Thank you, Andrew, for photos of the real bird. Here is another Lanius cristatus. Identified by Anthony Furness http://anthonyfurnessphoto.se from our painting.
Lanius cristatus
He/she is from this beautiful Japanese watercolour that I have known all my life and now have the good fortune to own.
Yes, 2 of them in our garden today. Brown Shrikes both, Lanius cristatus. They speak for themselves. Enjoy.
This January we decided that we would – at last – invest in a greenhouse to replace the plastic plant storage affair we had used for many years. [Short of time? Smart suggestion – jump to the end.]
Especially after the wind did this.
We thought we’d finally use the old marble (see post https://greenwritingroom.com/2013/04/19/happy-ending/)
However there were one or two things to clear first.
Then the fence blew down.
We started clearing the site and preparing the ground.
Then there was the archaeology.
The re-siting of the big slabs that had supported an old oil tank.
A heck of a lot of digging.
And levelling.
Laying of porous, breathable membrane.
And the shovelling of vast quantities of sand.
At last some of the marble can go down – using an intricate plan.
We exchange the big water butt for a smaller one and the base makes an appearance.
More brickwork required.
The day dawns and help (daughter Amy) has arrived.
On Day One we get this far.
And on Day Two we finish the task.
On Day Three I planned to sleep, but found myself starting on the excavation of the narrow passageway linking the greenhouse to the back of the house. I must be mad.
As a child I thought tulips were boring, but now I can’t resist them. Some have been with me for years.
Purissima, I think.
Very old, I don’t know the name, they come up year after year.
Others are new. I think this is called Shirley.
Some are a mixture, older Apricot Beauty and newer Angélique?
Don’t know, possibly Johann Strauss.
But in any grand plan there are always mavericks…
These should all be peach-coloured, no reds in this bed.
And these were a freebie with a weird name, that I cannot at present remember.
This evening I almost picked this narcissus and then noticed the charmingly camouflaged resident. I don’t remember seeing one like this before. However a quick search of the Internet suggests that it is an orange tip (the orange is only visible with the wings open).
The long-awaited greenhouse arrives tomorrow, the base is nearly finished.
An addition – Snakeshead Fritillary – thanks Andrew.
Our new neighbours have been clearing out their garden shed. The house had belonged to a 92 year-old lady who had lived in it for 90 years. Among the gardening tools, they found this.
unidentified garden tool
Has anyone any idea what it is for? Suggestions? It is about 18 inches/45 cms long. It has an iron head and the shaft has a leather handgrip. It looks a little like something a medieval knight might have wielded, but not something a well-bought-up lady would be using in her garden.
PS
It is clear from pictures on the Internet – thank you Koji – that this is a flanged mace. This was used as a weapon in armed combat in Roman and medieval times (for penetrating armour) and is still used for a variety of ceremonies today. As this one is relatively light and short and presumably modern (i.e. within the last 150 years), I assume it is ceremonial, though these usually have rounded flanges and more ornamentation. It is, in spite of its size, a dangerous weapon.
Can anyone tell me what these trees are? Or the ones in the top photo?
I think this is the most impressive ‘political’ speech I have ever heard.
Amsterdam
The revolution is not an apple that falls when it is ripe. You have to make it fall.
Che Guevara.
http://junkee.com/tony-abbott-slammed-by-greens-senator-in-jaw-dropping-speech-of-the-year-we-want-our-country-back/30146
Brilliant, watch the video!
“We’re a few weeks out from the Western Australian Senate election on April 5, a do-over after 1370 votes were lost from the September 7 poll. Greens Senator Scott Ludlam was one of the likely losers of the initial botched attempt, narrowly missing out on a seat – and yesterday he stood in front of Parliament under the guise of inviting Prime Minister Tony Abbott to visit his state, and gave the Coalition one of the roundest shellackings you’re likely to be treated to.
Delivered flatly, calmly, just short of menacingly, his speech covers everything from environmental policy to penalty rates; from school funding to broadband; from the Trans-Pacific partnership to the shark cull. It includes so many incredible lines that it’s hard to…
View original post 404 more words
We live in a part of the UK not affected by floods. Last Saturday a friend and neighbour, Michael Judge, walked round the village taking a few photos. Here is an English cricket pitch.
The recreation ground – photo Michael Judge
And a bowling green.
Bowling green – photo Michael Judge
And a playground.
playground – photo Michael Judge
The local river in May 2012.
English village river May 2012 – photo Michael Judge
And again in February 2013.
English village river February 2013 – photo Michael Judge
And, I repeat, our part of the UK has been spared most of the rain and flooding.
The time has come to say goodbye to our trusty 35-year-old Hunter wood-burning stove.
And line the chimney.
And install a new 89% efficient Burley stove.
And insulate the chimney.
Put caps on to stop the pigeons falling down.
And light the stove. Ah bliss!
I read this book just after Christmas and it made a happy contrast to some of the bleak writing I had waded through in the run-up to the festivities.
A Time to Talk is written in the style of a memoir and the voice is engaging, with a delightful turn of phrase and an often original way with language. There is also a self-deprecating tone, which allows the reader to feel both sympathy and mild exasperation with the protagonist as he flounders among the ‘slings and arrows’. Max Frei, a freelance counsellor with nothing but the good intentions towards his clients, finds himself in conflict with the law and in debates with not only experts in his own area, but criminals outside it. All of this is accompanied by his bewildered but happy reactions to his own love affair. The story is told at a gentle pace giving the narrator plenty of time for introspection, while events unfold around him.
Within this story there is much thought about the serious subject of mental health and the treatments available, but all told with humour and insight that I found refreshing. It is rare to find such serious debate wrapped in such an easy conversational package with much laughter alongside.
Yesterday I went to see the film of The Railway Man (Colin Firth, Nicole Kidman, Jeremy Irvine, Hiroyuki Sanada). Last night I re-read the book on which it is based that came from my father’s shelves.
The film was a moving depiction of a man finding redemption late in life, through the love of a woman who helped him to confront his traumas and finally to meet and even make friends with one of the men responsible for his traumas. It is ‘based on’ rather than an exact version of the true story.
The film also does two important things:
It renews my shame, as a UK citizen, at being even distantly connected to inhumanity of Guantanamo Bay and what the American military are still doing there. We have in the last twelve years thrown away the right to condemn any other nation for treating people inhumanely.
It gives me hope that people have the capacity to forgive their enemies, if they can only meet and talk.
The film is only a brief window on a relationship in trouble and the torture Eric Lomax underwent during interrogation. What the film does not, cannot, do is give the full long-term picture of what Eric Lomax and thousands of other men suffered as Far East POWs and the suffering consequently visited on their families when they returned. After lengthy torture, Eric spent a year or more in unimaginable squalor and imposed silence in Outram gaol. After release, first in India, he met the ignorance and indifference to his their sufferings that blighted these men’s lives – a lady volunteer who suggested that since they had been POWs during most of the fighting, they must now be anxious to ‘do their bit’. In England, so much had changed. Eric’s mother had died in 1942 and his father had remarried. People had suffered and were not keen to revisit, let alone deal with, something that was over and done with.
The book, not surprisingly, tells a more profound, detailed and informative story. There are many tributes to the book. Ian Jack of The Guardian writes: ‘This beautiful, awkward book tells the story of a fine and awkward man.’
Green Writing Room 
