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No – the Kickass Canada Girl and I are not emulating the couple in Ford Madox Brown’s painting of the same name. No quite yet at any rate!
These are instead a few random Fuji X10 images – most likely the last such for now – capturing facets of the English summer.
The Fuji x10 understandably gets more use in the summer months than at other times of the year and I try to ensure that it is always to hand whenever I am out and about.
I find myself looking out for interesting shapes and textures, or for the interplay of light and shade on different surfaces. Here are some snaps taken both in and out of town.
Hammersmith Bridge makes a constantly fascinating subject, even on an overcast day:
…as do the ‘Canadians’ that live nearby:
Whilst at the opposite end of the spectrum lies this rural idyll – observed on the occasion of a most pleasant Sunday lunch with good friends whom we have not seen for a while:
Some studies of the north bank of the Thames in West London – basking in the July sun. I thought these were quite… funky!
I have been fortunate enough – for the past several years now – to have been the recipient of a kind invitation to spend a day as a guest at the Henley Royal Regatta.
The Stewards Enclosure at Henley is the most extensive of the spectator areas along the course and also encompasses the finishing line – which naturally makes it the most desirable spot on the river bank. The enclosure is – unsurprisingly – open only to members and to their guests. Such membership is primarily available to those who have at some point in their lives actually competed at the regatta – which encompasses a surprisingly large number of former boatmen (and occasional women). Fortunately my host – an old boy of the School – is one such.
The Stewards Enclosure enforces a strict dress code which – you may be surprised to learn – troubles me not at all. It also – however – apparently adheres to other codes concerning which I am less acquiescent.
My progress was arrested at the entrance to the enclosure by the now ubiquitous security operative. He invited me to don my blazer, which garment – since the day was already agreeably temperate – I was carrying over my arm. I agreed so to do as I moved to enter – reluctant to hold up the queue. He stopped me…
“Before you go in…” – he instructed.
I raised an eyebrow but – being English – acceded politely. I had – however – by this point clearly irritated the man. I was carrying – amongst other items – the reporter bag concerning which I have posted previously. He scented an opportunity.
“What’s in the bag?”
I offered him a guided tour. He took a cursory look.
“Sorry” (he obviously wasn’t!) – “You can’t bring that in”.
I enquired as to why not. His eyes lit triumphantly.
“It’s the policy!”
To this there was no profitable answer. He pointing out the Left Luggage tent adjacent to the entrance. I sighed. Smirking a not inconsiderably unpleasantly smirk he applied the coup de grace…
“Of course – if you were a woman – I would have let you take it in”.
Now – I sense it likely that some readers of the gentler sex – and I include Canadian girls amongst this number – might consider this rank discrimination to be merely a much overdue rebalancing of the books when it comes to the treatment of the sexes.
Fair point!
Needless to say – I was far from amused!
For me nature is not landscape, but the dynamism of visual forces.
Bridget Riley
High time for some piccies…
Here are some random summer shots from the garden:
“And what is so rare as a day in June? Then, if ever, come perfect days”
James Russell Lowell
Gentle readers of the regular variety will doubtless already be aware of my predilection for this season above all others.
I have waxed lyrical on more than one occasion concerning the joys – the virtues – the delights of the sumptuous months of May and June. The first fresh flowerings of summer – the crisp munchy greens of the new foliage – the delirious aroma of fresh cut grass – the scarce-remembered warmth of the sun on one’s shoulders – the caring caress of the balmy breeze – the drowsy hum of a somnolent afternoon…
…and so on…
…and so forth…
It matters scarcely a jot that in reality ‘Flaming June’ tends as often as not nowadays to the chill – the vaporous – the tenebrous… What counts are the possibilities – the promise!
And so as each day dawns we know that the sun will shine, that we will venture forth with a song in our hearts, and that all will indeed be for the best in the best of all possible worlds!
Or it would be – were it not for the fact that we have to go to work!!!
For those of us in academia these last few frantic weeks of the summer term are seldom restful. The days are ever filled with stresses and strains as a million and one things must be signed off before everyone else rushes off for a (well deserved!) long summer break.
This is just one of the many things that I eagerly – nay, hungrily – anticipate in my impending retirement…
I am looking forward to getting back my Junes!
Tags: England, Retirement, school, Summer
Last Sunday there was a break in what appears to have become in recent years the accustomed pattern of weather for the English month of May – chill, damp and unremittingly grey! The cricketing gods clearly smiled on me, however, for the day marked my first (and quite possibly only – though who can tell?) appearance in whites this season. The match was to be played on the downs above Guildford.
Long-time scholars of these humble scribblings might sense at this point that they can distinguish the sounding of some distant carillon – and they would be right so to do. Two years ago – almost to the day – I posted a screed entitled ‘Perfect Day’ in which – amongst other things – I extolled the simple pleasures obtained from the equivalent fixture then – the which was played on the self-same spot.
To quote myself (odious practice though that might be):
“The match was played in a suitably amiable spirit, I scored a few runs and the right side won. It was, all in all, a most satisfactory result and I rolled home close to 9pm tired but happy.”
I am delighted to report that I can repeat that sentiment word for word this year, even though – on this occasion – the spoils went to the opposition. The match had gone to the final over, was close and satisfying, and everyone was content.
The substance of my posting two years ago – however – concerned less the Arcadian charms of the occasion itself, but more the fact that such pleasures counted for little if one happened to be – as I was then – separated from one’s significant other. The Kickass Canada Girl was at the time but a few months into her sojourn in Victoria and I was missing her badly.
How different are things now! Not only was the Girl waiting to greet me when I stumbled back home after the match, but she had earlier driven over to Guildford to watch a little of the game – in spite of knowing that I would be in the field at the time and thus unable to speak to her beyond the odd snatched exchange. She strolled instead around the boundary – looking particularly windswept and gorgeous in the sunshine – and I found myself accruing serious kudos from my fellow flanneled fools for having snared what the tabloid press would most certainly term ‘a stunna!’ (defined by the Urban Dictionary as – “Someone who is always fly with gear, cars, jewelry.” – whatever that means!).
I am minded of a comment made by Oldest Friend (of whom I have written previously in these annals) concerning his wife. “A day not spent in her company” – he opined – “is a day wasted”.
He’s not wrong…
A year has passed in a flash and it is May again. The first of the UK’s two May Bank Holidays has already been and gone. The azaleas are early this year – it would seem – and it was time once again to unearth some gardens in which to celebrate the nascent summer.
Naturally, where I go the Fuji x10 goes also…
The gardens that we chose – at Hollycombe on the West Sussex/Surrey border – encompass some additional attractions:
The Bank Holiday spent with good friends – sun-drenched conversation and epicurean feasting in their drowsily gorgeous garden. All (for now at least!) well with the world…
…strange light in the sky?
It will not have escaped the notice of the gentle reader that we have been enjoying of late – both here in the UK and, as far as I can make out, also in BC – that nigh-on forgotten of the seasons – a summer! This has – I am sure – come as a most pleasant surprise to all concerned.
Even when the temperatures have not been scorching their way into the 30s Celsius – and thus, as far as we Brits are concerned, into ‘heatwave’ territory – they have hovered really most pleasantly in the mid-20s C. Yet more – such rainfall as we have seen has by and large graced us during the nights – and the skies have featured an abundance of hues azurian in place of their more accustomed fifty shades of leaden.
This is all – frankly – very lovely. The ragtop owners are out in force, topping up their farmers’ tans and reveling in the unaccustomed sensation of the warm, dry wind rippling though their hair. The inns and taverns – such as remain after the recent creeping contagion of conversions to Thai restaurants and the like – are empty! This is, however, only because everyone is outside – the beer gardens and riverside terraces groaning with merrymakers late into the nights.
One thing only troubles me…
If you are a regular follower of these idle musings (what do you mean? – of course you are!) you will doubtless have noticed that I have from time to time posted images of our really rather beautiful gardens. I feel safe here from any accusations of braggadocio because their loveliness has absolutely nothing to do with me. We rent the apartment: the communal gardens being maintained by landscape gardeners at the expense of the owners. Mind you – we do contribute to the upkeep of the gardens at our own apartment in Buckinghamshire – which are now enjoyed equally by our tenants.
The splendour of these gardens is in large measure the result of the slightly unusual history of the house itself. The building that used to stand on the site was a rather splendid Victorian mansion – set in the middle of mature gardens. As is often the way of such things the house was sold at some point post-war and ended up in the hands of a commercial organisation for a while before being left empty. Eventually there was a fire, which damaged the buildings to the extent that they had to be demolished.
The developer who purchased the site submitted several planning applications – one after the other – with a view to building apartments. Each application was rejected in turn. Bewildered, he finally he asked the planning officials what they would approve. They pointed him at a picture of the original edifice. As a result we live in a contemporary recreation of a Victorian mansion, surrounded in the mature and magnificent gardens of the original.
I digress! Necessarily – but none-the-less…
The thing that troubles me is that although we love these gardens we don’t actually go and sit in them very much. We don’t take our lunch outside – we don’t picnic under the shade of the oaks. Earlier this year – as soon as the weather turned clement – the Kickass Canada Girl and I rushed out and purchased ourselves a zero-gravity recliner – to avail ourselves of this wonderful facility on our doorstep. It sits – as yet unused – in our hallway!
Now, this is really quite embarrassing. It could be that – because we live in a first floor apartment – the separation between us and the outside world makes things just that little bit too fiddly. We throw open the windows and lean out – enjoying the views and the sun’s rays on our faces – but we don’t go to the trouble of taking everything downstairs and locking the door behind us. Perhaps the fact that it is a communal garden also puts us off a little.
What worries me is that the truth may be that – because we have had to do without one for so long – we have forgotten how to do summer properly! Now, that would be a tragedy!
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