs – a dust collector, pure and simple.

One day, when Bethan was a tiny girl, one of the demijohns imploded. While I was agonising about what could have happened – shards of glass flying through the air in the vicinity of small human being - Barry was exclaiming about the chances of such a thing happening.

The remaining demijohns were consigned to the garage and eventually moved out. Much as I like the idea of country wines I think we’ll leave the brewing of them to those who really know what they’re doing! 

Sparrowhawk!

I was reading Joshua’s post at ‘Vive le Nerd’ wherein he commented on the Rough-legged Hawk he had seen in his garden. It reminded me that I had seen a Sparrowhawk (Accipiter nisus) just before Christmas.

From the corner of my eye I saw a bird fly into the holly tree and watched to see if I could identify it when it emerged. I was excited to see it was a Sparrowhawk. Pleasingly it flew to the top of the nearest arch and posed obligingly for me. I had to photograph it through the (grubby) patio door and managed to get five shots before it took flight.

I rarely see Sparrowhawks. I hear them more often or find the pitiful evidence of their depredations in the garden. It’s not their fault that their diet consists almost exclusively of birds. 

Mainly they eat small birds – 120 different species have been recorded. The smaller males catch birds from titmice up to birds the size of thrushes but the much larger females will prey on birds as large as wood pigeons and magpies. Some have been known to catch bats.

Very rarely they eat insects.

This time the Sparrowhawk went hungry. I’m almost sure it was a male.

Smile, please!

Smiling is good for us, it makes us happy and those who receive our smiles, whether a closed-mouth lifting of the lips or the full gnashers, feel better, too. Even better is to laugh – giggle, chuckle, snort, guffaw.

However, as the muscles move the skin in repeated patterns, faint lines appear. With age, and more smiling and laughing, the lines deepen to creases and wrinkles. Lotions and potions, creams and unguents are applied with increasing desperation to hold back the march of time, to no avail.

The most desperate among us – and usually those with abundant funds – seek medical aid to turn back the clock. The surgeon’s knife is brandished expertly and bloodily to return sagging skin to a semblance of unlined youth.

Those who find such intervention abhorrent may choose another solution – Botox – Botulinum Toxin. The syringe-wielding physician injects Botox to paralyse the muscles and iron out the despised furrows. The effects may last for as long as eight months or may need to be repeated sooner.

Conversely, with the loss of the creases comes a more significant cost. The paralysed muscles can no longer convey to the brain the sense of happiness that comes from smiling and the now line-less patient suffers depression. That seems a rather extreme price to pay for vanity. How must it feel to be unable to smile? I suppose it must be like a permanent face pack, when the mud has hardened to a mask.

Omnia Vanitas - All is Vanity

'All is Vanity'  (1892) by Charles Allan Gilbert (1873-1929)

Image courtesy of Wikipedia

As a strictly medical treatment Botox can be usefully applied in the treatment of movement disorders like those displayed in Parkinson’s Disease or cerebral palsy, for chronic migraine, for muscle spasms like Blepharospasm (excessive blinking)

For the rest, I’ll live with my wrinkles and creases – after all, they don’t bother me unless I look at myself and I do that less and less these days J

The Further Adventures of Frodo the Faller – Frodo Visits His Friends the Vets

Frodo implores

Just over six months ago Frodo had a gastric torsion and underwent an operation to untwist his stomach. As a precaution, Phil-the-Vet put a stitch in to prevent it twisting should he have bloat again.

A few days before Christma Frodo turned his nose up at his supper. He’s a naturally greedy dog but the anti-epileptic drugs he has to take twice a day make him ravenous. Rapaciousness is a well-documented side effect of the medication, together with ataxia, which is variable.

I looked at him and ran my hands over his sides. He looked a little full but nothing too much. Then I felt the underside of his tummy and that seemed somewhat distended. He wanted to go out in the garden so I took a torch and went with him but he didn’t do anything, just mooched around a little then came back in. I was concerned that he hadn’t peed and although he didn’t appear to be in great discomfort he had retched a couple of times, which filled the air with an interesting odour.

Frodo with Bertie

With our experience of dogs with bloat – three, all Dalmatians – we decided that he should be checked over. I wanted to take him but Barry insisted I stay at home and look after the other dogs.

He and Frodo were gone for ages and my imagination was running riot by the time they came home. There was an accumulation of gas in his stomach from undigested fermenting food so Phil and Nadia had introduced a tube into his mouth and down to his stomach to relieve the pressure – that is, release the gas!! Barry enjoyed that bit;-) After that, he was given an injection – Frodo, not Barry – to relax his intestinal tract so that any remaining gas could be expelled.

We expected to spend a malodorous few hours but actually, it wasn’t bad at all. Frodo slept soundly all evening and I decided I’d sleep downstairs for the night with him but he went upstairs and so did I. He then proceeded to sleep deeply all night, not moving from his bed. Normally, he ambles about, rather like Goldilocks trying out different (dog) beds. If the bed he wishes to commandeer is occupied he looms over the occupant, not making a sound, until the bed is vacated, often with a snarl. The protest is purely for effect – Frodo is the senior dog and all the others know it.

On the other hand, I slept badly, one ear open for sounds of discomfort. I was concerned that Frodo had not had his full quota of drugs though it takes more than a missed dose to cause him to seize. He is fortunate in that respect. Some dogs are so sensitive that the doses must be administered at the same time every day. For them delays can trigger seizures.  One owner I know gets up at 5:00 a.m. to give her dog his pills. His second dose is at 5:00 p.m.

Frodo went back to see Nadia-the-Vet the following morning and was pronounced fit and well. She remarked on how different he is when Barry takes him. With me he’s on guard the whole time, watching and grumbling quietly to protect me. With Barry he’s relaxed and completely unconcerned. It’s the same when we go out walking. He rarely strays from my side but if Barry takes the dogs out without me, Frodo strides ahead confidently, barely giving Barry a second glance - unless he has a pocketful of biscuits.

Back to normal . . .

Anyway, the boy had a special diet for a few days and we introduced his normal fare gradually, mixed with the blander food, as his digestive tract recovered.


I call him ‘the boy’ but he has just had his tenth birthday so he is really getting to be quite an old dog. He doesn’t know that, thoughJ

The Eleventh Family Birthday of the Year

Bethan opening presents on her second birthday, helped by Sam

It is Bethan’s 30^th birthday today and she is celebrating it in Bruges with her fiancé.

With Barry, Sam and Daisy

Bethan was a shy little girl and softly spoken. Today she still has a quiet voice but she is confident and strong-minded. She needed to develop a sense of self quite early as she had not only two parents, but three teenage siblings who all wanted to guide and protect her.

Sailing

As she has grown older the age differences have disappeared and now she is the confidante of her two elder sisters and a good friend to her brother. Her nieces and nephews love her and she knows just how to interact with them.

With Barry in Mumbles

As a girl she showed considerable musical ability and quickly learnt to play the violin and to enjoy singing with her school choirs. She has a natural charm and ease with people of all ages and a keen sense of humour – like her father and her siblings she is an excellent mimic.

With Susannah and Marnie, Buckinghamshire

Bethan is open-minded and fair, listening attentively to the arguments of others before stating her own opinion. From Barry she has inherited an analytical brain and like him she is left-handed – somehow the two are linked, at least in my mind.

She was the grandchild with whom my parents spent most time – a gift for my father who was away so much when his own children were growing up. They looked after her while I worked part-time - who better to care for her? - and from them she learnt patience and trust.

Happy Birthday, dear Bethan, and Many Happy Returns of the Day! J

ABC Wednesday X X X

The only Xs in my garden are the two little Xmas trees that I bought last Christmas and put outside after Epiphany. We always observe the tradition of Twelfth Night and put away all Christmas decorations on that day.

You can see the tiny cones on the little tree

Anyway, the trees survived and thrived but I could only bring one indoors because the other had been ‘leant on’ by a hanging basket and displayed brown needles where there should have been green. It will recover in time for Christmas 2012 I’m (almost) sure.

The one I brought indoors is decorated with buttons of glass and brass and the red ribbons and bells that adorn the necks of Lindt rabbits, reindeer and Santa Clauseseseses. 

There are one or two small wooden ornaments, too. 

The white and silver gauze trimmings and ‘pearls’ from Christmas crackers make tiny baubles and the whole is lit with battery-operated strings of small lights. 

I took the photos so they’re not very good. The busyness of Christmas has left me strangely ill-coordinated and eyes, brain and hands are not working in synchronicity, it seems J

I hope you all had an enjoyable Christmas/holiday season and are looking forward to New Year’s Eve. I wish you a Peaceful, Prosperous, Happy, Healthy and Fulfilling 2012J

To see more Xs please click here.

ABC Wednesday W is for . . .

‘Warm Welcome’

Rosa ‘Warm Welcome’ is a semi-evergreen climbing rose that flowers profusely in summer and autumn. The clusters of flowers are sweetly scented and a vibrant orange-red, a welcome splash of brightness on our often less than sunny summer days.

White starling

Starlings (Sturnus vulgaris) are on the RSPB Red list. This means that they are globally threatened. They are abundant in Berkshire and frequent our bird feeders with noisy enthusiasm. A few years ago I spotted a pure white starling. Not quite believing my eyes I took some hasty photographs and though I watched and waited for several days I never saw it again.

Woodpecker – of the three UK woodpeckers, two can be seen in gardens. The Great Spotted Woodpecker (Dendrocopos major) is the commoner visitor to our garden. It is a striking bird and vies with the starlings for a place at the table. It eats insects and fruit.

The Green Woodpecker (Picus viridis) is the largest of the woodpeckers that breed in Britain. It eats insects and has a particular liking for ants. It is popularly called the Yaffle because of its laughing call. It is on the RSPB Amber list, meaning that its status is causing concern.

The bird at the front is a juvenile. The white neck patches will develop later.

The Wood pigeon (Columba palumbus) is Britain’s largest pigeon. It is the major agricultural pest and a favourite species for sport shooting. However, I am not a farmer and am always pleased to see these heavyweights in the garden. Their repetitive soft cooing call is a reassuring sound that all is well in the bird kingdom.

The Wren (Troglodytes troglodytes) is the UK’s commonest breeding bird. Like other small birds it suffers a decline in numbers in cold weather. It is often to be seen creeping mouse-like round plant pots, seeking the insects and spiders that form its diet.

To see other Ws please click here.