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St John’s in Parson’s Drive had a little notice up in the porch, recommending to the interested visitor the Guyhirn Chapel of Ease, as a ‘typical Protestant’ place of worship, of its kind.

I was arrested by this grace stone sculpture, as I entered the chapel grounds. Somebody, whose name I didn’t bother to check, is very much at their ease, six feet under.

The chapel is set in a very easeful spot, ‘twixt the high bank of (?), playing fields and scattered housing.

After this, I had a yen to quest after some second hand Robert Louis Stevenson books. I thought the little used bookshop at Peckover House might be just the place. It wasn’t, book wise. But it was in other respects.

In the end I came away with these, instead:

If we can find a cassette player, these will be fun to listen to!

I was listening to this album in the car whilst on my delivery rounds recently. And then the John McLaughlin Archives, on FB, posted about John’s collaborating with Buddy.

I piped up with a comment about this Live, ‘72 album, and the cover of John’s ‘Marbles’, and boom, they (JM Archives) came back with a post of a gallery of images, from which these are taken.

Most of the photos are black and white. And many are not too great quality wise. It’s also a pity – no offence to the maestro! – that there’s so many of Carlos and so few of the other players. But overall it’s still a wonderful cache of images.

Gallery:

This is my kind of match. I’m typing this as they play set 19, at 9-9. They’ve been trading blows, frame for frame. Both playing brilliantly. Great to watch.

A bit later… and all of a sudden, Kieran has got two frames ahead. The first time in the match either player has done so.

Well… Kieran went on a proper run. And poor ol’ Dave had no run of the ball at all. In fact, astonishingly, Gilbert’s pot success percentage remained higher than Kieran’s!

As the commentators, John Parrot and Shaun Murphy, noted, Dave showed immense strength of character, after a very small dip in his overall form, some pretty ugly bad luck – oh, and Kieran playing rather well – stopped the even trading of frames.

But 14-10 is a heck of a lot better than 15-9. Personally I hope Dave takes it to a decider. Indeed, I’d like him to win. But as long as it goes all the way… may the best man, etc.

I took the above photograph yesterday, whilst on my delivery rounds. I thought, ‘Wow, how beautiful!’ When I saw the animals (horses, that is) and flowers.

I initially drove right past. But I thought, ‘No, Seb, take time and enjoy the beauty that’s all around you.’ So I parked up, and took the two following pics:

The reason I specify horses, re animals, above, is that if you look carefully at the top pic, you’ll see two humanoids, at far right. I’m assuming now, after a ‘chat’ with the younger of the two, that they might be father and son?

This uncouth hayseed advised me in no uncertain terms to go forth and multiply, and suchlike amicable exhortations. I attempted calm reasoning, to no avail. What a prize cunt!

* Only without the complete arsehole visible in it.

LATER THE SAME DAY…

Once abed, I found that my agitated mind kept returning to this unpleasant encounter, preventing rest, let alone sleep. I abandoned the snooker (Bingham vs Jak Jones), and even resorting to YT rain vids didn’t do the trick.

So eventually I gave up trying to sleep, picked this handsome Folio edition off the bookshelves, and set off down the rabbit hole, with Alice.

Not only is Lewis Carroll’s writing utterly brilliant. The complimentary genius level artwork by John Tenniel redoubles the magic.

I read about half the book. Managed a few hours sleep. Then had to get up to pee.

Another dose – I almost finished it – brought on a second and fuller nights repose. Thankyou, Carroll and Tenniel!

Well, well, well! Three Holes*… etc. (as my Pa was/is fond of saying).

* Also a local place name!

I had an unpleasant experience with a member of the Hillbilly class of these Flatland Fens, earlier today. Left me literally brooding on murderous thoughts. Not nice!

Anyway, shortly thereafter, I passed St John’s, Parson’s Drove. I had one last delivery to make. So I made it, thereby finishing my shift, and came back to the church.

This little photo essay is the result.

It also occurred to me, even as I passed the church, that if I stopped there for a spell, and took my usual brace o’ snaps, wondered around outside, and maybe even looked inside, if poss’, it might mellow my troubled angry soul.

First off, it’s a glorious sunny day. Which made photographing the forget-me-not strewn (so apt!) graveyard pure bliss.

The church, like so many nowadays, is locked. But a short walk across the road, and a lady living at The Old Rectory (itself utterly delightful) has the key. And what a key!

Inside the church it’s quite austere, and fairly bare of Popish ornament. But, like so many Parish churches, it still manages to be both magnificent and yet calming. Grand and yet homely.

Has God vacated the premises. Or is it instead we who are now absent? My love of old churches grows, the more I visit. But how can they be maintained without the religion that created them?

I kind of get ahead of myself, in the gallery above. But rather than break up what I’ve already done, here is another chunk.

And then, around the back…

In a strange and rather selfish way, this may be the perfect time for someone of my bent to enjoy churches. If they were thronged with the faithful, it’s ruin it all, for me. And even if they’re used fir secular ends, once even another person intrudes in the kind of solitary reverie I’m enjoying right now, the spell is broken.

Started watching the first disc, and it’s good dumb fun. Episode one, No Sax, Please, We’re Egyptian, starts out suitably sillily. I’m hoping watching this set will help with my mood.

Vampire Vacation follows, and the quazy quackiness continues. His sidekicks Igor and Nanny tag along for the ride…

Then I fell asleep for a spell! When I woke up Duckula and co. are in London, doing a Sherlock Holmes type schtick. What fun!

Most of the pics I’ve chosen for this post are from a later session of indulging in this rather odd diversion. it’s nowt spectacular (or should that be Ducktacula?). But it is silly and relaxing fun.

I’ve been watching this match from about the time they reached 6-6. And it’s been excellent. I’ve watched a fair bit of the tournament, and not enjoyed much of it as much as I usually do.

I saw Welsh young gun Jak Jones confound people’s expectations by beating a confused and out of form Judd Trump earlier today. That was an interesting match.

But this has been much better. With Stuart ‘Beefy’ Bingham, a player I’m not always too keen on, playing incredibly well. The two players trading punches, from 6-6 to 10-10, like a pair of prize fighters.

Then, during frame eleven, there was a characteristic bit of Ronnie-ness, as O’Sullivan stopped the game, whilst some people re-entered the auditorium. This grew into an awkward and protracted episode, before play was eventually resumed.

As I type this, Stuart Bingham has just beaten Ronnie O’Sullivan, 13-10. What a great match that was! And we have ‘Door-gate’ as well, to remember it by!

So, no Trump vs O’Sullivan semi-final. A match many thought might be on the cards.

I learned of this via Michael Portillo on Great Coastal Railway Journeys. We must go.

And, to my great annoyance, I’ve just realised that we missed a Topping Books talk, Monday evening, on the Roman Army: Legion, by Richard Adby.

Called Gariannonum, it’s thought to have possibly been a cavalry fort. And it’s one of the best preserved Roman remains in the UK. Another destination for our future travels.

After finishing my first shift of the day, yesterday, I went back to Sawtry, where I’d been delivering earlier. I’d planned to stop in a tea room. But it was shut.

But prior to discovering this, I found a shop, near where I eventually managed to park. And in said charity shop I bought Robert Louis Stevenson’s Travels With A Donkey, for thirty pence!

In the end I didn’t start reading this new and fab little book til much later in the day. Indeed, after completing a second shift. This second shift I’d felt obliged to book/do, to fund the recent acquisition of William Blake, The Complete Illuminated Books.

Bob died very suddenly aged just 44, from a heart-attack, on the Samoan Isles, where he’s buried. Leaving behind a fantastic literary legacy, including such legendary titles as Treasure Island, Kidnapped, and Dr Jekyll & My Hyde, amongst many others.

The above passage, like a lot of Stevenson’s writing, is stuffed to bursting with insight, and quotable words: ‘exulting in my solitude’! The bit about ‘one of those truths…’ is fab, with the mystic’s appeal to instinctual knowledge or insight over the dusty pronouncements of the learnèd.

And then the pure gold of the passage ‘there is a fellowship more quiet even than solitude… rightly understood, is solitude made perfect…’ Bob, I love ya’!

Travels With A Donkey was written as the author made his titular trip through The Cevennes, in France. He was ministering to his heartache, his lady of that time having left him to return to the U.S.

Every day he’s studiously write up what he’d experienced in the last 24 hours, whether he was at an inn, or in ‘God’s Hotel’, under the stars. And what he writes is wonderfully enchanting.

He starts out by buying Modestine, the she-ass of the book’s title. His relationship with her is fascinating. Evolving from embarrassed naivety to experienced disdain pretty rapidly. But all the while retaining a compassionate humanity towards his beast of burden.

As well as narrating what the landscapes, weather and people are like, as he travels, he also: indulges in philosophical speculation; tales a lot about religion/God, etc; and even gives us some local history, most notably regarding the revolt of The Camisards, 180 years prior to his travels.

He stays in a Catholic retreat at one point. And several simple country inns. But he seems happiest on those nights when sleeping outdoors, in a kind of proto-bobby-bag, manufactured at the start of the trip to his own specifications.

He comes over as a very affable if slightly patronisingly sort. To his great credit, he is publicly humble, whilst reserving his ‘loftier’ judgements for the ‘privacy’ of his journaling. Which then, ironically, perhaps, he publishes!

As the little photo extracts that pepper this post show, he is eminently quotable. And eloquently and succinctly expresses things in a straightforward way. A way that has traversed the passage of intervening time very well.

When, at journeys end, he parts with Modestine, it’s quite moving, in an unexpected and humble way. Indeed, it moved me to compose a poem on the subject. I’ll most likely share that elsewhere, at another time. But one word on it here; unlike most of my poems, which are entirely (so far as I know) my own words, Farewell, Modestine uses a lot of RLS, for brickwork, with me adding only the necessary cement.

As with much of the best writing, reading his promotes a desire to read more by the author. Having read Treasure Island and Kidnapped as a child, methinks my next RLS port of call ought to be Dr Jeckyll & Mr Hyde.

As I drive around delivering, the green lanes, alive with Spring life, and bathed in glorious sunlight, bring on a strange exultation.

Pig Market End. A dead end. I do love Fenny street names!