shewhomust | Entries tagged with date

Three things that comes around annually:

The Classics Summer School arrived all of a sudden, bringing anef with it. So lunch with her and S. (also a regular attender) at Veeno last Friday was an unexpected pleasure. I like Veeno - the food, the wine, the atmosphere -but it is not as grand as some of the restaurants I have chronicled here, so I was glad that anef and S. both gave it their approval.

At the Farmers' Marhet on Sunday (no, not the market itself, which is a monthly event) I noticed that the horse chestnut trees on the green were heavy with conkers. Not fully ripe yet, they could be larger - and will be, I expect, if we get enough rain - but already a good crop.

Monday would have been my sister's 70th birthday. I wonder what she would have been like at seventy? Much like herself, I suppose, as we all are: spikier in some respects, mellower in others...

Two weeks of pub quiz:

Attendance was noticeably lower at last weeks quiz. We thought the simmer lull had arrived at last, and we thought About time, too! But this week was bacl to normal - busier, if anything, more crowded and certaunly noisier.

Is it significant that it was the lower scoring teams who were absent last week? 0At least, the scores were closer together than usual, and at the upper end of the range. Of the ten teams present (as compared to 14 or 15 this week), five were in the tie-break, three for first place and two for second-to-last - probably the highrst scoring second-to-last on record, acording to the Quizmaster. Our team was in the tie-break for first, and came second to he team who had been ahead all evening, which seemed fair. We actually won this week, and with an even higher score, but the range of scores was much greater. Two instances are not statistically significant, but curious.

Over dinner at The Well Inn,

durham_rambler asked what I thought of his choice of accommodation. It was, we agreed, fine. It was precisely where we needed it to be, halfway between home and our destination. Our motel-style room wasn't long on character, but it was comfortable, and the bathroom had natural light - always a big plus for me). The menu was uninspired, and the New Zealand riesling I was drinking was unexpectedly sweet - but I had chosen it precisely because it was unfamiliar, so I can't complain ("That's the first time I've served that wine to anyone," said our server). We might have hoped for a more scenic location, but altogether, it was fine.

When we left the restaurant, the sun was breaking through the clouds, so we decided to take a little stroll: not as far as Loch Leven, but surely there would be something to see in this dull-looking village. And indeed there was. Just outside the inn, a finger-post pointed between the two houses opposite, to the 'Old Well':

It is, apparently, a holy well, and despite the railway architectural style of its superstructure, the spring itself was a place of pilgrimage in the middle ages (Robert the Bruce visited in an unsuccessful bid to cure his leprosy.) So that was a more interesting evening than we had expected.

We breakfasted late, at the request of the management, who had, of course, been up until the football was over and everything tidied up. Scotland had lost, so we were a little nervous, but our host greeted us warmly, thanked us for being so accommodating, and served us a truly excellent breakfast, with porridge, a cooked breakfast for [Unknown site tag] and more mini-croissants than we could eat. Better than fine, then, would visit again.

Yesterday was the drive north, long but scenic, scenic but long. We acquired the Saturday newspaper, and spent an hour in Starbucks on the edge of Perth reading it while the car re-charged. After this caffeine boost and that breakfast, neither of us really wanted lunch, so we didn't have a real break midway.

durham_rambler pulled in to look at a sculpture that caught his eye, and from there I took this representative view of the landscape:

with its distant view of Corgarff castle. We stopped in Braemar to buy milk, but nothing else, and arrived at Garden Cottage shortly ahead of D and

valydiarosada..

The actual solstice was at 9.24 this morning, so we were technically up for the solstice if not the sunrise - but we didn't interrupt our breakfast to mark it in any way.

Today is the hundredth birthday of David Attenborough. I have no particular opinions about this, beyond a general "that's nice." Or at least, that was my initial reaction, the first time the BBC mentioned it. But they are making such a fuss about it, I'm becoming quite irritable. I have nothing against the man, but his birth is not the only thing that happened in the spring of 1926.

Why yes, I am thinking of the General Strike. I have been surprised at the general absence of comment on its centenary: it was quite a big deal at the time, you know.

There are some commemoative events going on, but you have to look for them: and while I was doing that, I found a couple of links which I will stash here to come back to when I have time, one from Hansard in February 1926, and one from Beamish Museum.

And one other (because I haven't forgotten that I have a post pending): on Good Friday, 2nd April 1926, The Portmeirion Hotel opened to guests.

No, I didn't really. I drifted off into sleep from half-dreams about packing, and what I needed to remember to bring with us, and how much of the lurking washing-up I'd be able to clear before we set off. It wasn't until I was clearing away the breakfast things that

durham_rambler pointed out that yesterday had been the 50th anniversary of the death of Phil Ochs - I knew that the date was approaching, but my mind had been elsewhere... So:

I dreamed I saw Phil Ochs last night
Alive as you and me
Says I to Phil "You're ten years dead"
"I never died" says he
"I never died" says he

Not ten, fifty. Fifty! How is this possible? If there's one songwriter I've been turning to lately, it's Phil Ochs - and I'm not the only one.

Anyway, packing was completed, and we set off - as much as packing is ever completed. But it wasn't until we were crossing the high Pennines that I gazed at the misty landscapes of Cumbria and realised I had forgotten to bring my camera. Yes, I am very annoyed about this. But I have my phone, and

durham_rambler has offered me the use of his camera, so it isn't the end of the world. Later on I thought I should probably have brought some olive oil, too, but it shouldn't be hard to buy some.

We lunched at the ice cream parlour in Brough, though we did not go overboard on ice cream (I had a single scoop of biscoff, which was fine). We had planned a stop for a cup off tea and a recharge of the car, but the place where we had intended to do this never presented itself, so we carried on to our destination.

We are spending a week in Little Cowhouse, a converted barn near Chirk, which is in Wales, though we are just across the river which forms the border, in Shropshire. We have a view down onto the bridge: the border, says our host, is right across the middle of the bridge, with the result that neither country fixes the potholes. On Monday the Bears will join us (travelling by train) and we shall have fun together.

Happy Easter! Though these are in fact the eggs I ate a week ago, at Isla.

Easter Sunday or not, this is the first Sunday in the month, which is the date of the Farmers' Market. Storm Dave blew through in the night, but the morning was bright, and we were prepared for the market to be busy. But what we weren't prepared for was a convoy of a thousand motor bikes bearing Easter eggs: we arrived at the New Inn just before they did, and were held up by the police while they went through (we tried taking a different route, and met them again further along their route). It took about 20 minutes, and we were not amused. There was much muttering about being intimidated by public displays of religion, and about the evil influence of the sugar industry. We got there eventually, though, and not everything had sold out...

Easter Sunday or not, April 5th is/was my father's birthday, and we marked the occasion as we do whenever we can by visiting Finchale Priory where he spent holidays as a boy.

Today is May Day, but somehow not a holiday.

It is also polling day for the local elections. Too late for canvassing, says

durham_rambler, so now we just wait and see what happens. Which is to say, tonight we go to the residents' association meeting, whose scheduled dates are not changed by details like elections; and tomorrow we go to the count.

Meanwhile, the flush of the toilet in the upstairs bathroom is playing up.

durham_rambler has contacted the plumber who spoke to it severely in January, and we are hoping he will repeat the trick. Admiring our shiny new windows, we are both reminded that we would like a shiny new bathroom: this might be a good time to work on that, but it isn't absolutely straightforward (because of the shape of the bathroom, not to mention the shape of our requirements) so let's get the flush fixed for the time being.

I'm hoping that once the election is behind us, win or lose, we might take a little time off to enjoy the spring. I have asparagus, and there will be risotto for dinner, that's a start.

boybear e-mailed this morning to say that, according to his computer, today is Puffin Day.

Around here, of course, every day is puffin day: I was already wearing my puffin socks. And every day is Something Day. Here's a Days of the Year website, and yes, it confirms that today is Puffin Day. It suggests that the designation originated in Iceland, but is hazy about when and how. So I'm inclined to prefer this site, which claims it for Norway.

It makes sense to celebrate puffins at this tme of year, as they return to land for the breeding season. I'm surprised / sceptical that their return to Lovund is quite so accurately predictable, weather being what it is, bu it must be about right. The Guardian has already published at least two pictures (one from the Farnes, one from Orkney) which I am failing to find, because I can't filter by date. Unexpectedly, though, The Times of India provides a pin-up gallery

Wednesday was

durham_rambler's birthday: celebrations were low-key, as we have been distracted by builders, but we did manage to find a party to go to -

- if you can call something a party when it starts at 9.00 am. We had an invitation to the opening of the new building at the student development which currently houses Hild/Bede College: I'm still not sure who they thought they were inviting, but

durham_rambler is Chair of the residents' association, and he wanted me to accompany him, and since it was his birthday, and since I had to be up early because of the builders, and anyway why not, I went with him. The Vice Chancellor cut a purple ribbon, there were some brief speeches, and then we retreated from the sleet into the JCR and chatted with friends and neighbours (including the Mayor and the Parish Clerk) and drank coffee and ate pastries...

We weren't home long before it was time to go out to lunch: we had booked at the Vane Arms in Thorpe Thewles, where we have eaten before, though not recently. There were mussels on the menu, which always makes

durham_rambler happy, and the sun was shining, and after lunch there was a bus shelter repurposed as a book exchange to investigate (we got away without actually taking any books, although

durham_rambler was intrigued by a biography of Josephine Butler).

Out again in the evening, to the pub quiz where, for the second week running we found ourselves in a three-way tie breaker for first place. We are not good at tie breakers, and we came third: but there's still a decent prize, and all the glory of top marks. And the winners were our friendly rivals, the student team on the next table, who have gone several weeks without a win, and were getting fractious, so it's all to the good.

As the man himself said.

We lunched today with F. This was the meal to which she had invited us for Twelfth Night, which did not happen at the time because of conflicting plans, and then snow. When F. proposed that we dine with her and J. on the 25th,

durham_rambler suggested that, being Scottish, she should make it a Burns Night supper. F. was not enthusiastic, and J. was not free on the night, because C. was coming from Carlisle to spend the weekend with her, and the two of them had tickets for a concert at the cathedral. It was C. who introduced us to F., long, long ago, so including her in the party was the opposite of a problem, and we settled for lunch today.

Only it seems that C. has never been to a Burns Night supper, and the idea had caught her imagination. So we agreed (while F. wasn't listening, because she seemed actively opposed to the idea) that C. should extend her weekend visit, and she and J. should come to us tomorrow, and we would provide neeps and whisky and haggis and an Address thereto, though less than authentically pronounced.

Then, of course, Storm Eowyn arrived. And messages from C. with videos of her garage roof about to take off, and apologies, and she really didn't feel she could leave home at present (not to mention trying to cross the Pennines...). Which is disappointing but very sensible. And the remnants of the weekend's plans go ahead: J. enjoyed her concert, we all enjoyed our lunch - and J. will stay here overnight tomorrow, so that's an actual gain. But it all feels very fragmented.

Oh, well. Here's a word from our sponsor:

May's a funny month: the calendar shows all sorts of high days and holidays, about which I have nothing to report. Nonetheless we observe our own red letter days:

On May Day itself, we neither marched for workers' rights nor danced around a maypole (though we might easily have done either of those things). But I bought myself a calendar of Eric Ravilious woodprints, so the first of every month is a special day. May's image is particularly festive: the frontispiece of a book based on the game of Consequences.

In France, you are likely to be given a sprig of lily-of-the-valley to celebrate May Day. There's a garden that we pass on the way to the Elm Tree, along whose edge lily-of-the-valley grows. Eight days ago, on May Day itself, I saw a single spray of white bells among all the leaves; but yesterday, a week later, the flowers were abundant.

May 2nd was election day, but the excitement passed us by. For one thing, we had already cast our postal votes by the time the day arrived; for another, this is not the year we have council elections. We failed to raise any enthusiasm for the election of the Police and Crime Commissioner, which we regard as a pointless post (as it happens, the incumbent was re-elected). That leaves the mayoral election. We have not hitherto had a regional mayor, and I remain to be convinced that we will benefit from having one. But for what it's worth, I voted for Jamie Driscoll (he came second to the approved Labour candidate).

So you'd think that nothing the Labour Party does would surprise me, but you'd be wrong. Even so, if the party is that desperate to increase its tally of MPs, might I suggest that Diane Abbott would be a better choice than Natalie Elphicke?

It's puffin season! Later this month, Amble will hold its puffin festival. Meanwhile, this is how you train AI to recognise a puffin (but only during the daytime).

On May 9th 1969, Pink Floyd and others played a free concert on Parliament Hill Fields. We were there, as I have said before and may well say again. Tonight I'll raise a glass to the memory

Better get on with cooking dinner, then...

Today is Harry Houdini's 150th birthday, and I didn't find out until tea-time. That's how much I am not keeping up.

People whose kind comments have gone unanswered already know this, of course. I have been amazed at people's thoughtfulness and support - InRealLife as well as online, but given the constant background noise about the evils of social media, I love this reminder that the opposite is also true. I like, too, the mixture of who comments: people I have actually met, people with whom there's a constant give-and-take, but also the reminder of the goodwill of lurkers.

The same is true off-line. Friends and neighbours have been helpful, and sometimes quite unexpectedly. J and J came from York for a cup of tea and a chat, bringing a Victoria sponge and a posy of pale yellow daffodils. They were certainly, for a number of reasons, people I would have chosen to see, but I was surprised when they offered, out of the blue, to make it happen.

We had a date to meet S. for fish and chips before she goes to the (livestreamed) opera; we won't do that, but she will call in for a cup of tea.

This morning we went to Lidl:

durham_rambler hunted for (and found) treasure in the middle aisle, and I bought some emergency supplies. There's a lop-sided chicken in the oven right now.

Happy birthday,

durham_rambler!

In a properly organised world, we would be spending today going out and having fun. In this world, the fun we had planned is not open on a Tuesday, so we will do that tomorrow instead - before D. arrives for a few days. Today is grey and damp. Maybe tomorrow will be brighter...

Meanwhile, remembering last summer - not actually a very sunny day, but Culross Palace brings its own sunshineL

- and still saving lives at sea. Happy birthday to the RNLI, 200 years old today!

We will not be eating haggis tonight, Burns Night though it is. It's not for want of trying. Ocado had no haggis when I placed my last order; or rather, they offered only vegetarian haggis, and at the time I thought I could do better.

Yesterday morning we went into Durham. I had some errands to do at the market, and I thought that buying a haggis would be one of them. The cheese stall (in former times my usual supplier, but now under different management) could not help, and the butcher's stall has vanished completely. Luckily the watch stall was able to refit the pin that secures my watch strap, so the trip wasn't wasted. But neither the supermarket nor the fancy new deli could help me. So there will be smoked mackerel kedgeree for dinner, and very nice too.

And here's a picture from last summer's holiday in Galloway, from Annan's old harbour area:

I always thought that Christmas ended on Twelfth Night: January 6th, also known as Epiphany, the day the three kings finally arrived at the stable. That's when decorations must be taken down, right? Then

valydiarosada pointed out that if you count twelve days from Christmas Day, the twelfth day, the one with all the inconvenient gifts from your true love, is January 5th. There's no arguing with this: once you count it out, it's obvious. Christmas ends on January 5th, and the following day, Christians celebrate the coming of the Magi. Two related festivals on successive days suggest that something has gone wrong, and that Occam's Razor should be applied, but that's how it is. So today is not Twefth Night. I expect everybody except me already knew that.

Thursday wasn't Twelfth Night either, but it was that date of Phantoms, a now-traditional event which has come to mark the end of our Christmas. Originally 'Phantoms at the Phil', from its location in Newcastle's magnificent private library, it consists of a trio of spine-chilling tales newly written and read by their authors to a delighted audience. This year the Phantoms had exorcised themselves from the Lit & Phil only to settle a short distance along the road in Prohibition. Downstairs this is a bar haunted by its past existence as a jazz café, but upstairs -

- well, I think

durham_rambler's photo does a good job of conveying the combination of old-fashioned comfort and ghostly unreality. Gail-Nina Anderson (left, shielding her eyes against the light) said it resembled a well-heeled bordello, but while there was certainly an abundance of drapery, there was also something of the gentlemen's club, or the sort of library on whose floor the master of the house will be discovered, horribly murdered. Sean O'Brien, right, looked entirely at home there. Out of shot, keeping a safe distance from these two sinister apparitions, was guest speaker David Almond.

We habitually refer to Phantoms as 'an evening of ghost stories', but actual ghosts are in a minority: some years there are none at all. This year Gail-Nina's story was a characteristic blend of disturbing iconography and parish gossip: something nasty in the chapel of Saint Anthony Abbot; Sean's trademark horror crept up despite the daylight and open windows of an artist's workroom (am I inventing the Mediterranean sunshine?). It was David who gave us an actual ghost dispatched back whence it came, and left us - well, left me, at any rate, wondering whether this was a good thing.

I don't have anything coherent to say about A.S. Byatt. I have a vague affection for her, because I always enjoyed hearing this very literary grande dame praising Terry Pratchett. I enjoyed some of her books, struggled with others.

Instead, since today is the 70th birthday of Alan Moore, I thought it would be a pleasure to write about someone who is still alive. Admittedly, he has turned away from those of his works which have given me such pleasure over the years, but they have given me very great pleasure ...

And I've never written here about The Birth Caul... In fact, what have I written here? And why have I never tagged the relevant entries?

So instead of writing anything new, what I have been doing is tagging all my previous entries about Alan Moore. Not so much a birthday tribute as a meta-tribute. Oh, well.

Watch on YouTube

We’ll rehouse the homeless in Buckingham Palace,
Start at the bottom, work down to the top,...

No master, no landlord, no flag, no guru,
No Gauleiter, no commissar,
Just justice and poetry and jam on it too,
and when they ask: "who’s in charge here?"
We all say: "We are!"

Today is the 90th anniversary of the Kinder Scout Trespass.

Watch on YouTube

There's a widespread assumption that things are more interesting if they can be attatched to an anniversary of some sort - as if things that aren't interesting one day become magically interesting the next. This is just marketing, and my automatic reaction is to resist.

What, then, should I make of the declaration that 2022 is the 1900th anniversary of the construction of Hadrian's Wall? (What, all in one year? Mo, of course not.) Even sillier, the year of celebrations starts today, which is Hadrian's birthday: how obliging of him to be born so near the beginning of the year!

Well, any excuse for a party, and some of the events sound fun: I'm sorry to miss the Emperor taking a bubble bath in the bath house at Ravenglass. (Why have I never been to Ravenglass? It's not actually on the Wall, of course, but the Roman defensive frontier extends down the west coast, and could be worth exploring...).

Crossposts: https://shewhomust.livejournal.com/777095.html

As I was saying, George Mackay Brown was born one hundred years ago today, in a little house in Stromness. I have stayed in that house (not to be confused with the house in Stromness where he was then living): it was a holiday rental, and there's a picure of it on this page (scroll down).

I shall be in Stromness again next midsummer - hooray!

Meanwhile, have Stromness poem.

Crossposts: https://shewhomust.livejournal.com/767760.html

Profile

shewhomust

The Shadow Gallery

October 2026

S	M	T	W	T	F	S
				1	2	3
4	5	6	7	8	9	10
11	12	13	14	15	16	17
18	19	20	21	22	23	24
25	26	27	28	29	30	31

Syndicate

Page Summary

Style Credit

Style: Neutral Good for Practicality by timeasmymeasure

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags

Page generated Oct. 30th, 2026 04:22 pm

News from Nowhere

Entries tagged with date

Three plus Two makes five things (sort of)

Well, well...

Centenaries

I dreamed I saw Phil Ochs last night -

Easter Sunday or not

Drive-by posting

Lundkommardagen

Birthday celebrations

The best laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men...

Free games for May

Overwhelmed

Deferred pleasures

200 years old -

For a' that, and for a' that ...

Not Twelfth Night

Happy birthday, Mr Moore

A song for Coronation Day

No man has the right to own mountains

A long-awaited party

Hamnavoe Market