Seb Palmer

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!

I’ve said before, here on this blog, that a day with a visit to an old church is always a good day. And a visit to two? Even better. Well, today was a many church day. And not just churches; a ruined Abbey gatehouse and a Cathedral, as well.

St. Giles, Holme

The churchical aspect of the day started with St Giles, in Holme. Locked, alas. But rewarding nonetheless – even if only on external perusal – in the glorious sunshine.

St. Andrews, Steeple Gidding

Then, a short while later, I enjoyed a quick look inside St Andrews, Steeple Gidding. A redundant Anglican Church, with lots of groovy gargoyles externally, that I’ve snapped before.

Locked, again! But a helpful local procured the key for me. So I was able to look around inside as well.

Initially I was a trifle disappointed with the insides. For one thing, to all intents and purposes, there’s no stained glass. Evidence of the crumbling fabric of old churches was also on display.

But if you linger and really look, most older churches will eventually start to yield interest. And so it proved here.

From the unusual and quite vivid green tiles in the floor, to the seven paintings in the arches behind the altar, and the beautiful wooden roofing, there’s stuff to arrest the eye.

So, thanks to JP, the helpful local, for allowing me access.

Ramsey Abbey Gatehouse

It’s rather sad to see the rather paltry and very dilapidated remains of England’s oldest Benedictine monastery. Owned and maintained by the National Trust, of which we are members, it’s currently shut.

St Thomas à Becket

From here I wandered over to the Parish church of St Thomas à Becket, via the graveyard.

I circumambulated the church, which peregrination was rewarded with some great prospects.

I bought some very cheap frames at TOFS, in order to get some more art on the walls, without breaking the bank. I’m framing some postcards I bought at the current Fitzwilliam Bill Blake show.

I picked the above images. I might change one or two choices? Or just frame a few more?

So, I’ve left out (?), and instead opted for Europe, A Prophecy. I just feel it’s visually stronger.

The above, after Fuseli, is the best choice in this set. There are numerous other images in the show I’d have picked in preference to most of the others, such this:

I’m excited to hear that my order of The Complete Illuminated Manuscripts – to fund the acquisition of which I put in an extra shift this week – is due to arrive tomorrow morning.

I also framed a Japanese print, as a gift for our pal, Dan, who’s helped us a lot in the last year or two.

I hope he (and Amy, etc) likes it!?

FOOTNOTE:

The cheap frames from TOFS have a design flaw. The little metal stud type things that secure the picture hanging doodad on the back, pole through too much. So much so they interfere with the framed image.

I tried to mitigate this by building up some masking tape. But that was a very lame and unsuccessful attempt at addressing the issue. So instead I cut out some card, to thicken up the backing board (too thin as supplied!).

I then punched a hole where the protruding nubbin is, so it can protrude into said hole, without affecting the framed image. Job done.

Another locked church, alas. Poss’ worth a revisit, to see inside? The village of Pertenhall is, in parts, incredibly picturesque.

Didn’t have time to tarry, sadly. So only got a few shouts, outside, of the porch, and nearby.