Welcome to my blog which begins
with a parochial matter, i.e. occurrences in my back garden.
I am not, by any means, a
gardener although I do appreciate a nice garden. I’ve had mine since 1990,
during which time it has been subject to a mixture of random and deliberate
plantings by me, my friends and the occasional tenants. Unfortunately, perhaps,
two of these friends tempted the gargantuan side of me and as a result I
planted three entirely inappropriate trees, a pawlonia, a eucalyptus and a
cherry tree which all quickly demonstrated their inappropriateness by growing
to ridiculous heights that were unfriendly both to the neighbours and to any
passing telephone or electric wires. Subsequently these all had to be brought
down, causing devastation, sadness, removal and, ultimately, renovation.
As it has been raining in record
amounts for months, gardening has been unappetising, especially for those of me
who don’t really enjoy finding themselves faced by, or jumped on by, larger
than they should be slimy looking brown frogs. (I’m also more wary than I
probably should be of suddenly coming across quite fast slowworms or rats
nesting in the warmth of the compost bin.)
When I did go out into the green
jungle a couple of weeks ago, I was surprised to notice a small hole in the
lawn into and out of which bumble bees were flying. I learned that this was a nest
and inside would be a fat old queen receiving gifts from her 50 or so devotees
whom I’ve watched daily busying themselves in the permanent cloud and the
flourishing flowers which, sadly, I can’t name.
The hole in the ground down which
the bees went was approximately half an inch in diameter.
Until this morning.
Now it is a foot deep and a foot
in diameter. I stared at the hole, mystified. How could the bees have dug such
a big hole? It looks like they must have used a spade. Earth and twigs are
scattered everywhere. A quick phonecall to my partner educated me. A badger had
been in. Unable, or too lazy, to locate earthworms, it smelt the honey and then
destroyed the nest by eating it. Apparently this is happening so much in Devon
and Somerset, that the bee is being driven to extinction. I’m assuming the
queen has been killed though there are a few dozen bumbles buzzing about
seeming at a loss as to what to do.
Nature, don’t you love her?
___
A mother I know is being
challenged by her young adult daughter. Why did you have me so young, what kind
of idiot were you at 19 to have a baby? As an equally young parent myself, all
I can say is that at 19, you can’t know how ignorant you are. When I was 17, I
believed that no one should have children because the world is such a fucked-up
place; three years later I was a Dad. Fortunately for me, none of my children
have complained to me about their creation. It’d be hard to take.
Just now I asked myself if I was
glad I’d been born. Luckily, Nisarga Datta says only an ‘I’ takes birth and as
I am not an I (sic!) then the question is redundant. What I do know is that
like my grandpa, given the choice of another birth, I’d decline.
___
My favourite story, the one about Sergeant
Bombay, won the Caine African short story prize.
__
Last night, I was listening to
the aforementioned young adult listing the drugs, medicinal and recreational, that
she was taking. Quite honestly, it is wonder she has a brain left. One doctor,
a psychiatrist, gave her an anti-depressant and told her not to take it with
cocaine or alcohol which he knows she takes because she told him. How come he
doesn’t know that telling someone they shouldn’t take these drugs is utterly
pointless. She will agree with him. Most smokers will agree with you that they
should give up and will tell you that they want to and will probably do so on Monday.
But would you accept their word?
I’m frightened for this girl.
I think of the wise men, sitting
there with the knowledge of happiness, only too willing to share it. Along
comes a sufferer; help me, please. Sure thing, would be delighted to. All you’ve
got to do is believe that everything is alright, always, whatever the evidence.
After that, it’s easy.
Another dissatisfied customer. It
breaks the wise man’s heart. That’s alright, he says.
___
Last week I had to attend a Speed
Awareness Course as a result of being snapped doing 39mph in a 30mph area. This
is my fourth speeding offence in 20 years of driving. As I am someone who
considers speed limits to be minimum speeds, it is quite amazing that I have
been caught so few times. (Mind you the twice I was stopped after driving at
excessive speeds, i.e. at more than 50mph over the limit, I was let go by the
policemen, probably because they knew I’d lose my license.)
The four hour course was far
better than I could have expected. The two lecturers were excellent at both
being jolly and at being drivers who have learned the error of their ways. We
offenders were divided into four groups of six and invited to mull over between
various driving conundrums and lore. None of my group was good at knowing what
speed we were meant to be doing on which roads, despite the fact we’d learned this
at the beginning of our careers. Nor did we know our stopping distances or what
many of the road signs meant.
Of course I will continue to
speed but I’d say that the chances of my hitting a child in an urban area while
travelling above the speed limit will have diminished considerably. Well worth
the £80 it cost me.
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