New Year Resolutions

Soon be time to collect up the Christmas cards and put them way, or give them away for charity; but first to read them all again to remember the friendships that gave rise to them being sent.

Then to recall the kindness and thought with which Christmas gifts were chosen and carefully wrapped and labelled with motifs that wished you a Happy Christmas in the hope that you would appreciate the gift itself.

Wrong sizes, wrong colours are only wrong in your eyes, not in the eye of the provider. And so you should wear them with pride - even though they may not be for the sport intended.

Super socks Jack, although I was unaware that your Grandmother wanted me to take up boxing!














Mind you, her mind was probably on the gift you can't buy:
here she is with the latest addition to our family, great grandson Harrison.

Happy New Year

Writing a blog at the end of the year is only of value if there is anything new to say.
Re-writing the year's news, which is a newspaper trick to fill up space, is of not much value because in a blog you can just turn back the pages and see it all again if you feel so inclined.

The only picture of note which you haven't seen before is the view from our window in autumn which I never got round to showing you: here it is.                                                                                  

Could have shown you our personal goodwinmail postage stamp:

Thought about going down to the beach at Hamworthy to see if there were any Russian submarines. 

The only danger about was the man and his wife walking on water.

Went to Upton Country Park today to film winter scenes  for you, 

but it all ended up in disappointment.

Just have to look forward to 2017 to see what's new.

Happy New Year to you all.

We are getting ready for Christmas.

Twenty-five years ago I started writing a series of letters to my grandson Jack who was then two years old.  Maybe some things have changed with time, but then again perhaps not.

Dear Jack,

           

We are getting ready for Christmas. You are coming up to us with your Mum and Dad and sisters. Every year you come to us. There was one exception when we decided to have a quiet Christmas because your Mum decided to go to her in-laws for a change. That was the most boring Christmas we ever spent! So, despite the fact that our house will look like a corporation tip when you have all been in it for five minutes, we are still looking forward to having you.

The words, “getting ready for Christmas”, conjure up excitement and the thrill of taking part in the family re-union and going to church to midnight mass and carol services.

There is the nursery-school nativity play to anticipate, where we can come and watch you taking your part as a shepherd. This year your Grandma made you a shepherd’s cloak and hood of many colours. We went with you and your Dad to the church near your school to see you with infant angels and animals and Joseph and Mary and, believe it or not, a real baby who took the part of Jesus.

There were all the proud parents with their cameras, and the teachers gathering the children round them. And there was you, sitting on your Grandma’s lap, refusing not only not to be dressed as a shepherd, but in fact to have nothing to do with the proceedings whatsoever.

No-one really knows what goes on in a little boy’s mind at such moments, but I like to think you were clever enough not to want to go through life being a shepherd, and so there was no point in starting off as one in the first place!

‘The spirit of Christmas’ conveys tolerance and kindness. But, there are annual activities to be undertaken before we arrive at Christmas itself, which can affect this ‘spirit’.

Firstly we have - that is your grandma and me - a discourse on the choice of Christmas tree. When I tell you that we have been the possessors of an artificial silver-coloured tinsel tree for years, you may wonder why it is necessary to discuss the matter at all!

Well, you see, your mother does not like artificial Christmas trees. Like me, your mum is sometimes illogical. Tearing-up trees by their roots or cutting them down with chain-saws does not seem at conflict with her enlightened views on the ecological troubles that inflict us all at present. The discussion is necessary therefore, because it is a step to avoiding any area of conflict that might arise when families assemble at Christmas.

You would be surprised how many areas of conflict can arise after a couple of bottles of claret with Christmas dinner! 

Your Grandma’s aversion to ‘real’ Christmas trees has nothing to do with the environment, other than that existing in the house, caused by the needles from the dying tree falling onto the floor and being found in every corner of every room until next March. You can even find them in sandwiches if you are unlucky!

Deciding between the views of your mum and your grandma is a question of compromise. Last year we had a ‘real’ tree - this year we are having the artificial one.

That all the tinsel falls off the tree and is found in every room until next March - and in sandwiches if you are unlucky - does not seem to worry your grandma too much.

I have to go up into the loft to bring down the decorations and the tinsel Christmas tree. This involves fetching the ladder from the garage, breaking the ceiling lamp fitting in the porch with the ladder, scraping the paint on the wall as I carry the ladder upstairs, and banging my knuckles on something in the loft as I pull out the boxes and bags of decorations needed to decorate the house.

A Christmas tree is not a tree without ‘fairy’ lights. They are strung on electric flex. The objective is to place them on the tree in a reasonably acceptable pattern so that people who come into the house can say: “what a pretty Christmas tree”.

As a piece of advice for the future, please remember to plug in the lights before you fix them to the tree to ensure that the bulbs all light up. After you have done this, you can fix them to the tree, which takes a lot more than the ten minutes you thought it would take. At last they are all in place. You turn on the lights - and of course they don't work. Bulb by bulb, you tighten each one and replace the fuse in the plug and they still do not light up. It is then you check the wiring to find that one piece has broken. Back to the garage to find the soldering-iron and, about two hours later, if you are as good at ‘do-it-yourself’ as I am, the wire is repaired and - surprise, surprise, the lights work!

Stringing up the decorations is somewhat easier - well, almost. You will need a box of drawing-pins and a step ladder. Drawing-pins are designed either to slip out of your hands at the crucial moment of pinning them to the ceiling, or to bend in half when you push them into the ceiling. After a few years the ceiling has enough holes to enable you to know where the drawing-pins fit. The only trouble here is that when you push the drawing-pins into existing holes they fall out again. Step-ladders are designed never to reach the corner you want to get into. You can find dropped drawing-pins by kneeling on them, putting your hand on them, or standing on them.

It is at this time that your grandmother discovers that she has forgotten something of importance in the way of food for Christmas that she just has to go out to buy. Her departure is accompanied by such sayings as:

“I see you are in the Christmas spirit then!”

This is mainly due to the fact that language accompanying the preparations for Christmas is not entirely apt for the occasion. This is also the time for well worn phrases to be repeated from previous Christmases.

“We’ll have a proper tree next year.”

“We’ll spend Christmas in a hotel next year.”       “I hate Christmas.”

None of it is meant of course. We still look forward to the day itself. Opening the presents, of which you will have many, is exciting for all of us. That you will probably spend much of the time playing with the boxes and the wrapping is of little consequence. It is the fact that we are all together that is important.

The sceptics will say that this is not what Christmas is about. But it is, because, it was the gathering of families that gave rise to Jesus being born in Bethlehem. Even this is only of importance if you remember that your family, for all its faults, is something worth having and being part of. Opening presents is an indication of finding kindness from others, who have thought about you before Christmas and tried to discover what it is that would make you happy.

When we left you after the nativity play, in which you didn’t play, you cried: “I want my Grandma!”

She didn’t want you to cry, but she was happy that more than anything else, you wanted your Grandma.

Merry Christmas Jack!

Grandad

Footnote. 25 years on the 'fairy' lights worked when plugged in. When draped on the tree they did not.  Nor did they after two hours trying new bulbs and fuses.  Keeping up with the times we now have battery powered lights from Maplins. I recommend them.

Waiting List

John is in his seventies - at least.  Back trouble, or so he claims when he has a bad golf shot, cancer and a dickey heart.

We golf together once a week because we play similar golf, share an outlook on life - what we have left of it – have like health problems and an illogical belief towards immortality; in my case in spite of a medical man who, when he discovered my condition, said:

“you may get a couple more years of life playing golf once a week than would be the case if we tried to do anything about it.”

Me, someone we met on the course and John

I’m nearer 91 than 90 but we manage with a buggy, although I tend towards falling over when I am  striking the ball - sometimes even when I am just standing still! We rarely lose a ball because distance is something you lose with age and we can still see them after we have played our shots.

“I’ve applied for a locker”: this was John in the changing room looking down the row of lockers.

“So?”

“There aren’t any vacant; they have put me on the waiting list.”

Golfers are invariably optimists – at least before they start to play.

Booking to play a week in advance always seems to me to be tempting fate: agreeing to go on a waiting list is really pushing it.

    

We play on Tuesday mornings which is 'Ladies Day' at our Club, Wareham. Normal male golfers rarely play on Ladies Day because few male golfers, even in these supposedly enlightened days, will acknowledge that ladies should have precedence - or even be there at all. The easiest way to accommodate such a view is not to be there on Ladies Day.

 John and I are quite happy to play behind the ladies because it means, at our pace, it is like having the course to ourselves.  

All the ladies are our friends.

For those I haven't been in touch with for some time, I haven't yet reached the following situation - quite! As most of you will not be in the first bloom of youth, I trust you are also still playing.

Summer?

Where has the summer gone?
Come to that where has the year gone?

Fortunately, one sunny September day in Dorset where someone else has kept their bit of the countryside tidy and done the gardening and made the beds, brings that wonderful loss of memory that wipes out the rainy days.








We are not far from Dorchester to visit Athelhampton House: it has been there since Tudor Times.

Take a walk down the garden and discover what lies around corners where some thoughtful soul has designed sights that make you go "aagh", or provides you with the means to sit and stare.








Turn left and here is my fellow explorer by a river. What more could you ask of a garden than a river that runs through it, with a name that has delighted schoolboys over the centuries: the River Piddle.





If  you like your gardens a little more formal, where you are not the one who has to climb a ladder to trim the trees and where you can walk in and discover a seat so thoughtfully provided in the shade, here is a fine example.










Peek through a gate and discover the back garden.
Ours was never like this!





Or even take a look inside at another kind of bed which also isn't like ours.

Or go round the front - which is something like ours in that it has windows and a door.

Whichever way you look at it, Athelhampton House is a pleasant place to visit.

A life on the ocean wave

People go on cruises.

You can go like this

or - like this

You may be able to work out our choice from this picture of 

our new shipmate  Clayton who we met on board

We sailed fairly close to shore at one point so that we could see the great house on Brownsea Island  owned by John Lewis and used as a luxury hotel for their employees.


Here we are all at sea but still in sight of land and other ships

and still further out looking at Old Harry's Rocks

 

that's Old Harry on the end

and then back to Poole Quay where, on the way it seems, everybody wants to be a sailor.

May not be everyone's idea of a cruise but, then again, how much can you really expect for the ancient mariner's rate of £9 each.

We also had the benefit of real fresh seafood at our favourite hostelry,

the Poole Arms: not included in the price of the cruise but worth every penny

 John Beaty Pownall knows how good this is.

Dorset Pictures - choose 3 from 5

Corfe Castle, Poole Harbour and beyond from The Purbecks


















Walking on water with the wife at Hamworthy, Poole

Spick and span at Dorset Lake Shipyard for your pleasure

















or enjoying Swanage pier twice over



















or just watching

Memories of our youth

Remember those summer days when the height of enjoyment was out in the countryside in one of nature's swimming pools.


Not much has changed at Eye Bridge near Pamphill in Dorset,










part of the Stour; that lovely river meandering across Dorset,










although I cannot remember ever being bothered by horses and traps - or whatever this is called?












Time moves slowly here. Must have done for whoever carved this otter and his catch from an old tree trunk standing on the riverbank and who didn't even leave his or her name.





As in country churchyards, names are a way of remembering some of those who passed this way,










like Connie and Frank to whose memory the plaques affixed to a seat on the riverside path here speak of a long lasting affection:










nice touch isn't it?

















Here's my long lasting affection, following in Frank and Connie's footsteps along the River Stour

What to do when it looks like rain

Cloudy skies!
haven't we just had enough of them this year.

But there is always something to do if you put your mind to it. Inside is where you need to be but I have to say shopping is not my idea of an alternative to anything.











There is usually a museum somewhere at hand and here in Bournemouth a half an hour from where we live is a somewhat unusual one: the Russell-Cotes Museum.

This is what it looks like from the outside.




and this is the garden as it appeared today.

You may have noticed that having decided to spend part of the day indoors, the sun has miraculously appeared.

Well, here we are and so to make the most of it.





This was once the home of Sir Merton and Lady Russell-Cotes who came here in the mid 1880s.

As you can see they were not hard up for a couple of coppers.

They were great collectors of fine art, some of which probably appeals to most viewers.

They even had bad weather in those days!







But the eye for beauty is always with us; certainly was in Victorian times. On the right is Venus Verticordia by Dante Gabriel Rossetti.

 Left is a more bucolic style of venus who looks quite happy and well-fed.




In a more modern style by a great artist - Dorothea Sharp who lived from 1874 until 1955 - is this lovely painting typical of her enormous output of fine art. Google her name to see so many fine examples of her beautiful work.    


These are just a few of a wonderful collection in the Russell-Cotes musuem. You can Google that too for much more information.


But you can't stay indoors all day when the sun is shining. Not far though to walk the few steps down to the pier and the joy that is Bournemouth.

Not all blue sky but enough to make a sailor a pair of trousers.







Of course, there are those who couldn't care less about getting wet. If there is water to walk through, a small boy can always find it!














That's enough blue sky and walking for old folks. Back to Broadstone for tea.