Seb Palmer

There’s been an old broken door and various bits of wood, lying around looking ‘orribly messy in this spot, over the autumn and winter.

I chopped it all up for the woodpile today. The woodpile has gone from almost totally empty to nearly full. Result! This also frees up space to work on finishing the pond.

We think the Robin in the above picture may be nesting nearby. He keeps popping back to this spot. Hunting and catching insects, admiring my tidying, and keeping a beady eye or two on us. Bless him!

LUNCH BREAK

After a quick dump, or rather, trip to the dump, to get rid of some junky bits of ‘wood’, I came home to lunch in the garden with Teresa. A boiger!

Next job, fix some sagging fencing. This ought to be our neighbours’ responsibility. It’s their fence. There are some other parts of the fence that are as bad, or worse. They’ll need attending to in dew coarse.

Look very carefully at the above pic’. Maybe zoom in on it… whaddya see? It’s our little red-chested avian friend. Perched on the post.

He actually landed on the post right after I’d finished putting in the last screw. Like a wee red-breasted foreman, making sure I’d done the job to his satisfaction! I didn’t think I’d caught that moment. But in fact I did!

We reckon he’s nesting t’other side o’ the fence. We can hear the shrill clamour of his bairns. Bless ‘em!

One section of trellis that’s got honeysuckle growing on it (thanks, mum!) was starting to fall to bits. So I secured it better to the fence beneath (above). And, along the end that was coming apart, I screwed all the members together (below).

I secured this trellis panel using recycled fixtures that came off the knackered old fence-post, repurposed above as a prop, where the neighbours fence was caving in.

Spring is still a little chilly. But the sunshine and new growth makes it all glorious.

Just finished this. Parts of it are wonderful five star fare. But I have to note that it has a few characteristics that irk me slightly. We’ll get to that later.

The first thing to say is that I’m definitely a ‘church crawler’. A term coined – acc. to author Peter Ross in this book – by poet and church lover, John Betjeman. It’s almost an addiction with me.

But, to the book. Some chapters, such as those on the Great Fire and The Blitz, and the one about Cats, were – for me at least – pure unadulterated pleasure. Others – a rather large one titled ‘Wen’, perhaps most notably – bounce around rather more variably.

If you love churches, and especially a certain kind of church – not so much the Friends’ Meeting Houses of the Quakers, or Baptist Chapels, rather the High Anglican, and Catholic, etc. – then this is almost a no-brainer. Get a copy, read it, enjoy it!

But it’s possibly in the books attempts to cast it’s net so wide, in the human aspects, rather than the bricks, wood and glass, and the earnest and constant display of erudition, that it feels almost like it is trying too hard.

It doesn’t feel quite as relaxed as the prose style appears to signal. And it appears to partake of that contemporary non-fiction need to tick as many boxes as possible. I think I like the old fashioned unashamed this is me/my style way.

Even the way chapters or sub-sections start with what feels very like a fiction writer’s style of momentary immersion (examples) smacks of a trend in modern writing.

But I feel rather Grouch like, saying all of this! Overall I thoroughly enjoyed this book.

Coming at it, as I do, from a secular point of view (I was bought up ‘in faith’, but – possibly as with Ross? – moved on from it pretty swiftly), I’m somewhat relieved to hear how often the author encounters fellow secular church worshippers.

But I’m ambivalent about his softly, softly stance on the possible dissonance between secular aesthetes and connoisseurs, and more conventionally conformist believers. And I’m unsure as to the need to take in all comers; it’s that ticking all the boxes/covering all the bases thing again.

My biggest surprise and complaint, however, is that the churches themselves often seem to play second fiddle to the ‘talking heads’. For one thing, I think this book would definitely benefit from more and better pictures. So much of what one falls in love with in and around old churches is visual and sensory.

Ross does make a point of saying that, for him, a large part of the interest churches have is the human history they speak of. Maybe there I diverge from him a little? But, interestingly, he frequently alludes to the best experiences being when alone in churches; I totally agree. But that kind of runs counter to his human interest thread.

Also, whilst I agree that churches are indeed a reflection of huge wellsprings of human life and endeavour, they are almost like plainsong: a blending of many voices into anonymous wholes.

My own brand of secular aesthetic love of churches kind of turns away from folk, at least as it manifests in me personally. I’m minded of the Samuel Beckett line ‘beyond the fatuous clamour, the silence…’

The next words in that quote – ‘of which the universe is made’ – then take me back to the title of another book, about a sacred building, Universe of Stone (a work about Chartres Cathedral, that I own but haven’t read just yet!).

So, undoubtedly there are all these connections, which Ross elucidates and celebrates. But some of these resonate more, some less, with me. And I’m drawn more to the silent creations of art and architecture, than the Babel of particular human stories.

So, as already noted, I’d definitely recommend this book to lovers of old churches. But as you can see, I have caveats and reservations.

Another of these, one that strikes me quite forcibly as I try to wind up this review, is something that also affects my ability to enjoy Stately Homes.

These imposing edifices, just like castles and palaces (and all three of these types of buildings share certain features) are also part of a history of colonisation and oppression; dominance and control; exploitation and subjugation.

And the final and additional chapter of this paperback edition, which concerns royalty and churches, with Westminster Abbey as a nexus around the death of Liz and coronation of Chuck, troubles me on this subject, with the complete omission of any reference to that side of the history of churches.

I think one of the reasons I can and do enjoy churches the way that I do is predicated on their fall from dominance. That creates a safe neutral space for my secular enjoyment of these powerful buildings.

There’s a whole and much bigger ‘universe of stone’, which most of us are forced to live in, that is pretty grotesquely ugly, in it’s banality, to which most of us are subjected for almost all of our lives. The squalid brutal ugliness of much utilitarian architecture in contemporary society. The sort of stuff that prompts Grayson Perry to say (mistakenly, in my view) that ‘Democracy has bad taste’.

Like Stately Homes and Royal Palaces, churches have played a big part in a history of control and dominance. ‘God and my right’, we see in them, over and over. That’s an aspect of churchology not really addressed here. And this book is a bit poorer for that lacunae, to my mind.

It’s strange for me, this review. I loved this book. Ok, I have a few criticisms. But what’s doing my head in a bit is that my review seems dominated by the latter, rather than the former. But there you go!

On the one hand it feels barbaric and sacrilegious, cutting up nice art books. But, on the other, that’s why I bought this particular title. To turn as many of the pics as poss’ into framed prints. Some for our home, the remainder to sell.

Here are a selection of images from this book, pre-op’, so to speak.

Apparently ukiyo-e translates as ‘pictures of the floating world’, which in itself is quite beautiful. The period of their popularity is, I’ve read, 17th-19th C. And, as per the book title, these examples are ‘early’.

I wonder if the colours have faded and become more muted? I kind of suspect they might once have been more vivid, when originally printed. But I rather like the effect time has wrought.

Most of the examples in this book are single figures. Tall and thin. With practically no background or contextual detail. But there’s a segment given over to ‘scenes’, which are landscape and not portrait in orientation, include multitudinous figures, and contextual detail or settings.

This one – above – is a bit odd. And rather saucily suggestive. The lady below looks across from the opposite page, rather disapprovingly.

All told, I think this book is a great way for us to procure numerous Japanese prints. Some for the beautification of our home. The remainder I hope to sell.

The print that leaped out at me was the one above and on the right. Which also appears, cut from the book, atop this post. I got a cheap frame from TOFS, for £5, and… thar she blows:

I need to get a frame mount cutter. Then I can tailor-make picture mount frames, which’ll make such pieces look a lot better. The tool I need is something like this:

For the time being, I’m using the pre-cut supplied mounting card.

And, finally, the print is up in the wall of our bedroom.

It’s amazing, the quantity of human activity that’s out there, waiting to be discovered. Tino Contreras, a prolific Mexican jazz dude, is new to me. A multi-instrumentalist, whose main instrument is drums, with a passion for jazz. Sounds totally up my boulevard!

I hope that some of the tracks from the above album are on the Jazzman compilation. I just ordered the latter via Discogs, for £3.99.

Rather amazingly, this dude, born in 1924, only passed quite recently, in 2021, aged 97! And he put out an album (on Gilles Peterson’s Brownswood label) – above – the year before he passed. Aged 96… Pretty bonkers!

Why ‘FC’ on the kick drum display head, you might ask? Well, his full name was Fortino Contreras Gonzalez. From which he obviously derived the more contracted version. And in this early photograph, it seems he was going by his full name, albeit abbreviated to just the first two initials, a la Gene Krupa/Buddy Rich, etc.

There’s a terrific interview from 2018 with Tino here.

The above photo was allegedly taken in Turkey!

I’ve had another episode of extreme fatigue. Had one yesterday evening. Really, really horrible. I just pushed on through that one. This time it was so appalling I had to stop. I called both 111, and my local Doctors’ Surgery. Got an appointment at the latter, for later today.

So, I’m taking a brief breather. I don’t think I can safely drive until I feel a bit better! Maybe 20 minutes rest? A bite to eat, and a drink of water, etc. Hopefully I’ll feel better, and be able to finish my current delivery shift?

I pulled over in Apethorpe, by St. Leonards. It was raining when I parked. It’s stopped now. It’s very peaceful here. There are several incredibly beautiful villages in this area. I passed through the very picturesque King’s Cliffe on my way here.

Now, to St. Leonard’s…

The local vicar unlocked the church for me, and chatted to me about it a bit. A lovely lady! Under the tower, I took the snaps, above and below. Different focal points/exposures, for different aspects of the same view.

The corbels are great. But so high up my iPhone struggles to capture them. I simply must get a better camera for this sort of malarkey!

It’s odd, but I’ve noticed that most – or at least a lot of – old churches have one or two large ancient chests. The carving on this particular example puts it a cut (boom-boom) above the average.

There’s a rather odd selection, window wise.

The main window is totally blown out of the water by this:

This is the window in the chapel dedicated to the FitzHerberts, of nearby Apethorpe Palace. And just as their home is far more splendorous than God’s house – and St. Leonards is still pretty splendid – so too is their part of the church.

As amazing as this enormous edifice is, let’s turn back now to the window behind it. That’s really something special, in my opinion.

Along the bottom of the window are a series of texts. Which make pretty strange reading. Or at least they do to me. Here they all are:

Bonkers, eh!?

On, to Cotterstock:

After the restorative sojourn at St. Leonards, I finished my shift. And after that I wandered around Ashton, where my shift had ended, taking the following snaps:

This post is headed up by the ‘after’ pic. Below is a before one.

Simon, the guy who recently serviced our boiler, came over today. And fitted our has hob. It’s great to have all four rings working. On the old hob, the littlest one ceased functioning aeons ago.

It took Simon a lot longer than anticipated to do this job. And it precipitated much cussing! Apparently almost all hobs differ slightly, making each one a new and different pain in the arse.

The electric oven’s still not been used, on account of my wanting to be 100% sure there’s nowt left in there, transport or packaging wise. We don’t want melted foam or plastic stinking out the house, and ruining our brand new oven.

Our dear little hairy pal, Chester, was keen to play today. In fact he usually gets that way at some point every day.

Clearing up around the house, I found an air quality monitor. So I’ve put it up, on’t wall. I took the opportunity to also wall-mount the thermostat controller.

On my way home from my second and final delivery shift of the day, I stopped to admire St Mary The Virgin. I’ve often passed her. And she always turns my head. But this is the first time I stopped to investigate.

Sadly she was shut.

Passing through Melbourn en-route home, I saw this picturesque cottage being re-thatched. Took a quick snap. The Old Ways live on.

Back to St. Mary… I knocked at the door of the large house (former vicarage?) next to the church. But answer came there none.

The gorgeous hedgerow arch above looks amazing. It’s even more magical to take shelter under it in a downpour. As I was doing when I took these pics.

When I got home, utterly spent, it was feet up on’t couch time. But I spotted that the sky was unusually pink. So we popped out to have a look.

Kind of accentuates the cherry blossom.

These photos are nice. But they fall a long way short of capturing the actual colours, or the powerful impact of the light as we saw and experienced it. Magical!

I finally got around to moving the filing cabinet out of the corner, in my drum room, where I could’nae get at it. And I put a new lampshade on an old lamp, making it look fresh n’ new. The colour once again coordinates well with the feature wall.

There’s still vast amounts of stuff floating around without a proper home. But I’m chipping away at it all the time. Now… time for some serious bedtime reading:

Today I fitted the new light fixture and lampshade, in the drum room. The colour rather neatly, and completely by lucky chance – or serendipulosity – is colour coordinated with the new feature

I bought the lampshade yesterday (or was it Monday?). And trimmed the short length of ‘hang’ cable to make it even shorter. The ceiling is low in the drum room!

That was yesterday. Today I’m putting the damn thing up. Hope it won’t prove too tricky?

Sone time later…

Antonio popped out to have a run. So I thought I’d try and do this job whilst it was just me at home. But it took ages in the end. As I was busy doing other small chores as well: washing the breakfast dishes, hoovering the lunge, and taking the old fridge to the municipal dump. There’s always so much to do!

Having, naturally, to switch off the lighting circuitry fuses, I had to work by lamplight. And the awkward overhead angle, accessing the ceiling fixture = sore neck!

When it was just a naked bulb, the light was just above my head. Having to have a little bit of cable length, to allow for the desired flexiness, means the lampshade is now below noggin level. Hey-ho… compromises!

The observant viewer may note the weird black gooseneck doodad, to the left. That’s for an ‘over the kit’ phone-camera set up, as and whenI’m either recording drumming vids, or teaching via Zoom or Teams, etc.

I’m still chuffed with this small but noticeable improvement. Each little chip away at the ol’ block gets one that little bit closer.