Whimsical Kitten

I was rummaging around in the chaos that is our cupboard under the stairs last night, when I happened upon a box of old video tapes. Further examination yielded some long forgotten films, among which was the cult classic ‘Withnail & I’. Clutching it to my chest and falling sideways out of the cupboard door, I proclaimed to Ben that we absolutely must watch it immediately. Ben, although deeply engrossed in the second part of ‘Waking the Dead’ raised his head and in a kindly manner highlighted the fatal flaw in this plan – the requirement of a video recorder. Having moved into the world of DVDs about three years ago our video recorder had been relegated to a long forgotten pile of ’stuff’ somewhere in the house. Unpeturbed and being a woman of  independence and self-reliance, I resolved to locate, install and watch the video on the TV in our bedroom…….

……. about an hour later having located said video recorder, and a range of scart and other leads which had been variously plugged and unplugged into every single connection between the TV and recorder, I wailed in defeat down to Ben that reinforcements were needed to complete this mission. Obligingly he came upstairs and infuriatingly he rectified the situation in about 3 minutes flat – don’t you just hate it when that happens?

Anyway, to those uninitiated in ‘the arena of the unwell’, here’s the synopsis; it is the tail-end of 1969, two out of work actors Withnail (Richard E Grant) and his friend Marwood (the lovely Paul McGann) are from very different social classes and are living in a squalid flat (very reminiscent of the student bedsit I first discovered my husband in back in 1995) in Camden Town, London. They are living on a diet of booze, pills and grass and not much else, and this continual hedonistic trip is in a downward spiral. They resolve to ’detox’ in the countryside at Withnail’s uncles cottage in the Lake District. Totally unprepared for country living their idyllic ’retreat’ rapidly turns into a hilarious comedy of errors, culminating in the arrival of Uncle Monty who (misled by Withnail on Marwoods sexuality) makes advances, scaring Marwood back off to London, dragging a permanently drunken Withnail behind. The ever widening gap in their outlook and aspirations reaches its natural conclusion when Marwood gets the offer of an exciting acting job and Withnail who has no intention of cleaning up his act, is left behind to drown his sorrows in a bottle of 53 Margeaux.

Apparently not a huge success on its release in 1986 (the year I started my nurse training and I have to confess I don’t recall it) it has become a cult classic and like the Monty Python films it is infinitely quotable. On a personal note, the images of that era in London are very recognisable, and are replicated in many memories of my childhood growing up in Kilburn in the 1970s. Here are some images of my favourite bits borrowed courtesy of www.withnail-and-i.com

 Withnail

“Right, heres the plan. First, we go in there and get wrecked, then we eat a pork pie, then we drop a couple of Surmontil-50’s each, means we’ll miss out Monday and come up smiling Tuesday morning.”  

Marwood

“A coward you are, Withnail. An expert on bulls you are not.”

Danny and the Camberwell Carrot

“I invented it in Camberwell and it looks like a carrot.”

My most favourite scene is in the tea shop in Penrith, after a long session in the pub they go into the tea shop drunk as skunks and demand wine and cake:

“We want the finest wines available to humanity, we want them here, and we want them now!”

You may also be interested to know that a 20th anniversary DVD was released last year http://www.withnaildvd.com/ 

Now after that longer than average posting, I must have some booze, I demand to have some booze………..

I discovered an absolute delight on BBC 2 last night, Meerkat Manor, a programme that follows the highs and lows of the Whiskers mob, a group of Meerkats living in the Kalahari Desert, and best of all it is narrated by Bill Nighy. I missed the first two episodes but there are a further nine to go, and I am on tenterhooks to find out the fate of Youssarian (former alpha male usurped by his older brother Zaphod) he has social problems and is currently out of favour, after trying to move the entire the mob to a new burrow with disastrous consequences.

For the full low down on the programme and the Whiskers mob go to http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Meerkat_Manor

The programme is scheduled on Sunday’s BBC 2 at about 7pm – but check the TV listings if you don’t want to miss it – it’s fabulous.

The RSPBs annual Big Garden Birdwatch www.rspb.org.uk/birdwatch/index.asp is now in its 28th year, and has more than 450,000 participants recording more than eight million birds. It was originally started as a project for the Young Ornithologists’ Club (YOC), and was opened up to adult participation in 2001. I heard about it on Radio 4 whilst driving home on Friday and thought that I would give it a go with the following results. According to the website instructions participants are asked to record the highest number of each bird species seen at any one time – not the total number seen in the whole hour.  A recording sheet is available to print off detailing the top 20 garden birds.

Our bird feeder is now sited around to the side of the house near some Cornus and Osmanthus, we originally had it sited right up close to our conservatory but there was little shrub cover and the birds were reluctant to spend time on it. On our current menu we are offering fat balls, niger seeds and peanuts.

At 11.30 I pulled an armchair up to the window, gathered some essential provisions (chocolate) and settled down to count the birds. It wasn’t long before Ben was hovering at my side in eager anticipation and taking some photos for me whilst I counted. In the past we have enjoyed a diverse range of species visiting the garden including greenfinches, long tailed tits, greater spotted and green woodpeckers, we’ve even seen a coal tit, a tree creeper and a goldcrest – but not today, it seems they knew I was watching! My species count for the hour included 6 blue tits, 6 great tits, 4 robins, 4 dunnocks, 2 blackbirds, 4 chaffinchs and 2 woodpigeons. It was quite tricky getting an accurate count on the blue tits and great tits because they are the most common visitors to our feeder and kept diving backwards and forwards in quick succession.

Our hens free range around the garden (which is an excellent way to keep the garden pests down, but not a great idea if you have green crops available which they will help themselves to!) our hens have discovered that if they hang around the bottom of the bird feeder for a bit they get all the dropped food. Here is a photo of one of the Scissor Sisters doing just that.

They are not the only scavengers in our garden, the rats are quite cheeky too, and we watched one during our count, waltz up and blatantly steal the layers pellets put out for the hens right under our noses!

I would totally recommend participation in the Big Garden Birdwatch, you still have tomorrow as the survey runs over the weekend (27 – 28 January) all you need is a garden (or you can do the survey in your local park) and an hour to spare – enjoy!

This poem is dedicated to my Father, another John, with love.

I am: yet what I am none cares or knows,
My friends forsake me like a memory lost;
I am the self-consumer of my woes,
They rise and vanish in oblivious host,
Like shades in love and death’s oblivion lost;
And yet I am, and live – like vapors tossed

Into the nothingness of scorn and noise,
Into the living sea of waking dreams,
Where there is neither sense of life nor joys,
But the vast shipwreck of my life’s esteems;
Even the dearest, that I loved the best,
Are strange – nay, rather stranger than the rest.

I long for scenes where man has never trod;
A place where woman never smiled or wept;
There to abide with my creator, God,
And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept:
Untroubling, and untroubled where I lie,
The grass below – above the vaulted sky.

…….Should be “If you are looking for wit and intellect, then you are in the wrong place”. I have done a bit of blog surfing recently and have been quite humbled by the erudite blogs replete with thesis on all manner of high brow topics, and hit counters that flash to the world how engaging and interesting the content is. The resulting introspection has made me question the point of my infrequent and random posts that give only a fragmented view of my persona. But my conclusion is this, at the end of the day it really doesn’t matter, blogging is such a personal thing, we all find a range and level at which we are comfortable to share our beliefs and outlook with both the virtual and real world, and that is the beauty of it. So for the benefit of my dedicated and possibly only regular reader (thank you Mum you are a star) I have decided to introduce a bit of culture and share some of my favourite poems, in a feature I will call ‘Poem of the Week’.

One of my most favourite poets is John Clare, I have used the summary of his life that can be found on the John Clare Society web-page at http://www.johnclare.org.uk/ by way of introduction

“Born in 1793 he was the son of humble and almost illiterate parents. He grew up in the Northamptonshire village of Helpston and made the surrounding countryside his world. His formal education, such as it was, ended when he was eleven years old, but this child of the ‘unwearying eye’ had a thirst for knowledge and became a model example of the self-taught man. As a poet of rural England he has few rivals. From the moment his first publication – Poems Descriptive of Rural Life and Scenery - appeared, it was clear that England had a new and very original poet. Sadly, the publics enthusiasm did not last long and each new volume met with diminishing applause. Ill and in debt, he left Helpston for Northborough from where he was eventually removed to Northampton General Lunatic Asylum, where he died in 1864.”

The central character in Thomas Hardy’s Jude the Obscure also has a thirst for knowledge and the story highlights how Jude’s academic aspirations are dashed by his background and station in life, although the other themes of sex and the apparent attack on the institution of marriage caused a real stir when the novel was first published. I am an equally dedicated fan of Thomas Hardy, I think it is the melodrama and tragedy in his stories and poetry that attracts me, I am really drawn in by the recurring themes of disappointment in love and life, and the desperate struggles faced by many of his characters. Anyway I digress, back to John Clare, I will start with a melancholy offering and one of his better known poems ’I Am’.

Here is the second square for my throw, sadly you can’t see the detail too well in this picture, but it is a really simple repeating pattern of four rows.

Today I found this throw languishing at the back of the airing cupboard, it is a project I completed 5 years ago.

Partial facial paralysis however transient is an unpleasant and disconcerting experience. I know this because today I have had two fillings at the dentist. I am not sure what I was expecting when I made the appointment back in December for this treatment, but it wasn’t the level of intervention I experienced this morning. So I am sat here numb and drooling, contemplating how I could have so neglected my dental health.

It started badly I was late for the appointment, and although nothing was said, and I apologised profusely, the disapproval was tangible. Worse still I am a manager in a Primary Care Trust, and given the dental professions reaction to the new dental contract implemented last year, I am an embodiment of the enemy (gulp). Next, the dentist sizing me up must have come to the conclusion I was a prize wimp and proceeded to administer numerous injections of local anaesthetic (which is a good thing really, as I am a prize wimp).

Then it began, I went into self preservation mode and tried to remain calm, but clearly recall the rising panic, pounding heart, gagging, and wincing everytime the drill came near the nerve ending. There were some fairly noxious smelling substances wafted under my nostrils, but the culmination was the dentist achieving the amazing feat of cramming what felt like practically every piece of dental equipment available in the treatment room into my mouth simultaneously. Finally, some cold water spray and suction, up went the chair and it was all over bar the drooling and mumbling. I meekly asked if I could have a gargle, “no” came the response, down went the chair and more cold water and suction. I couldn’t get out of the place quick enough, I managed what I hoped was a convincing thank you, a lop-sided smile and scarpered.

I was planning on taking a photo to upload with this posting but that would be just too hilarious for such a sobering experience and besides I am working on burying the memory in the darkest recesses of my mind. My advice to you all, in the famous words of Tank Girl to Booga is “Brush your teeth”!

Here are a couple of pictures of my Hellebores which are just coming into bloom.  

The Queens Head in Burnham upon Crouch is under new management. Jim and Lyn are the new Landlord and Lady.

Yesterday we spent a happy evening supping real ale and cider and listening to folk music in their pub. Our very own Kate with a little encouragement got up and sang ‘Ye Mariners’ an old folk song about a salty sea dog who laments that when he dies he wants to be reincarnated as a fish and put into a bowl of alcohol (or something along those lines) – go Kate! Here is a picture of our little songbird in action.

And here are some of the rest of us.