Botanic 5

A poster from the time that Ventnor was invented, also on display at the botanic gardens. We were amused to see that in those days 'capitalist' was not the dirty word it has become since.

Botanic 4

A snap of a snap behind glass. But it does give some idea of what used to be on the site before the gardens. Just a few bits and bobs left now. A reminder of the grim days before we had antibiotics - and of what the world might be like if the super bugs win.

Botanic 3

A test planting of mimilus, aka the monkey flower. Note the black plastic, which the more careful people at Wisley would never have left on view.

Botanic 2

The web site suggests that a privileged few are allowed to go swimming with them at night.

Botanic 1

Last week saw the annual visit to Ventor Botanic Gardens. See references 1 and 2 for the previous two visits. What first struck me on this occasion was its relaxed feel. The gardens were very good, but they did not have the slightly forced & precious feel of Wisley. You didn't have Chelsea Flower Show or television garden pundits breathing down your neck.

The echium pininana was doing as well as ever, with both masses and outliers of the stuff. Some had even made it to neigbouring private gardens. Some visible in the snap left. They are also rather proud of their puyas, which I think included puya chilensis and puya spathacea, with the former being another plant with a very tall flower spike.

The hydrangea collection was in fine condition, surprising us, not for the first time, by being in the shade. I still think of them as being large flashy shrubs grown in full sunlight in seaside gardens.

The giant aloes which I like were still going strong, but they were in danger of being shaded out by palm trees. Shaded out despite the example set by the hydrangeas.

The hop garden did not look so clever. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to erect poles and lines but the hops themselves were not going that strongly. Now while I might have shifted the beer in the olden days and I did grow the odd hop myself in the allotment days, I cannot claim any special knowledge on that account: notwithstanding & nevertheless, I would have thought that there would have been more action by the middle of July. Looking back at reference 2, I clearly thought so back in 2013.

And while the gardens were not precious, the café was, being very full of its own organosity. However, while my lunch time sandwich was very prettily presented, the substantial slice of island reared ham in it was not that clever. Perhaps they are better with obscure brands of salad leaves than they are with flesh.

But that is to carp. The place as a whole is splendid and I am sure that if we lived on the island we would take out a season ticket, just as we do here in Epsom for Hampton Court.

Reference 1: http://psmv2.blogspot.co.uk/2014/07/ventnor-revisited.html.

Reference 2: http://psmv2.blogspot.co.uk/2013/07/ventnor-botanic-gardens.html.

Reference 3: http://www.botanic.co.uk/.

Not an exotic

I came across a strange seedling at the bottom of the garden the other week. Ash like buds, but leaves not ash like at all. Browsed the various tree books and tree sites I could think of, to no avail. One key came up with a spindle tree which was clearly not right at all.

I then thought to try the RHS members' advisory service, and after a decent interval their tree man came up with the following: 'probably Fraxinus excelsior f. diversifolia, an unusual form of our native ash, sometimes called one-leaved ash. It is a vigorous tree, similar to the typical form but with just a single large leaflet, which is coarsely toothed or sometimes even 3-parted'. So not an exotic at all.

Armed with the name, I find that the internet knows all about it after all, and the pictures that google comes up with do confirm the identification. Shakespeare was on quite the wrong track when he was banging on about names and roses in 'Romeo and Juliet'.

Plant itself in shade and not terribly vigorous. Also rather more spiders than I would have thought healthy. But we will see how it gets on.

Windows 10

Has now arrived on PC No. 1, taking around an hour to install. Now five minutes into use and there are no issues or problems so far. Seems fine - and no doubt the point of it all will become manifest as the day progresses.

Derelict housing

From time to time I comment on the various bits of derelict building in Epsom, for example at reference 1, although, as it happens, a rehabilitation of that particular building, probably once staff housing for one of the mental hospitals, is now nearly complete.

We found that they have similar issues on the Isle of Wight where the large holiday camp behind Appley Walk, right on the handsome sea front esplanade at Ryde, has been derelict for some years now. The chalets illustrated, at gmaps 50.726173, -1.133746, are very similar to those at reference 1, and in a similar state now to that that those were in last October, before they got started on them.

One can only suppose that the council have the same sort of trouble coming to an agreement with developers about what to do with this prime but presently unsightly site as we do here in Surrey. And as it happens, the island council is dominated by independents, called there 'Island Independents', just as we are here in Epsom, although we call ours 'Residents Association'. The balance is nearly all conservative, which is odd considering the number of people who were clearly on minimum wages that we saw about the place. The sort of people who smoke on the street and maybe even have children as part of a bid to get onto a housing list. Perhaps their independents are really Labour, while ours are really Conservative.

Reference 1: http://psmv2.blogspot.co.uk/2014/10/housing-crisis.html.

The other villa 4

The curious tower on the new church at Newchurch.

A decent, dignified village church, which no doubt once played a useful, strengthening role in the community, a role for which we have yet to find a new vehicle.

There was also a version of the Lord's Prayer on an ornamental board for those of weaker memory. Very close in wording to that at reference 1, the main change being the substitution of trespasses for debts.

Reference 1: http://psmv2.blogspot.co.uk/2015/07/sermon-on-mount.html.

The other villa 3

The bricks mentioned in the previous post. We managed both to assemble the arch and to remove the centre-pull without mishap.

The other villa 2

They have found a dozen or so Roman Villas on the Isle of Wight over the years. One of them fell into the sea, most of them were covered up, the one at Brading (see reference 1) got most of the lottery money (see reference 2) and then there was this one at Newport, sitting pretty in the middle of a suburban housing estate, a little to the south of downtown. It seems that they stumbled across it while building the estate, bought the plot, did a bit of excavation and erected the shed you have now over most of it. Nothing like as grand a shed as that at Brading, but it serves.

Not as big a villa as that at Brading either, but it does have a very elaborate bathing suite, occupying the whole of the west wing of the house. Roman Britons must have been very keen on bathing to have spent so much money on it.

There were some good educational trimmings. Some large shaped bricks organised to show you how a round arch worked. The loom illustrated to show you how weaving worked - which it did very successfully. Also reminding me that loom weights are staples at places like the British Museum, the standard artefact from peoples too ancient to have gotten around to inventing or using coins.

Next stop the post office, only to find that the grand post office marked on our map was up for sale and what was left of the post office was now in the back of the co-op. All very scruffy. What must foreigners think of us?

Thought to use the Olivo's, presumably a franchise from reference 3, but decided against as the dining room was cramped and noisy, this last the result of canned music. So we abandoned any idea of fancy lunch and made do with the fine chipper next door, Oggies, where, inter alia, they did very good mushy peas. Also real chips, not cooked in an oven. Should occasion arise, we will be back.

Inspected, but did not use, the Wetherspoons, a tasteful conversion of yet another church, conversions which Wetherspoons seem to be quite good at.

Sundry shopping, Newport being the island's big town. I was pleased to be able to get a back up egg timer from a charity shop, very similar to that at reference 4 but made in China out of yellow plastic with pink sand. Same price as its mainland cousin. I was also able to swap dental hygiene stories with the shop girl - who, having no teeth of her own, was able to contribute a different perspective.

Rounded out the day with a visit to the new church, an 11th century rebuild, at Newchurch. The gift of one William FitzOsborne, perhaps one of the companions of the conqueror. Which reminds me that somewhere along the way we learned that the Isle of Wight was not an integral part of our kingdom until the time of Edward II. Prior to that it had been more or less independent, rather in the way, I suppose, of the Isle of Man now. Perhaps they decided that as a very small country, the cost of keeping pirates out was just too much and they needed to be able to draw on the resources of their big neighbour.

Reference 1: http://www.psmv2.blogspot.co.uk/2015/07/roman-villa.html.

Reference 2: http://www.psmv2.blogspot.co.uk/2015/07/dimbola-lodge.html.

Reference 3: http://www.olivorestaurants.com/.

Reference 4: http://psmv2.blogspot.co.uk/2015/06/older-teeth.html.

The other villa 1

At some point last week we visited the other Roman Villa in the Isle of Wight, the one in Newport.

I was pleased to see that they still had the dormouse fattening pot, although not so pleased that I remembered it as being as being a lot smaller and flower pot red all over, rather than mostly grey. I think the idea was that the dormouse lived in the pot until he or she had grown to an eating size and was then (I suppose) removed to another pot for cooking. What about lids to stop them getting out?

To be fair, we last visited this particular Villa some years ago and it is possible that the display has been changed in the interval.

Paranoid of Epsom

I happened to look at a toy from Amazon the other day and very clever it looked too. Presumably including a large computer to convert your joystick commands into its rotor commands. I decided against, partly on the grounds that, despite the cost, the thing would probably sit in the garage, gathering dust unused after the first day or so.

Then yesterday I was looking at some miscellaneous web site, one of those which sells advertising space to keep itself afloat, including in this case to Amazon. And up pops the very same toy.

It might just be a coincidence, but it seems much more likely that the advertisement was dynamic, nipping back to base to see what I had been looking at recently, in the hope that regular reminders might result in a sale.

Apart from being irritating and a little worrying, I am not sure that they have got the psychology right. The reminders might irritate as well as remind, and I might be prompted into making a firm decision not to buy as a result, a firm decision which no amount of advertising is going to shift. Not all publicity is good publicity, despite the old adage. Or perhaps I am just being contrary. Perhaps it does work most of the time.

Does brain size matter?

I was rather taken this morning by this chart from the laboratory of Suzana Herculano-Houzel. As always, click on it to enlarge.

The labels and the twigs of the tree seem to have a come a little unstuck in places, but otherwise a nice piece of work. Who would have thought that anteaters would do so well?

PS: in the margins of the chart I found out about a new-to-me operation at http://www.ted.com/ - on which she does rather well too.

Lars Porsena

Picked up an engaging little book the other week called 'Lars Porsena or the future of swearing and improper language', by Robert Graves, now best known as the person most responsible for the television series 'I, Claudius'.

Given that much swearing, at least of old, was rooted in matters divine, the title seems to derive from the conceit that Lars Porsena had at least nine divinities to swear about, rather than our rather impoverished one. The article about Porsena in wikipedia gives no clue at all, beyond prompting speculation this morning that Gaius Mucius (illustrated, subsequently known as Scaevola) might have been doing a good bit of swearing under his breath as he held his hand in the barbecue.

The book is one of series called 'To-day and To-morrow', published, I imagine, between the world wars, by Kegan Paul, Trench, Trubner & Co., Ltd of E.C.4. Short, entertaining essays by eminences of the day. Bertrand Russell contributed several volumes and we also get one called 'The Dance of Çiva' by someone called Collum, whoever he or she might be. My book must have done fairly well, getting from first edition to third impression of second edition between the January and July of 1927.

Graves is a writer who wears his considerable learning lightly, altogether a civilised chap of a kind which I imagine is now pretty much extinct, and his book is full of all kinds of entertaining snippets. A good read entire, or good for dipping before a snooze. I offer three dips below.

We have a few pages on the utility of swearing in the trenches of Flanders, diverting to Uncle Toby in Tristram Shandy (a book which I have owned for a long time, but from which I have never managed to read more than a few pages at a time), 'whose opinions had been formed some two hundred years before in the same district and curiously enough with the same battalion as I served with'.

A few more about the days when the word 'bottom' was considered risqué and when a practical joker managed to assemble a great herd of people, all unbeknown to each other, but who all featured 'bottom' in their surname in one way or another, for example, Longbottom, for a dinner at a grand hotel. Each bottom was loudly announced by the butler as he arrived. I think my father would have enjoyed the joke.

And some closing comments about the obscenity or otherwise of James Joyce's 'Ulysses', topical at the time of writing. One strand of the story being that Graves' father was an Anglo-Irish school inspector and Gaelic scholar, a member of the Celtic-Twilight which Joyce knew so well. Comments which are also interesting as a good bit of literary criticism in their own right.

The physical construction of the book is also of interest, prompting a waking reverie this morning about folding.

Apart from boards and end papers, it is made up of 7 signatures of 16 pages each, with the start of each signature, from the second, being marked with an upper case letter, from 'B', at the bottom right of a right hand page. I believe such marks were intended to reduce errors when assembling books from piles of signatures. I also believe that books had to be a whole number of signatures, thus accounting for the blank pages and padding one often gets at the end of older books. Maybe things are done differently now.

Each signature being produced by folding a single sheet four times, twice down to up and twice right to left. The reverie being about in what orientation the 16 book pages would need to be on the 1 signature page to be the right way round when folded, with the last fold having to be from right to left so as to provide a spine to be sewn, but with folding otherwise unconstrained. At least as far as my reverie took me.

Blast from the past

As a former bureaucrat, I warmed to this cover page, floating around on the internet.

Scanned, I suppose, as the simplest way to publish the thing. Old, smudged and fiddly enough to make OCR a bit tricky.

One also supposes that the NUC gets up to all kinds of tricky and classified activities. Google didn't come up with a web site but they are presumably the same lot as the NUWC mentioned  at http://www.csg7.navy.mil/news/2011/01/05a.htm.

Dimbola Lodge

As claimed in the comment at reference 1, we did indeed make it to Dimbola Lodge last week, hoping to find something in the way of bicentennial celebrations.

Didn't start off too well with a near-rage incident in the entrance to the car park at the Freshwater co-op, within living memory Freshwater Station. The parson standing behind me in the queue for the hole-in-the-wall made a soothing noise but declined to get involved, despite being on duty to the extent of having his dog collar on.

Got better at the bookshop in one end of the Lodge. He could not do any more Kraszewski, although we did decide that Count Brühl was perhaps the next stop, so I settled for a 'Napoléon Intime' by Arthur-Lévy from Nelson. Interesting enough, but slow going so far.

Into the Lodge proper to start with tea and a very decent slice of cake. Then to the ticket desk to hear how awful it was that Brading Roman Villa (see reference 2) had gobbled up all the grant and lottery money on the island, leaving them with pretty much nothing with which to celebrate the bicentenary at the Lodge, the home of her most famous period. Back home we learned that the V&A had risen to the occasion at reference 3, offering a special from 28th November. Hopefully we shall make it.

Notwithstanding, there were some Cameron photographs on view, including the 'Kiss of Peace', which the caption told us was, inter alia, a 'representation of the intimacy of female relationships, created by a shared experiences in a society where relationships with men were strictly circumscribed', which I would not have thought was a fair description of what Cameron managed in her own life. Perhaps someone from the 'Guardian' was on holiday in the area when they were writing the captions. Surpised to find that most if not all of the Cameron photographs were actually copies of originals held by the National Media Museum in Bradford, not a place we are likely to visit any time soon. The copies presumably reflecting the fact that the Dimbola Lodge connection to Cameron has only recently been re-hatched, having disappeared from view for a good many years and with all the stuff which might once have been there having been dispersed. Also that old photographs are fragile and need careful display if they are to survive, care which might have been hard to provide at the Lodge, at least without a generous slice of the missing lottery dosh.

The show somewhat damaged by a party of loud Surrey people who liked to dominate whatever space they were in, both in physical terms and in the loudness of their conversation. Fortunately there was enough space to get away from them.

I rather liked the camera illustrated, a fine piece of Victorian work in brass & wood, a gelatin dry plate camera which they use for courses with collodion wet plate. To go with it, there were some interesting explanations of how photographs were developed at the time, some of it involving the whites of lots of eggs. Let's hope that the Cameron household was fond enough of lemon curd to use up all the resultant yolks.

Another near-rage incident on exit, involving a taxi driver blocking the exit while being very attentive to his Japanese customers, who I think had hired him for the day, to take in all the sights on the island before they caught the ferry back to the mainland.

Short swim in Freshwater Bay, a steep stony beach, good for swimming when the tide is right.

Back home along the spine of the island, being pleased to come across the friendly sight of a coach in the handsome claret & cream livery of Epsom Coaches, just west of the sea mark. Sadly, I read today that the new owners of Epsom Coaches have decided to go for a new livery. Don't they know not to fix wot ain't broke? But amused to be reminded that this fine example of Anglo-Saxon private enterprise is now owned by a French national enterprise. See reference 4.

Reference 1: http://psmv2.blogspot.co.uk/2015/05/photography.html.

Reference 2: http://psmv2.blogspot.co.uk/2015/07/roman-villa.html.

Reference 3: http://www.vam.ac.uk/content/exhibitions/julia-margaret-cameron/.

Reference 4: https://www.ratpdev.com/.

Stuffing

Just about two months to the day since last time (see reference 1), time for stuffing again. Snapped before patting it down.

More or less the usual recipe. Sage from the pot on the patio, organic hazel nuts (choice of three sorts) from the orgo shop and organic celery (no choice) from Waitrose. Bogoff bacon on top, having drawn the line at posh bacon which is apt to cost more than the chicken which the stuffing is intended to accompany.

Turned out pretty well, if a little crisp on top to my taste. Maybe something over an hour was too long.

Friendly orgo shop worth a mention. It might be part of a chain or a franchise, but I find it useful for odds and ends in the dried vegetables, dried fruit, nuts and herbs department. The sort of stuff which the likes of Waitrose seem to find it hard to keep in stock. Next to Hyams the jewellers, another useful establishment. See reference 2.

Reference 1: http://psmv2.blogspot.co.uk/2015/05/stuffing-external.html.

Reference 2: https://www.facebook.com/epsomorganico.

Wot, fruit?

Snapped up a fence near us, a passion flower with fruit on it.

We have had what looks like the same passion flower up our wall for years and it has never had a fruit on it, or, indeed, anything like the number of flowers that this one seems to have had. And as far as we know the much larger passion flower from whence it came as a seedling, from FIL's garden in Exminster, never had fruit either. Do passion flowers have pollination groups and pollinators like some apples?

Big pot

Unusually for us, not being big into sport, we contrived for our ferry back from the Isle of Wight to Portsmouth Harbour to coincide with some of the heats for the America Cup.

Our 1230 ferry, citing delays due to racing, actually left Fishbourne around 1300. Swinging east before the turn into Portsmouth, the ferry skirted the western fringe of the large & busy circle of sightseeing boats anchored around the course, giving us quite a decent view of the proceedings. Plus the Royal Navy, probably in the form of a frigate. The oligopic yacht illustrated was somewhat off-piste.

There seemed to be six catamarans on the course, giving their large crews what looked as if it could be a rough ride, with two or three more mucking around off Cowes. Perhaps they had been disqualified for unsporting polishing of their keels. A  number of speed boats buzzing around, presumably full of press, umpires, St John Ambulance (they seem to spell their name without an abbreviation marking period) and other hangers on of that sort. One substantial Naval Police cutter. One helicopter, but there might well have been more as the afternoon developed.

We also had a gaff rigged cutter sporting no topsail & just the one head sail, perhaps a relic from the before the second world war, a sailing barge under mizzen & motor and a clutch of large monohull sloops, black main and white head. Plus the rather expensive looking sail training ship the 'Stavros S Niarchos' tied up next to the Wightlink terminal at Portsmouth. See reference 1.

Two large blocks of spectators on the beach at Southsea and at that distance they would have seen even less than we saw. But the race must have moved, because according to BH, by the end of the afternoon, on the telly, the finishing line was only just offshore, right by the spectators. Perhaps the racing was able to move inshore as the tide came in during the afternoon.

There was also the puzzle of the catamarans. I thought that there had been a great old row after a catamaran trounced a monohull years and years ago, after which catamarans were banned. Not real boats anyway, always breaking up if you try and use them in a sea rather than on a boating pond. But reading wikipedia this morning, it seems that the catamarans now rule the roost. So I now wonder if these new boats duel in the way of the old monohulls, or is it just a sprint from start to finish? No luffing matches or cutting people up at the bouy? But not wondering enough to bother to take a squint at the telly. And anyway, I don't think I could stand all the talking heads - probably even worse than the ones that they field for heritage programs.

Reference 1: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stavros_S_Niarchos.

Lilies

Home to find that the repotted lilies have done very well in our absence.

For the avoidance of doubt, nothing to do with me. Not my department.

Glamorous occupations

I read in this morning's DT that Frederick Forsyth is about to come out about his having once been a spy. Amused once again at the glamorous smell that continues to linger around the trade of spying which, I imagine, manages to combine a good slice of tedious leg-work with the glamour and which is, to my mind, a rather dirty trade. Not for nothing was it common for spies caught in war zones to be executed.

So on the one hand we go on about family values and proper behaviour towards all and sundry, all the good Christian (or Muslim) values, on the other we glamourise a trade, the stock-in-trade of which is lying, cheating and betrayal.

But there is some light at the end of this tunnel. With most spying now being conducted electronically, rather than in the flesh (or in the honey pots), a lot of the lying and cheating has been traded in for common or garden eavesdropping. Sordid perhaps, but rather less so.

Difficult times

We have here in the Isle of Wight a railway which runs from the end of the pier in Ryde to the top of the chine in Shanklin, with a station down the end of our road here in Brading. A very cheap and convenient way to get about the eastern end of the island.

The service is run by Southwest Trains using rolling stock handed down from the Waterloo & City Line, at least that is the story I remember. A roughly half hourly service in both directions.

Today, on our way home from Ryde, we read that the service is under threat. Not very clear about from where the threat is coming, but it might be that responsibility is being transferred, without financial provision, from central to local government. And leaving the question of provision aside, given particularly that the island is an island, cut off from the rest of the nation's railway network, perhaps it would be right for the decisions to be made locally.

Looking at the Island council budget, I find a total annual spend of around £300m, with the central government contribution falling by £30m over the past five years and with need rising by about the same amount over the same period. Clearly something has to give.

Of which total, the transport budget is presently around £27m. With income of £25m, whatever that might mean.

The operating cost of the railway, that is to say excluding longer term maintenance, is £3m a year. Fares provide just £1m a year, leaving the balance to be covered by subsidy. A lack of longer term maintenance shows in shabby carriages and a bumpy ride. But one puts up with that; the service is cheap and convenient. And it appears to be well used; not London rush hour, but one sometimes has to stand.

For ourselves, we would be sorry to lose the railway. But who knows what the council ought to do, given the other demands on its services.

Sample time

As a person who does not get on well with needles, I was not very impressed by this advertisement in the August edition of the island 'Beacon'. I think I would rather have a proper nurse take my blood, rather than someone fresh off the streets or out of the jobcentre, with no previous experience or qualifications, but who has done a few hours training with Geopace. On offer at £285 inclusive of VAT.

As far as I am aware, I have never had a blood sample taken by anyone other than a proper nurse, or a doctor, with the exception of the finger pricking technicians at the warfarin clinic. But that is not quite the same thing.

And I am not encouraged by what I read at reference 1, although it is not entirely clear that graduates can go straight on to taking blood for pay. But perhaps beggars can't be choosers. People who vote into government people who seem hell bent on dismantling our education and health services should not complain when some of the birds come home to roost.

PS: I suppose I have to allow that there might be a case for getting jobs of this sort done on the cheap, by people who have not been expensively trained as nurses, rather in the way that we mostly get our teeth cleaned by people who have not been expensively trained as dentists. But I don't trust the Tories on this one, any more than many other people don't trust Labour with the economy.

Reference 1: http://www.geopace.com/.

Bikes 2

This one from above the boating lake on the esplanade at Ryde. Not the heritage bike you might think, rather a replica from Kawasaki.

Pity about the arm of my spectacles getting into the bottom of the otherwise competent snap, their being taken off to facilitate peering at the view finder when in bright sunlight.

Bikes 1

There are quite a lot of bikes on the island. Not clear whether they are resident or local. This one a hog parked up at Yaverland.

Bikes which a former owner once explained to me cost an arm and a leg to maintain. Always going wrong and always needing expensive new parts. That apart, owners mostly seem to take pride in presenting their bikes very smartly; a lot more attention to spit and polish than I would be able to muster.

Cows and other livestock

Came across a small herd of cows on Culver Down on the day of the kestrels (see the postcript to reference 1), a herd which caught the eye because all the adults seemed to have long pointed horns, not always curving the same way left and right. The cows with the crumpled horn of the well known nursery rhyme and which give the name to many pubs, for example that at reference 2.

Given that my understanding is that cows with horns are apt to damage each other, particularly when in transit, why had the horns been left on the cows? Did the farmer concerned think that the business of burning them out of young calves was cruel and abhorrent? Did he show the cows, for which purpose they had to be entire? For myself, I would not be very happy about walking with them. Luckily, the cows in our field did not have horns. BH was not bothered either way, being a good deal bolder than I where large animals are concerned.

It was also the day of a slightly odd experience in a tea shop. The bill for tea and cake came to £5 and some odd pennies. I tendered £10 and some odd pennies, not quite the right amount, while chatting to the shop keeper, a lady from the western island. She gave me the odd pennies due and then paused, while continuing to chat. I started to wonder whether I had given her £5 or £10. Had the thought that the bill could not possibly have been £10. So I waited, and after a bit she seemed to recollect herself and came up with the missing fiver. Talking about it afterwards, BH had had exactly the same thought, that the shop keeper was trying it on, trying to short change me of my fiver. So I am reasonably sure that she was, the sort of theft that is impossible to prove. Although if several people have the same experience and compare notes, one might stop using the place. Or devise some way of telling her that you know what she is up and that she should desist, without going so far as making an accusation out loud.

Over the years, the same sort of thing has happened in TB from time to time. Particularly irritating that the people at a place one uses regularly should think it OK to try it on in that way. Particularly in pubs, when one is perhaps not in the peak of condition, one is trusting the pub keeper not to take advantage.

Back at my tea, the insult was compounded by the milk being off, curdling rather than dissolving in the tea. This we did complain about and after a while, after the husband had returned with some fresh milk, I got a fresh tea. In the meantime, passed the time with a very pleasant couple from Yorkshire who passed their summers on the island, in a caravan, courtesy of an early retirement pension from the gas board.

Strolled around the fort on the point and then back to the Culver Haven Inn for a perfectly respectable lunch of sausage and mash, the sausages being distinguished by having been skinned. Good texture, somewhat spoilt by a strong flavouring of herbs, which I do not approve of, at least in sausages.

And so on down to the beach at Yaverland, where in due course we took a swim, in among the activities of people with jet skis and of people zooming about with parachutes. The former being rather noisy and the latter rather careless in the way that they zoomed in among the swimmers. Some of their boards came with keels and I would not have cared to be caught by one.

But I should not moan. Yaverland remains our favourite beach on the island.

PS: the aforementioned kestrels tended to hang about on the hedge line, on the horizon, on the snap above.

Reference 1: http://www.psmv2.blogspot.co.uk/2015/07/tweet-tweet.html.

Reference 2: http://www.crumpledhornpub.co.uk/.

Reference 3: http://culverhaven.com/. Suspected of not making a terribly good living, despite the fine views, not getting enough trade in season to carry them over the slack times of out of season.

Merchant of Venice

Yesterday to Newport Cineworld to see the RSC production of the 'Merchant of Venice', a Cineworld with a handy Wetherspoons just below. Wetherspoons quite busy, with at least one childrens' party going on and at least one cold bottle of Villa Maria sauvignon blanc. Not bad for a pub wine and costing just about double, pro rata, what one would pay in Waitrose, that is to say around £8 a bottle; a much lower mark up at double than the treble one usually expect in pubs and restaurants. This particular wine having been introduced to me by the Wetherspoons in Tooting as an alternative to their bog standard offerings out of taps.

Play started off badly with ten minutes of talking head & trailer before the first half and then later there was another ten minutes of it before the second half. At least in a real theatre you get this stuff in the programme and can read it to yourself if that is what you want.

Equal opportunities casting, including a Nerissa with a missing right fore-arm and a Palestinian Christian (illustrated, in a role in West Wing) as Shylock. By an odd coincidence, he studied for three years at the Mountview Academy of Theatre Arts in London (reference 1), which may have at that time been in the Mountview Road through which I used to pass on my way to buy the excellent kabanos for sale in Crouch End Broadway. Mountview Academy now in Wood Green, although it is trying for a relocate to what used to be the Town Hall at the Broadway and the kabanos are no more. You might be able to buy them at all the big supermarkets, but they are not what they used to be in the seventies at all, in the days when one still had eastern Europeans, washed up here by the second world war, running good quality delicatessens. I found Nerissa rather irritating, but Shylock much better. While his daughter, Jessica, I found oddly unconvincing.

A lot of attention had been paid to the staging, with a set which contrived to be both minimalist and pretentious, including a large pendulum swinging its way through the performance, a lot of tasteful music and a rather loud style of acting, including a Lenny Henry version of Gratiano, complete with loud shoes from Nike. And a rather girlie version of Portia; no superba, poise or presence. Perhaps the people responsible had done their apprentice time at the Globe.

Modern dress, which is not my first choice, but that was OK. The modern dress did not intrude in the way it sometimes does, probably helped in this regard by said minimalist set.

I did not care for the way that the camera panned around the audience from time to time, even to the point of looking over someone's shoulder at the programme. I suppose that the idea was to make us feel that we were in a theatre, rather than in a cinema in the Isle of Wight, but it did not work for me. I like this sort of thing better when the camera just points at the stage, and give or take a bit of zooming in and out, leaves it at that - although given the configuration of the new stage at Stratford, that may no longer work.

Nevertheless, it is a good play, more than good enough to show through this filmed version of an RSC production. And as the talking head explained, plenty to say to today's audience. In my case, for example, I was struck by the wide scope of the legal quibbling in the trial scene, despite the distraction of Shylock fiddling with his scales. What principle of legal law deals with weights and measures? When is a pound of flesh near enough a pound to meet the terms of a contract?

Quite brisk at two and a half hours including interval, twenty minutes less than the recent offering, just missed by us, at the Almeida.

Something not quite right about the sound, with it mostly but not always seeming to come out of the actors' mouths.

PS: I shall take another look at Al Pacino doing Shylock when we get home. I think the verdict will be that I prefer his version to this RSC version. Amongst other things, it has the merit of being made for the screen.

Reference 1: http://www.mountview.org.uk/.

Whippingham 3

You can't see the plant very well in this snap, but it caught my eye because of all the brown dust on the jumping off point of the main stem. There were a number of the plants around and they all seemed to have the same dust. Not clear whether the dust was normal & desirable or not.

At a guess, something vaguely sub-tropical.

Whippingham 2

The church at Whippingham, St. Mildred's, was not usually open on a Friday but a helpful volunteer gardener let us in the back anyway. A courtesy he might have regretted later as each successive visitor told the next to go around the back.

But we were glad to have been let in, to take another look at this curious church, all that Prince Albert's money could buy in the way of gothic revival. All done with great skill and with taste, but somehow curiously cold. Part of this was the result of the church having been build in one go, rather than having grown up over the centuries, but I do not think that that was the whole story.

To be fair, the church was not a complete rebuild. There was a fragment of Saxon carving from the first church built into a wall and there was rather more left of the church built in 1804 by John Nash, mostly dismantled to make way for the present church, Queen Victoria not thinking that the Nash effort was grand enough for her. She may also have had the thought, not liking to delegate real affairs of state to her husband, that building a new church would give him something useful to do. Get him out from under her feet for a while. A sort of royal allotment, as it were.

The stained glass, by Hardman of Handsworth, Pugin's son in law (see reference 1), was , despite its pedigree, rather mixed. Some was good, but some, particularly the all important east window, had lost most of its colour.

From the church, we thought we might as well do Osborne, included in the heritage subscription bought at about the time of the visit to Pugin.

Rather struck, on this occasion, by the coldness of the marble female nudity on show. Like the church, well enough executed, but it somehow seemed to lack life. Not in the same league as the old Italian masters at all. Continued to puzzle over the two large paintings of Victoria and Albert, maybe two feet wide by three feet high, described by both trusty and guidebook as enamel on Sèvres porcelain. I continue to think it unlikely that one would or could make such large sheets of porcelain, and that even if one could, they would not survive painting, firing and hanging. See the note about this at reference 2 and the post following. Email to the heritage people yet to be answered.

On the other hand we are now clear that the family groups were by a chap called Franz Xaver Winterhalter, alleged by wikipedia to have, in his mid-nineteenth century day, pretty much cornered the market for royal portraits in northern Europe. The prize for the worst painting goes to William Dyce for his large allegorical painting on a staircase wall - with its further large display of unattractive nudity.

Feeling mean for some reason, picnic'd outside rather than lunched inside, in the grand terrace room of the last visit, and followed that by a visit to the gardens, mainly the walled garden where we were able to see the royal rhubarb. There were also some Morello cherries grown as espaliers, something I had not thought possible, Morello cherries being large trees when I was small. Maybe they have bred some smaller root stocks since then. Apples and pears not in very good condition at all, with some of the trees badly infected with something or other unpleasant. And the fruit will not come to much unless someone thins it out a bit.

Pleased to see that the fashion for not mowing park grass has arrived at Osborne, with the weed-full uncut grass looking very well.

Reference 1: http://psmv2.blogspot.co.uk/2015/05/ramsgate-5.html.

Reference 2: http://psmv2.blogspot.co.uk/2015/07/roman-villa.html.

Reference 3: http://psmv2.blogspot.co.uk/2014/07/osborne-revisited.html.

Whippingham 1

An unusual buddleia in the hedge around the small field at the back of the visitor centre across the road from the church at Whippingham.

Unusual in that the main flower head, maybe six inches long, had subsidiary flower heads sprouting orthogonal. A slightly more complex version of an already complex flower.

Garlic crush?

There was a scattering of these implements around the garlic farm. We had no idea what they were for and could not find anyone to ask. And the Lumia, unusually for something of this sort in full light, has not done very well either.

Barn conversion

Once upon a time, Brading had a wax works and a museum of toys. Nearby there used to be a fun fair on the pier and halls of mirrors. Maybe even pubs intended for drinking and smoking. Now, peoples' tastes have moved on a bit and farmers have found out that there are easier ways of making a crust out of a farm than farming, with the result illustrated, the elaborate barn conversion called the 'Garlic Farm'. Brown signs on the roads for miles around. See reference 1.

After parking up, we followed a couple of very smartly turned out ladies, complete with summer frocks and executive briefcases, whom we suspected of being leaders for some course or other, Was one of them a celebrity chef?

Then there was the large and rather fancy café, offering a range of garlic inspired light lunches. We settled for tea and cake, which last was, I am happy to say, rather good.

Then out onto to the farm to inspect a trial bed for various exotic garlics collected from Central Asia, the ancestral homelands of the garlic plant. Handy to the silk road. We then set out to find the expected fields of garlic, but despite walking around a good chunk of the farm, a pleasant enough walk in the country, we failed to find any. Where did they grow the stuff? Did they actually buy it in, rather than grow it, rather in the way of the Yeo Valley people who sell dairy products to Sainsbury's? On the other hand, there were swallows, swifts and the odd skylark, the first proper sighting of same this year. Also a handsome fishing pond with a good line in water lilies. But faux naturelle. See reference 2.

Wound up the visit with a visit to the shop, from which we did not escape unscathed. Our purchases included a very organic and seedy brown loaf which was not bad at all, in a pumpernickel sort of way. Not bad once in a while, but a bit rich for every day consumption.

From garlic to Yaverland for a quick swim. From there home, where we found, rather to our surprise, that the newly reopened & rather fancily kitted out Yarbridge Arms was fully booked for the evening and we had to resort to the Brading chipper, where I took one of their rather fine steak and kidney puddings. The first for five years. See reference 3.

Reference 1: http://www.thegarlicfarm.co.uk/.

Reference 2: http://fauxnaturelle.blogspot.co.uk/.

Reference 3: http://pumpkinstrokemarrow.blogspot.co.uk/search?q=brading+chips.

More Shanklin

On the way back to the station, we came across Shanklin Town Hall, yet another reminder of the glory days when local authorities had authority. The building did not look derelict so perhaps it still had occupation.

Earlier in the day we had also come across their theatre (see reference 1). The mainstay of their offering, at least for the moment, was a legendary show called 'Best of West End' from Spotlight (see reference 2). This appeared to be a medley drawn from West End musicals. Not really our thing, but we were tempted, perhaps by having seen the 'Funnybones' several times on television, where they had been intruded into Agatha Christie's story 'Sleeping Murder'. Decided against on the grounds that a 2015 start was a bit late for us. We could have gone by train but we would have been out of the house for perhaps 5 hours, getting home around midnight. Not tempting enough to get us out that late.

At the time of writing this, they had sold maybe 35 out of 350 stalls seats. I did not check the balcony, but I imagine that would be much the same. Not the sea of smiling faces we had seen for the 'Funnybones'. But I remember as I type the saying that whacking it out, every night and with enthusiasm to a near empty seaside theatre is one of the finest trainings to be had for the West End. Perhaps best not to use the chemical mood enhancers resorted to by at least some of the Funnybones. A bit depressing that a sing along to Frozen - which, assuming the title means what I think it does, sounds and probably would sound really grim - has sold rather better.

Looking at the Spotlight web site this morning, they look to be an enterprising bunch with their activities including doing a version of the West End show in the summer of every year, a pantomime in the winter and various drama school stuff. It would be intriguing to be a fly on their wall and find out how their tone compared with that of our own Laine Theatre Arts, the proprietrix of which does have tone. Or at least she did, the last time we came across her, some years ago.

Reference 1: http://www.shanklintheatre.com/.

Reference 2: http://www.spotlightiow.co.uk/.

The Jew

I have now finished the book, all 469 pages of it, noticed at reference 1 and reference 2. An interesting read, more because of the subject matter, Poland at the time of the 1863 insurrection, than for its literary merits - which last may well be more evident in the original Polish. An insurrection which the wikipedia entry says was marked by atrocities on both sides, atrocities which the present book rather skates over. Perhaps the novelist had to steer a middle course between the various conflicting interests, not least those of the Russian authorities, the censors in particular. But a middle course which still suggests that the Russian occupiers of Poland in the middle of the nineteenth century were a rough lot: greedy, corrupt and violent.

We get an introduction by Edmund Gosse, a literary and arty type who spent a good chunk of his life as a civil servant and who was a close friend of, albeit rather younger than, Thomas Hardy. Nothing about the translator, let alone a translator’s note.

The novel proper is framed by an opening visit to a pub in Sestri-Ponente, a small town just to the west of Genoa at the head of the Ligurian Sea, and a closing visit, involving much the same people, at the end. In between we have the journey of the hero, Jacob Hamon, to the Warsaw of the insurrection, a journey which includes his marriage to his childhood sweetheart, following her divorce from her rich but otherwise unsatisfactory husband. Jacob is a man of religious inclination who had become rich by a chance inheritance and who tries to steer a middle course between the various elements of Polish society, in particular between the religious (Jews) and the revolutionaries.

At one point a passing comparison is made between the plight of the Poles and that of the Irish, both troubled countries with lots of old-fashioned Catholics and with an oppressive occupying power. Another between the plight of the Jews in Poland, as compared with their so much better condition in Germany. And while the Poles hated the Russian occupiers, there is a link between the revolutionaries of Poland and those of Russia. Some space is given to the tensions between the overlapping components of Polish society - the nobles (who seem to be a fairly hopeless lot), the peasants, the townspeople, the educated and the Jews. Between those who collaborate with the Russian occupiers and those who do not. Between those who want to assimilate, those who hanker after Jerusalem and those who strive to preserve the tradition.

Along the way we get the idea that of the three occupying powers, the Russians were by far the worse, then the Prussians, then the Austrians. These last being corrupt and inefficient, but relatively benign.

A scatter of French words, with plenty of monsieurs, madames and mademoiselles. Perhaps the Poles of the time did like to introduce a scatter of French into their conversation - rather as the Russians of 'War and Peace' did.

A scatter of references to Jewish religious texts. For example, on page 387 we have 'Baba Mezzia, 107.a', which google translates to 'Baba Mez'ia 107a' and offers the text from the tractate of that name from the Babylonian Talmud, in which I cannot find the text 'Happy he who dies as he was born, pure and without stain' which is offered by the novelist, although there is stuff in that general vein, in a piece mainly agricultural in tone. And asking google for the text itself, I just get referred back to the book itself. So either the novelist has been a little careless with his references or the whole business is too complicated to be properly appreciated on a casual acquaintance. But one is left wondering at what must be the prodigious size of the google indexes.

Altogether an interesting read. Maybe next stop 'Count Brühl', prominent among the small number of offerings in English from Abebooks. A work of fiction about a real person, whom wikipedia says had Europe's largest collection of watches and military vests... also a vast collection of ceremonial wigs, hats and the largest collection of Meissen porcelain in the world'

By way of illustration, I offer a map of pre-partition Poland-Lithuania offered by wikipedia, a Poland which includes Byelorussia, Lithuania and a chunk of the western Ukraine. But not Silesia or Breslau (now Wrocław). Evidence of a troubled past.

PS: I now try the same search trick with a random phrase from yesterday's find, a book about Napoléon by one Arthur-Lévy. Found again, with the common trick seeming to be that they are both quite old and quite well-known books, both gobbled up into the maw of google books.

Reference 1: http://www.psmv2.blogspot.co.uk/2015/07/jozef-ignacy-kraszewski.html.

Reference 2: http://www.psmv2.blogspot.co.uk/2015/07/jacob-isaacksz-van-ruisdael.html.

Pots or what?

Are the pots porcelain, copper or what? See previous post.

The owner of this image, the V&A, talks of enamel on copper, but I still fail to see how one makes the copper pot to start with. Much more like the sort of thing you knock out on a potter's wheel.

Described as 'pair of cloisonné enamel vases decorated with a bird, Andō Company, Japan'.

Confusion compounded by the enamel porcelain (or perhaps porcelain enamel) portraits of Victoria and Albert at Osborne House, to which I shall return in due course.

Roman villa

Earlier in the week to the Roman Villa at the other side of Brading (reference 3), according to the record our first visit for two years (reference 2) - which is not the case. I can only suppose that last year's visit was not very memorable, although there was a related comment at reference 1.

Which is odd because I now remember that we went there last year to see a special exhibition about Romans and sex in an especially secured room with a very large and visible lock, with the star exhibit being a silver bowl called the Warren Cup, on loan from the British Museum. And not only can I trace no record on the blog, google, for once, returns no hits for the search term 'silver bowl nude men museum' while he does respond to 'roman bowl silver brading'. I offer left a relatively innocuous view from the BM.

This year it was the turn of Japanese cloisonné from the V&A, being mainly if not entirely the collection of one Edwin Davies, OBE, lately the boss of Strix Ltd, an outfit which seem to be inside pretty much all the electric kettles in the world, an outfit which started out as Castletown Thermostats on the Isle of Man. See reference 4.

I don't think I have ever come across cloisonné before and found this exhibition fascinating, although the term seems to be used a little loosely as not all the works seemed to involve the wire cloisons (from the French) for which the technique is named. Mostly vases and we assumed that they were made by applying the wire and enamel to a pottery - maybe porcelain - base and then fired, but I am now a little confused by talk turned up by google of applying the enamel to a copper base. Confused, but I stick for now with the pottery base theory, pottery which in this case was reinforced by metal collars around the obviously fragile lips and bases. It seems that a great deal of the stuff was produced in the late 19th century, when it was very popular with western collectors, collectors who presumably preferred what they regarded as traditional Japanese scenes and motifs, while the people who made it were open to other influences, with some pieces being clearly derived from delftware and others from art deco.

Unable to resolve the confusion as the promised guide book had failed to turn up at the shop. Perhaps a visit to the V&A, to the horse's mouth as it were, is indicated.

On to the café where we had another of their Roman cakes, a sort of flapjack with a anachronistic chocolate base.

Altogether an interesting example of the public archaeologist's art. An interesting site in a nice wrapping. combining the functions of education & enlightenment with that of a village hall.

From there to the beach at Yaverland where we had our first swim of the season. In additional to a guard ship provided by the navy, probably a frigate, we also had the company of a barque anchored out in the bay - a large three masted affair which, as lovers of barques will know, is square rigged on the fore mast and the main mast with the mizzen mast reserved for the mizzen and stay sails.

Further entertainment from a dad, who must have been a serious rugby player, at least once upon a time, training his two young sons in the mysteries, young sons of perhaps 4 and 6 who might, perhaps have been more interested in sand castles or splashing in the sea. Mum mostly hidden behind a wind break, her nose, I think, firmly in a holiday paperback,

Reference 1: http://psmv2.blogspot.co.uk/2014/09/butser-hill.html.

Reference 2: http://psmv2.blogspot.co.uk/2013/07/brading-roman-villa.html.

Reference 3: http://www.bradingromanvilla.org.uk/.

Reference 4: http://www.strix.com/.

Tweet, tweet

Between 1100 and 1500 yesterday, at least three kestrels in the vicinity of the Ashey Down sea mark. We may have seen one of them more than once.

Then around 0900 this morning, two probable buzzards in the vicinity of Brading Station, circling east, perhaps heading for Culver Down in search of breakfast. Against the bright blue sky their chests appeared white and their wings black.

Unseasonal illustration of the sea mark courtesy of google.

For previous notice see http://pumpkinstrokemarrow.blogspot.co.uk/search?q=ashey.

PS: later in the day we saw a lot of kestrels over Culver Down, kestrels because they went in for hovering, to the point of seeing one from above, from which angle they looked a reddish brown. We have seen a hawk from above in this way before, a couple of years ago or so, on the other side of the Down, that is to say the north side, on which occasion it seemed to be quite a small bird, say smaller than a crow. So checking, that seems about right for a kestrel. But the black and white of earlier of the day is a puzzle; doesn't seem to fit with buzzard, goshawk, sparrow hawk or kestrel. And tail not forked so not a kite. Was the colouring a trick of the light?

A plumbing experiment

We have been conducting experiments over the past few days on the time it takes to fill a standard bathroom sink with hot water.

We suppose that we require A gallons of hot water at B degrees Fahrenheit (from the German glassblower, born a long time ago in what is now Gdańsk, but who mostly lived in what is now the Netherlands), in the sink.

We further suppose that at the start of the experiment the hot tap is set, instantaneously, to a position on a scale of [0,1] where 0 is completely off and 1 is completely open.

We then conduct a series of experiments to determine the value of P on that scale which minimises the time T to fill the sink in the way specified above.

Exogenous variables include the type of the hot water supply, the length & bore of the pipe run between that supply & the tap, the thermal properties of the sink and the ambient temperature, this last being assumed for today's purposes to be a lot less than B.

Considerations include the following. First, that if the flow is too high, we may exceed the thermal capacity of the supply and the hot water starts out from supply below the target temperature B. Second, given that during the fill we are losing heat from both the pipe and the sink, if the flow is too low, we lose too much heat and the temperature in the sink is lower to that extent. In any event, given that there will always be some loss, the hot water must leave the supply at a temperature greater than B.

Question 1: does the temperature of the hot water at exit from the supply vary with P? And if it does vary, how does it vary?

Question 2: is the flow of hot water simply proportional to P or is it some more complicated function of P?

Question 3: does the flow of hot water at any particular setting of P vary with time? If, for example, someone does something which affects the pressure in the cold water system from which the hot water system is derived?

Question 4: how does the temperature of the hot water vary after exit from the supply? Does it vary along or across the pipe? Does it vary in the sink? Is there a temperature gradient from top to bottom of the sink? Do we care?

Main question: what sort of a function of P (horizontal axis) is the time T (vertical axis)? Is it a nice U-shaped curve with a single, well defined minimum? Can we be sure that there will be just one minimum? Can we arrange things so that T is arbitrarily large, or is there always a maximum?

Follow up question: what changes if we allow the setting of the tap to vary during the filling? Can we get a better result this way?

All of which seems far too complicated for the time of day. To be resumed in due course.

Lazy Wave Café

The lunch time café at Shanklin, seemingly recently, if not presently, on the market. The chine and its next door pub immediately behind. According to the agent:

* Situated in an enviable position adjacent to Shanklin beach

* Next door to 50 beach huts some of which are used all year round

* Long established business with potential to develop s.t.p.

* For Sale with offers invited "in the region of" £127,500 leasehold, fixtures, fittings & goodwill, plus s.a.v.

SAV we understand, but google failed, for once, to elucidate the meaning of STP.

Reference 1: http://www.gullyhoward.com/pdfs/214631.pdf.

PS: quite obvious now that STP is 'subject to planning permissions'; must have been half asleep before. See reference 1 above.

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Shanklin Chine

Back to Shanklin for our annual visit to the chine on Tuesday - this despite the last visit only being noticed for its tweet of a grey wagtail, seen several times since, although I only seem to have bothered to notice it on 25th January. Reference 1 for the tweet and reference 2 for the chine itself.

By train, which dropped us at the far of the High Street from the Chine, thus affording the opportunity to inspect some of their various charity shops, in one of which, the Heart Foundation, I was offered Tovey's 'Musical Articles from the Encyclopædia Britannica ' of 1944 for £13.50 with dust jacket. A cheap war time edition by the look of it. As Tovey goes, it looked like an easy read and I was tempted but the lady behind the till was not going to move off the exorbitant asking price - with most of the books being priced at around a tenth of what was being asked for this one. A pity because while it is probable that I would not have got further than dipping, Tovey had been a favourite of my father and I have a soft spot for him in consequence. It is also true that my knowledge of music theory is feeble compared with my attendance at concerts and I would like a bit more of it.

We did better at a second hand DVD shop, getting a collected Sharpe for £15 (including a feature length bonus) and some additions to our Poirot collection for £5. Holiday viewing now sorted out, although we will need to be careful with Sharpe as I find Bean rather tiresome when consumed in large doses. Fine in small doses. Declined a rather sloppily made (from a large wooden bobbin) DIY egg timer for £10.

By the time we got to the top of the chine it was time for tea, so declined the cottage garden with loud music for the more conventional tea room with handsome, blue patterned oil cloth table cloths where I was able to take tea and toasted tea-cake in peace and quiet. BH took the coffee usual with her at that time of day.

On down the chine, with rather more people in it than usual, but otherwise its usual self. Some twittering in the bushes, but no tweet on this occasion (not counting the cage birds) and no grey wagtail. But there was a lot of carex pendula hanging off the faces of the rocks, of which the Lumia did not make a very good job, but the snap offered above does give some idea. Also some pleasing red fuschia bushes which seem to be quite common around here (including one in the front garden of the bungalow in which we are staying), some vigorous gunnera and some not so vigorous mare's tail. On exit at the bottom there was a truly splendid bed of begonias, the like of which I have not seen before and including some very flashy doubles.

We also got a small exhibition of drawings and water colours of the area by Turner and others. I was intrigued by the tickets on the drawings which said that the copyright was owned by the Tate Gallery, which left me unclear whether we were looking at the real thing or reproductions. The water colours looked real enough. We got the book of the show, discounted as the show was coming to an end, but I have still not got to the bottom of the mystery.

Lunch at the Lazy Wave Café. I took a substantial baguette made with warmed up, left over roast beef, moistened with a portion of the sort of onions usually served with hot dogs. They remembered not to garnish the thing with salad and together with an excellent rock cake it made a substantial and satisfactory lunch. Along the way I was very impressed by the chap opposite who managed two of the baguettes, a plate of chips and a generous portion of tomato ketchup. Tall but not fat at all.

Strolled back to Sandown just in time to catch the train back to Brading. Navy in attendance, in the form of what I took to be a frigate out on exercise. No bangs or clouds of smoke but I think it was one of ours - unlike the occasion in 2013 when the biggest contribution to the naval scene was a Japanese squadron lined up at Southsea - the occasion being recorded at reference 3.

PS: Amazon offers the Tovey in question at various prices, some less and some more than £13.50.

Reference 1: http://psmv2.blogspot.co.uk/2014/07/twit-log.html.

Reference 2: http://www.shanklinchine.co.uk/.

Reference 3: https://www.gov.uk/government/news/royal-navy-hosts-japanese-warships-in-portsmouth.

Jacob Isaacksz van Ruisdael

Continuing with the Kraszewski of yesterday's post, I came across a reference to a painting by Ruysdael called 'Jewish Cemetery', in fact rather more than a reference as a couple of pages (142 and 143) are given over to it. A painting which is he says is an epic poem to the transience of human affairs, even in death.

Until recently I would have had to be content with the story as told by Kraszewski, but now I am able to ask google and rapidly get told all about it. That this painting exists in two versions, one in Detroit and one in Dresden, and that this painter exists in four versions, with this one, Jacob Ruisdael, being the most famous.

Detroit are happy enough to show me their picture, but not to give it away and I failed to get Dresden (reference 1) to even show me theirs. So the illustration offered here is one of the images of the Detroit version offered by google. Which offerings vary a good deal, but I don't suppose I will ever get to Detroit to adjudicate between them, to find out whether some of the variations were down to cleaning.

How many of the original readers of the book would have had access to any kind of an image of the painting? Would the relatively nearby Dresden version have been the subject of mass produced engravings?

Reference 1: http://www.skd.museum/en/.