Gt. Gramps’ Diary #5 in which he reveals a liking of small birds

March 1848: A new Book keeper is now appointed so I have more time to myself and on Saturday afternoon we 3 generally ride off to the river “Martha Brae”, and spend an hour or more bathing, and having swimming races on, and by the side of our horses in a large deep pool, till a large alligator was seen there, which made us rather cautious tho’ it did not stop our bathing.

dads bird drawing xThe scenery on this river was very beautiful. It runs along a deep rocky valley, with tall bamboos and graceful trees hanging over its banks. The coot, woodpecker, and paroquets, keep up a lively noise, while the minor key is supplied by the melancholy “Whitebelly” and “Mountain Witch”, the latter is a large ground dove, seldom seen, as it lurks in the thick bushes, though often heard. Its deep sad “hoo, hoo hoo!” is so weird that it is impossible to tell from whence or from what distance it comes. The noble “Baldpate” pigeon, and Pea dove, the former eating fruit of the highest trees, and the latter running on the ground or flying about on low trees, comparatively tame, these and many more interesting birds are constantly to be seen. One of the prettiest is the little ground dove”, about as large as a fat sparrow, of a puce lour covered with small purple spots on neck and wings. A most familiar object all over Jamaica.

About the beginning of this month Mr. Blagure came to the Estate, and sent for me to copy a lot of letters and accounts, and finding me apt and useful, gradually took me from estate work altogether, and made me for the time his private secretary very much to my comfort and satisfaction. I now began to indulge my love of birds and finding a pair of young pea doves in an old calabash tree I tied them by one leg each, through the bottom of the nest, with my waistcoat string till they should be fully fledged. I then took them and for nearly 4 years one of them remained a beautiful and sweetly cooing pet.

15th March: Mr. Blagure drove me to Montego Bay. We had a delightful drive, as we went by the mountain road – and think every mountain road in Jamaica gives a panorama of beautiful views. This one, as we approach the town, is perfectly enchanting. The next day I returned by the sea-side road, 30 miles. This runs for some way on the sea shore strewed with conch shells and corals. On my return, I found Mr. Grant had broken one of his great toes, by letting a rum vat fall on it! So for some time I had to do double work, and sometimes to “line out cane holes”, a very tedious employment consisting in sticking up innumerable pegs at 4 feet apart, by the aid of a chain and any old negro who has strength enough to drag one end of it. The ends of the pegs blistered the palms of my hands at first till I made a leather pad. The sun too trying to work in all day, as it is impossible to escape from it in the open field.

7th June: Whilst with the field gang today I found a humming bird’s nest with one young one fully fledged, and as it flew out, I struck it with a stone. It was only stunned and soon recovered, so I took it home and fed it with sugar and water, which it soon learnt to suck out of a quill. On Sundays I indulged it with a bunch of fresh flowers. It seemed to know me and on opening the cage it would fly to my finger at once, or on the flowers which it rifled with evident delight. It was always unwilling to return to its cage but never attempted to fly away. The end of this beautiful pet was sad, for during one of my trips to Montego Bay with Mr. Blagure I had to leave it in the charge of Mrs. Grant, and on returning I found it dead – starved to death!

13th July: Our crop is now finished. We have made 140 hogsheads of very good sugar, which is considered a good crop, but the rum crop of 60 puncheons is a bad one. This evening as a sort of “harvest home” all the negroes assembled before the Busha’s house and danced till, being regaled plentifully with rum punch, most of them got tipsy and went away to fight or sank down to sleep where they were, on the grass. I caught a large “Yellow” snake early in August, and took it home to the great horror of all hands, negroes having a mortal dread of snakes whether poisonous or not, and when I let the thing creep over me and round my neck they really began to look on me as something uncanny. I put the snake in a barrel but, though I heavily weighted the cover, it got out, and was accused of eating every fowl that was missed for a month afterwards.

21st October 1848: I received a letter from Mr. Wortley asking me to leave Mr. Blagure’s service and return to help him on Cumberland and Halfway Tree Pens, as he had just received  direction to take charge of another Estate several miles off, and required help. I wrote to say that I was comfortable and I sure of considerable promotion and that Mr. Blagure wished me to remain with him and promised to give me independent charge of one of his properties as soon as opportunity offered, but I said I would do as Mr. Wortley wished.

After hearing again from Mr. Wortley that he was not well and had urgent need of assistance I resigned my appointment, and after a kind farewell from Messrs. Blagure and Favours, the Busha, I packed up my traps and sent my heavy box and a large wooden cage I had made and filled with every variety of wild pigeon and dove round by sea. On the 8th of November I started on my good pony Adam for the south side of the island, sleeping one night at Lancaster Estate and next morning the manager Mr. D. E. Besham and I had a delightful plunge off his wharf into the sea….

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Watford 10k 2013 (or Batman on the run)

The weather can be a bit risky on May Bank Holiday but this year the sun shone over Cassiobury Park as I followed my mate Mick “The Butcher” chasing his PB over 10k.

Contrary to an earlier post they changed the course this year and there were concerns over bottlenecks on the canal path but the day went off without a hitch and was enjoyed by runners, families, dogs and, er, Batman and Robin….

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Golf; a spoilt walk and nowhere to park

What good is a blog if not to a) flex your creative muscle and b) vent your desire to have a good moan now and again.

grumpy-old-woman-300x300So it was with sun on my shades and peace in my heart that I pulled into the public car park (note the use of the word public – it’s a word that will be featured prominently later in this story) that finds itself adjacent to the Fortress that is the Chorleywood Golf Club.

The Station carpark was full so for the price of a 5 minute walk back to the station you can leave your car for a few hours in the aforementioned PUBLIC car park.  As it transpired, this too was pretty chokker due to a plethora  of golfists and a few runners (it’s a cracking place for a run, Chorleywood Common) enjoying the spring sunshine.  An elderly lady arrived just before me so I waited as she cruised the area looking for a slot.

Satisfied she had found a home for her Rover, I trundled into the car park and manoeuvred into what appeared to be pretty much the last space.  I was immediately approached by a stout woman of purpose who burst from the Golf Club like a Cruise Missile.  Sporting a strong and sensible Chorleywood Golf Club jersey (Men’s size “large” I’d wager) she dabbed at my window with a gnarled finger.  I wound down.  ”Are you parking here?” she barked.  Affirmative.  I had already parked here. “But you can’t!” she replied, colouring visibly.  ”That’s the Turning Area“.

I’m not saying she had a big mouth but Grand Designs would’ve called it a “Space”.  She had the kind of face that spoke of the Colonies; Darjeeling tea, punkerwallahs and scones.  I had chosen what the Golf Club had decided (secretly in a moonlit conference no doubt over a glass of port) was the “Turning Area“.  Despite oodles of room in and around the PUBLIC Car park, and an exit wide enough for several of the many 4x4s already abandoned nearby, the area I had selected to deposit my car was designated the only way that the craggy and brightly coloured Chorleywood Golfists had privately (and unilaterally) designated their “Turning Area“.  Criminal.

I had to ask on what basis such an area was established given the amount of room it appeared to embrace.  At this, Miss Trunchbowl drew herself upwards and with a quiver of the liver-spots on her ample jowl announced “It’s…a…Convention!”.

Well.  What could I say to that?  The pringle-clad ball-chasers had drafted a Convention for car park etiquette but had forgot to put a note in the Parish Magazine.

I could only conclude that either a) Chorleywood Golf Club members had such severe collective arthritis that their elbows were unable to turn sufficiently to park and remove their cars without an airfield of space to turn in or b) their misguided belief in the quasi-ownership of their (sic) PUBLIC car park meant that casual visitors were expected to recognise the glowing sanctity of their own special, unmarked turning space and bugger off.

Look, I don’t generally dislike anyone by default; innocent until proven guilty.  And golfers? well, my brother plays off a 3 and he’s a good egg.  But this experience served to remind me that some people actually seek exemption from the human race by making their own rules and expecting the rest of humanity to obey them.  They’re a disappointed bunch.  Perhaps rural golf is not a game at all – maybe it’s a cult or a genetic predisposition.  One with rules, clothing and (ahem) conventions all of its own.  Just Saying.

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Spring evening runs.

DSC01500I do declare there is no better time to go for a run than early on a fresh spring evening.

There is so much new growth about the place that I am completely able to convince myself that I am fleeter of foot and about a decade younger. It’s enough to make you start building a nest.

The paths through the fields around where I live are hard as rock but every plant is pushing upwards on an irresistible mission skywards.  The bluebell woods are about to explode into a riot of colour and the pigeons are shagging every morning on my bedroom roof.

Ahh. Spring has sprung.

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What actually is technology? A short rant.

advertising guySomething has caught my attention on the telly recently and it’s starting to irk me not a little.  No, it’s not that weather forecasters always say “Let’s take a look”, and add an “a-” to statements for emphasis (what exactly is “Apache rain” anyway?) although in irksomeness that’s up there too. No, I’m irked by the way product advertising is using the word “technology”.

We are awash with ads that exhort product technology: Non-stick technology, Non-slip technology, Stain removal technology, Electro-optical synergy (ELOS) technology for nonablative skin rejuvenation (!) and so on.  We are becoming brainwashed to believe that because something has a technology in it then it must be really good.  ”Phew! Thank god that drink’s got L. Casei Immunitas in it – I feel so much better now!”

I have no doubt that technology played a significant part in delivering these fascinating features that the brand owners are so proud of.  But removing spots is not technology; it’s hygiene.  And L. Casei Immunitas (along with Bifidus Regularis) is a bacteria.  The science that goes into creating a product doesn’t make the product scientific.  Besides, much more technology went into making the product in the first place than in adapting a new feature so what’s the take on that?

So I’ve suggested a few rules below that will help us all understand what technology really is:

  • Technology is found inside machines with lights on them and involves the exchange of data governed by coded instructions entered by people with spots wearing lab-coats.
  • The deployment of aforesaid Technology assists in the making of decisions and things by making other things happen faster and more accurately than the ham-fisted, spotty technology folks could manage as their lab-coats would get in the way.
  • Technology is not found in face-cream, socks, glasses, food, frying pans, masking tape, nit-shampoo, hair-dye, probiotic yoghurt or any other inanimate consumer good or any feature thereof nor will it ever be.
  • Everything ever made used technology of some sort not least the wheel which used a chisel
  • I’m not clear as to what technology was used to invent the chisel; this might have been pure serendipity.
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Barcelona in 60 seconds

Barcelona 125Just back from a really pleasant 3 day gastro-tour with Mrs G. in Barcelona, bathed in spring sunshine.  I do love that town; our second visit; got the cathedral out of the way last time we were here so the focus was on relaxation, seeing my new niece, grabbing a few bargains in the shops and a thorough sampling of local culinary delights.

dry martiniStayed downtown on Passeig de Gracia in the flawless Mandarin Oriental of which I cannot speak highly enough. You’re walking distance from everything you’re likely to need (like a Dry Martini at Speakeasy or the best Tapas in town at Cuidad Condal) and quite a lot you won’t have the time or the budget to enjoy (like jewellery from Bulgari and Tiffany right next door).

Barcelona 112Little Moa, the new niece, and her parents had a high ceilinged apartment high over P. de Picasso in the old town. Being a photographer and a textile designer, their flat was like a 24/7 fashion shoot; cloth samples draped on old mannequins and everywhere was colour and light.  We lunched on tapas (of course) and drank beers and Sangria alongside the Mercat de Born, an iron domed covered market, like Smithfield but cooler.

Next day we travelled by rail 40 minutes south on the RENFE to see Sitges.  We walked the long empty beach in the bright sun dipping our toes in the very cold sea.  Property prices are sky high here thanks to proximity to the airport, nearby parks and unspoilt architecture.  But the place has a bit of Worthing seafront to it which masks a history of fierce fighting through the centuries notably in defence against English Frigates in 1797.

Back to Barca after another epic seafront restaurant meal (“Sole in Citrus Sauce” Oranges and cream – to die for).  An early evening warm up in the hotel bar introduced us to Cardamom Gin cocktail: 1 part Cardamom-infused Bombay Sapphire, 1 part fresh lemon juice and 1 part homemade ginger syrup.  Needless to say I will be spending some time learning to make this at home later today – clearly some practice will be involved…

Dinner at L’Olive (“Roasted Kid Cutlets and dry-fried artichoke hearts”) and a bottle of “black” Rioja Reserva. This is an up-market joint and a bit pricey but the food was unbelievable.

Barcelona 122 fat ladyYou can’t leave a gastro-tour of Barcelona without a drop into Da Greco – actually it’s an Italian but like all good Italian restaurants it’s warm, friendly and serves fantastic pasta against a backdrop of baroque furniture wierd paintings and Frank Sinatra tunes.  Our meal included a Pasta Tasting menu (every dish a surprise!) the best surprise being it was only €18 and could feed an army.

Barcelona is a very friendly town although it has recently gained a reputation for pickpockets. It thrives in an otherwise dire economy and its broad streets, its quirky and mixed architecture, its art and its food conspire to make it one of my favourite towns on the planet even if I now need to run a marathon to lift the calories I consumed while there.

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Dance Day. Two left feet and a camcorder.

One day I’ll be able to make some money from doing these videos instead of doing it for fun and charity but until then there’s Dance Day.

Dance Day will happen on June 1st this year and is the fundraising brainchild of a charity called FirstLight Trust who help “the hard to reach often homeless war veterans”.  They do an amazing job with very little money and need all the help they can get.  You will hear more about Dance Day – trust me.

They asked me to film a rehearsal day which we managed to do at swanky The Hospital Club (for which we are most grateful).  Pro Choreographer and winner of BBC’s “So you think you can dance” (and part time double for Mark Hammil) worked up a neat dance routine for Jacko’s “Don’t Stop Till You Get Enough”.

We had a fab day out and the dancers and Matt were brilliant – I have so much respect for those guys and boy are they FIT!

www.firstlighttrust.co.uk

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