Category: Nature

Fantasticks – January

As befits the New Year, here is January from Fantasticks, the strange calendar by Nicholas Breton (1554-1626).  I have been altruistically copying out months, as you may see from past postings.

JANUARY

It is now January, and Time beginnes to turne the wheel of his Revolution, the Woods begin to lose the beauty of their spreading boughe, and the proud Oke must stoop to the Axe: the Squirell now surveyeth the Nut and the Maple, and the Hedgehogge rowles up himselfe like a football: an Apple and a Nutmeg make a Gossips cup: and the Ale and the Fagot are the Victuallers merchandise: the Northerne black Dust is the during Fuell, and the fruit of the Grape heats the stomake of the Aged: Downe beds and quilted Cappes are now the pride of their service, and the Cooke and the Pantler are men of no meane office: the Oxe and the fat Weather now furnish the market, and the Coney is so ferreted, that she cannot keepe in her borough: the Currier and the Lime-rod are the death of the fowle, and the Faulcons bels ring the death of the mallard: the trotting gelding makes a way through the mire, and the Hare and the Hound put the Huntsman to his horne: the barren Doe subscribes to the dish, and the smallest seed makes sauce to the greatest flesh: the dryed grasse is the horses ordinary, and the meale of the beanes make him goe through with his travel: Fishermen now have a cold trade, and travellers a foule journey: the Cook room now is not the worst place in the Ship, and the Shepheard hath a bleake seat on the Mountaine: the Blackbird leaveth not the berry on the thorne, and the garden earth is turned up for her roots: the water floods runne over the proud bankes, and the gaping Oister leaves his shell in the streets, while the proud Peacocke leaps into the pye: Muscovia commodities are now much in request, and the water Spaniell is a necessary servant: the Lode horse to the mill hath his full backe burthen; and the Thresher in the barne tyres the strength of his flayle: the Woodcocke and the Pheasant pay their lives for their feed, and the Hare after a course makes his hearse in a pye: the shoulder of a hog is a shooing horn to good drink, and cold almes make a begger shrug. To conclude, I hold it a time of little comfort, the rich mans charge, and the poor mans misery.

Farewell.

The Coney “cannot keepe in her borough”  – wonderful spelling

Time and all that

As I sup my cuppa, I’m reflecting on the fact that our cherished hosts down under are already gearing up for the arrival of 2013, while our westernmost colleague has barely finished with yesterday! While, not to be outdone in this race for the future, my internet account is already showing my debits for 2nd January. But hey! that’s another year, another krone!

Continue reading “Time and all that”

Supper’s in the freezer, Mrs Spider

I’ve been at work today, between two surgeries and various patient’s homes, and all day I have been in wonder of the winter whiteness of the world. A foggy frosty night had left the trees, hedges, grass – everything covered in crystals of ice. Twice (only twice… so I had to leave a lot of photo opportunities un-snapped. What restraint!) I stopped at a destination and took my camera out.

The first time was because of the hedges, swathed in cob-webs webby hedge2Frosted gossamer
makes webs look like razor wire –
useless to spiders Continue reading “Supper’s in the freezer, Mrs Spider”

The gospel according to Matt

As old Groucho remarked, “I don’t care to belong to a club that accepts people like me as members.” And my prejudice is now fully justified by the very idea that the word ‘marriage’ might be misused/re-interpreted/ hijacked to include seeking supernatural approval for conjoining ‘members’ of the same gender (Gerrit? Sorry, Vicar).

Matt Cartoon

‘Tis the Season.

Well it is here, it’s Thanksgiving and I thought it might round out the feast to have some local oysters, enough for a few raw and a few fritters and enough to make some oyster stuffing for the turkey tomorrow.    We are seating twelve.

So yesterday afternoon my neighbour and I set off down to the local dock, (about three miles) and waited for the oyster boats to come in. There was no shortage of choice, a couple of the boats were loaded with oysters to the point of foundering.  30 minutes later we had two bushels of fine bay oysters split between three large coolers and were back home in the small shed making sure they passed our rigid quality standard, two dozen or so later they were judged plenty adequate and have been iced down awaiting a major shuck in the morning.

Image

One of the few big advantages of living in the wilderness, guaranteed off-the-boat fresh oysters for $50 per bushel (about $0.30 each).

This year’s word

I’m not hogging the home page deliberately. It’s the absence of other porcine posters that causes my glut, but I have to mention that the Oxford American Dictionary has plumped for ‘gif’ as the word of the year. Which only goes to prove that I no longer live in the real world. ‘Gif’, my Backside! Something to do with techie life, I hear. I can relate to one of the runners-up, ‘Eurogeddon’ though, that end-of-the-world state caused by eurocratic megalomania.

Another invention from the Great American Election debates – ‘Romnesia’ – struck me as deserving of a place in posterity, to denote that endearing quality displayed by all successful politicians.

Do you have any contenders?

That naughty little sister

Princess Margaret

Backside’s a shameless name-dropper, so when he saw today’s headline about Princess Margaret (a lunch companion many incarnations ago) he insisted I should mention that the good lady was famous for putting it about a bit (and not just the smoke from her ever-present cigarette holder). So maybe we shouldn’t be surprised that a chap in Jersey claims to be her secret son. Continue reading “That naughty little sister”

Henry’s best work

Henry Moore is famous for his sculptures of deformed ladies; so famous in fact that a London council can sell one for a mint of money during these cash-strapped times. http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/entertainment-arts-20197610

But I prefer his sheep, having frequently studied them myself from my windows in the Derbyshire Dales. No, not his sculpted versions but his drawings which grace the pages of a book. I recommend it.