Yeo Valley staff canteen

We like to eat Yeo Valley organic yoghurt, even though Husband is very disappointed that he never wins anything in their competitions; he is mad keen on collecting "Yeokens". So off we went to the yoghurt H.Q. because on their website they claim that they welcome visitors. Well they do, but you can't see any cows or anything but the staff canteen, and the corridor leading to it, but both of these were so nice that we were quite satisfied, and we had coffee in the staff canteen. It has a terrific view and you can sit outside but yesterday was extremely dull and rainy so sadly, the view will have to wait for another day.

A room with a view

The organic stuff is not so expensive

Reading matter and coffee tables: outside the day was very wet.

Very interesting decor.

Still looking for the source of the Thames

If you remember, once before we went to look for that holy place where the water that becomes the Thames comes out of the ground. I have never seen this (except in Ampleforth, Yorkshire, where the streams on one side of the road flowed perpetually across the road and nobody remarked on it. We could have used that water!) But I particularly want to see this miracle as it happens and becomes the Thames. You remember that before we went as far as the pub:

and went along an extremely dangerous road and through a railway bridge and up a field and there was a lovely stream, but the path went away from the stream; we didn't know how far we had to walk; we had walked a lot that day and it was getting dark and so we gave up.

This time we discovered that if we had only poked our heads into the pub doorway there was a large, detailed and very clear map showing you how far you had to go and how to avoid some of the highly dangerous bit of road. Anyway, this time we went up the path marked with an orange arrow before you get to the railway bridge, and we followed the path beside the railway before it  joins the Thames path. Then we saw the marker from a distance and found it at last and I took photos but I was not happy. I was not happy because the ground there was lacking an essential element. Water.

This is very clear.

In front of these markers there is a pile of rocks which people have left to show they got here and they saw the water coming out of the ground, but there was nothing to see yesterday.

So we walked off in search of the first sign of the stream.



We walked down this field. By the way, at one time there was a statue of Old Father Thames in this field but it was vandalised, so it was moved to the first lock on the Thames.

This is the river bed - I kept listening for sounds of trickling water. No joy

The river bed is quite marked and easy to follow - the grass is greener : there are more kinds of  weeds.

I seem to remember seeing the stream here last time.

In the river bed. The river is supposed to run under both of the arches of that bridge. 

We went over to the other side of the road. No blooming river. So once again we did not find the source of the Thames. But the lack of water is surely an indication of a problem: empty aquifers. Overuse of water I think as we have had enough rain this year. 

Alice in Wonderland at Guildford

Alice's Adventures in Wonderland - play

We went to a staging of this story in Guildford which was quite interesting. We were welcomed at St Mary's Church, where an introduction from the vicar (Charles Dodgson, alias Lewis Carroll) started a service, which was interrupted by the White Rabbit. Alice was in the audience and got up to take part. She then fell down the rabbit hole in front of the congregation and after she landed, the "choir" area was opened up to show the hall with the doors. Alice drank "Drink Me" and found that she could get  through the little door (it had become a big door) and she took the whole audience through the door with her, through a dark tunnel with fairy lights, and in a dressed up vestibule on the other side, we all met the fruitily-voiced caterpillar, sitting on the mushroom. We then met the White Rabbit again and we were taken on a short walk to the next venue (Guildford museum), where we saw the Cook and the Duchess arguing about the soup, we heard a recording of the Mock Turtle and the Gryphon, we helped the playing cards to paint the roses red, and we saw a puppet show of the Cheshire Cat. We could take all these scenes in any order; the audience drifted around the small rooms of  the venue. Finally, there was a scene with the March Hare and the Mad Hatter, who improvised very amusingly with single members of the audience, who could join in the tea party, but they had to keep getting up and moving around the table. It was all very uproarious and mad. We then accompanied the cards to the grounds of Guildford castle where poor Alice tried to play croquet with the flamingos. Then we went up the stairs to the medieval prison which is in the Castle keep and were in the audience for the trial of the Knave of Hearts. The King and Queen had very definite characters - he so weak and confused, she so assured and so stupid and then - not very dramatically - it all came to an end.

The company somehow perform this show THREE times a night, but they must surely have two Alices and two White Rabbits, and although the cast in the Museum can stay there and repeat their parts 3 times for different audiences, how exhausted they must be by the end!

And so we went inside three historic buildings in Guildford that we had not been into before. The Castle is a particularly interesting place originally built by the Normans soon after the conquest. It would be hard to find a more suitable venue for the Trial scene than that square brick and whitewash room with barred windows.

inside the keep

Charles Dodgson lived in Guildford from time to time, after Alice was published. He bought a large house there for his six unmarried sisters.

In 1832 Charles Dodgson was born in Cheshire. In 1846 he was enrolled at Rugby School (and he hated his three years there). I expect he missed his eleven younger brothers and sisters. He went to Oxford to study classics and mathematics in about 1852, when he was 20. Henry Liddell became the Dean of Christ College, where Rev Dodgson rose fast through the academic ranks, and the two men shared an interest in photography. Dodgson enjoyed taking the pictures of the Liddell family excursions and parties, and it was during one such excursion that Dodgson, accompanied by his friend Revd Duckworth, created the story of Wonderland.

 It was 4th July, 1862, and they had taken the three Liddell girls (sank 'eaven for Liddell girls) for a boating trip on the Thames. Alice (aged 10) had clearly become Dodgson's favourite and to pass the time, he made up the story of Alice falling down the rabbit hole. She then asked him to write it down.

Dodgson himself admitted in an essay in 1887 that "to please a child I loved (I don't remember any other motive) I printed in manuscript, and illustrated in my own crude designs ... the book which I have just had published."

Dodgson found Guildford suitable for his family. "It was the sort of town one retired to: the Dodgsons had many friends who had been army and navy officers, diplomats and colonial men, as well as local professional men. The first dinner party Dodgson went to was given by the headmaster of the Royal Grammar School. He quickly made friends and had many jolly gatherings with them - picnics, dinner parties, concerts, croquet, etc. He was keen on professional theatre and on amateur dramatics. He loved long walks, on his own or with a friend. He preached very seldom - eleven sermons over ten years. He spent many weekend and holidays at Guildford and was there when he became ill and died suddenly in January 1898."

Dodgson was rather attractive

Alice was interesting to photograph - here she's a beggar maid

But in this picture, also taken by Dodgson if I'm to believe the internet, she is eighteen, and looks very dreary.,

Clearly, being a young woman in Victorian England wasn't much fun if you weren't particularly interested in something that fired you up - but poor Alice! There isn't a shred of the chirpy little girl she was. I am disturbed to see this kind of hopelessness in a young person.

People often wonder what went on between the young man and his little girl friend, which seems from our point of view such an inappropriate relationship. I saw a factual programme on this recently in which it noted that several pages were cut from a diary - Dodgson's I seem to remember - and that the Liddells fell out with him. Was it because of inappropriate behaviour with Alice? The thing is, we can't know, only speculate. But one would like to know the reason for the expression on this face.

Here is a link to a website which examines Alice in Wonderland from all angles: very interesting

River by Abi Morgan

This is the first time I have written about a TV programme as though it were a book. It is a cop drama - but it is a fine quality drama, with a current of profound tragedy with flashes of happiness and humour.

It borrows from Scandi noir - it even borrows a well-known Scandinavian actor - but instead of the cold and bleakness of Sweden it shows the chrome and glass of London - also the scarred concrete and the underpasses. Somehow it is all lit in such a way that it's glamorised.  But the setting showcases the feelings and the emotions are very profound.

Once again, modern day heroes are not simply ordinary fellows doing their jobs bravely, they are tortured souls. And so, in the way of the times in which we live, they take the medication prescribed for tortured souls and try to pretend everything's O.K. Like the city the medical health issue is glamorised.

I guess we must ask ourselves: "is this really the way to live"? I know I have posed this question before in my blog, when I wrote about "Silver Linings Playbook". If the world (society as we experience it) is so unbearably shitty, shouldn't we change it so we can deal with it? Make a society we can live in without medication? Is that a ridiculous thing to wish for?

But let us not take away from the drama, which is a fine piece of writing, and the leading actors are simply amazing.

Virginia Water, Surrey

Virginia Water is, I think, owned by the Queen, but she sticks to Windsor Great Park and the rest of us walk and run and in places, cycle, in Virginia Water, where there are two very fine gardens, the Valley Gardens and the Savill Gardens. When I go with my friend Amanda we talk pretty continually because we both teach English as a Foreign Language, and have children the same age, and there is usually something to discuss.  But when I go on my own I take loads of photos.

Virginia Water, October

Mahonia in flower

autumnal Mahonia. Very strange. These lovely Mahonias very right next to each other, doing very different things.

Virgina Water, a running club

Valley Gardens, Viginia Water

A young couple showing their children how they loved the giant redwood. I took pics for them as well.

A brilliant yoga pose, with camera

Our house

"Our house" - inverted commas. It was a 4 bedroomed house but of quite modest proportions by today's standards, built in 1926 and called Hartley Cottage - it belonged to Grannie and Grandad, and when they lived there we visited for Christmas and Sunday lunch sometimes. Grannie liked to live as the Victorians did - semi-formally with grand furniture and silver. Cooking and housekeeping was her full-time job - but she had a "daily" to do the cleaning and of course, a laundry delivery (everyone had that before automatic washing machines).  I remember Grandad showing me how to thread a needle in the sitting room and I remember reading my aunt's Enid Blyton books - all in hardback - getting them from upstairs in the bedroom. I remember going to stay there when I was about 5 and enjoying the stability of life with Grannie - the meals at regular intervals and the smell of toast and honey in the mornings. Annabel, my cousin, and I spent such a happy holiday staying with the older people and fishing with nets in the river. I remember Grannie leaning over the wall at the bottom of the garden and calling to us to come in.

My grandad died when I was 8 and when I was 9 or 10 Grannie moved down to live in a large flat in Hove and we moved into Grannie's house, and we looked like well-off people. My father liked the rise in his status - commensurate with being a Cambridge-educated man. My father occupied himself creating wardrobes out of plywood and louvre doors, and putting up wallpaper. He mowed the long lawn into stripes (hot work - his brow used to stream as he laboured behind the petrol mower) and the house always looked fairly smart for the 1970s - we had new carpets, woodchip wallpaper and lashings of white gloss paint. But was the roof sound? I wonder? because all our works were cheaply done and cosmetic. and although we looked like a prosperous family my father's Audi was company-owned and my mother was deeply unhappy and given to screaming fits, emotional abuse and depression - she didn't work and was very lonely. But she loved the river. We all loved the river. We had that. On summer evenings the party boat came by playing "Crocodile Rock" and "Ride a White Swan" and I used to envy the people clinking glasses and boogying on the novelty ride of young adulthood.  I used to stand at the bottom of the garden and watch the sunset every night. I used to look at the river out of my bedroom window every morning and keep that stillness in my heart all day. There was really nothing I would rather do than mooch about by the river and in the summer, swim in it, and I also rowed on it - and still do at intervals.

Well, the house has been allowed to go to rack and ruin for 40 years until finally the old lady who had lived there very reclusively died, and I went to look at it yesterday. At least it has been cleaned, which I imagine was an awful job. It is, of course, smaller than I remember, although there are 2 good-sized reception rooms. But it is in the most terrible state of disrepair. It is quite interesting to see how awful a house gets if you don't pay for its upkeep. But the state of the garden is quite horrible.

I used to think one day I would be able to rescue our old house, and in the process of repairing it I would repair myself. But I can't afford it - it would cost at least a million pounds, even in its current state. It is pointless to love bricks and mortar. Maybe the house always meant too much to me, I liked it because it was old and felt reliable - it came from a time when houses weren't flashy, when mock tudor and leaded panes  were not derided and suburban women went shopping every day with a basket on their arm, whether  rich or not. For a long time for me the house was a substitute for a lot of things we didn't have - happy, reliable parents with realistic ambitions, for example.

for sale: my house. £1m :with river views.  Probably to be knocked down and redeveloped. Sad, sad, sad.

This used to be a nice lawn - and a good view of the river at the bottom - those trees are just weeds I think - not meant to be there.

Poor old house.

The Dementia clinic

The dementia clinic is called the Memory Clinic because nobody likes the word dementia. Perhaps Alzheimer's would be better? My mother has Alzheimer's and yesterday I had to take her to the clinic to see a nurse, to be assessed, and a report will be written about her and sent to her G.P. I appreciate this. The G.P. has not got time to bother with this kind of care, and so it is done by specialists. If a better medicine is found for Alzheimer's I am sure my mother will get it.

The nurse talked to my mother about her life and her habits, and suggested that she go to the Day Centre in order to have more company. My mother had tried the day centre a couple of times and hated it. She said people just sit and look at each other, but the food was good. She was in no hurry to try again but all the health professionals she meets press upon her that this venue is good for her and will give her social stimulation. But although my mother liked talking to the nurse (who was quite grand, really, tall and superior and professionally sympathetic), she doesn't like trying to continue relationships.

She kept telling the nurse that her back hurt; that she had a very bad back. She was distracted by it; couldn't think about the questions. But then she forgot about the bad back and said it was the walking that had helped it (although we hadn't walked far - from the car). Later we had lunch and my mum's back hurt again. I gave her Paracetamol (which I know is hopeless for backs but I didn't have anything else on me). Later I called her to tell her to take her pills (one for blood, one for dementia) and asked her how her back was. She was surprised. She had forgotten about the back and was feeling fine!

After the chat, the nurse had to give my mother a test to see how capable she was of remembering things like the date and the the name of the place she lives, also testing her ability to write and to copy a simple diagram. My mum was quite good! She thought it might be 2007 which is not far out. I was pleased. But apparently she was one point down on last time. so the dementia continues, slowly.

I have continually to worry about my mother's medication and care. She told the nurse that the carer had not made sure she had taken her medicine that morning, but left it on the side, to take whenever, and also said that the carer had not asked her if she wanted sugar in her tea, and had stayed only 10 minutes - she's supposed to be with my mother for half and hour. So I phoned the company to complain. They got in touch with the carer who denied all the above. Of course.

I have been trying to call my mother's doctor about her back - surgery phone busy all the time. ALL THE TIME.

And as for the pharmacist - oh God. It is the most hopeless pharmacy in the world.

Belatedly - Fitzroy Island

Since with F we did the Ocean Spray trip, with Stan we also went out to the Great Barrier Reef, but more economically we took a morning ferry to Fitzroy Island. It was amazing. If there is one day I would like to remember it is the day we went there. The island isn't far from Cairns and the trip is very enjoyable. When you arrive you can go and hire snorkel gear or canoes, or whatever you want from the dive shop. They make you sign several documents to say whatever happens to you, it's your fault and not theirs, and if you damage any equipment you will pay for it. Having done that you are free to go wherever you want and nobody is going to come and save you if you do something stupid. So we had a fantastic time and saw marvellous coral and fish - even schools of small fish, and many brightly coloured single fish, and I saw a small ray on the bottom but I disturbed it.

It is exactly like this.

I don't have the equipment to take pics like this, but the coral was lovely!

We were going to walk on the rainforest path but it was slow going and we had already walked in lots of forests, so we stuck to the coast.

The Diary of Virginia Woolf Vol II 1920-24

This diary is that of a very fulfilled woman. She is still at work on the printing press in the afternoons, but has time to read and write - fewer reviews and better paid - and write her novels. She is happily preparing and writing "the Hours" which became "Mrs Dalloway" during this period. Katherine Mansfield dies, and although VW knew that she was always jealous of her, she misses her.  she finds that most of her group have turned out to be successful, and she feels she wants to reward herself by leaving Hogarth House in Richmond and returning to London, which she and Leonard eventually do. They find themselves a Bloomsbury house with a basement in which they can install the press, and take the flat on the second floor. They have started to employ a succession of helpers at the printing press, and one, Ralph Partridge, marries Carrington and is unfaithful to her ("the village Don Juan") making the whole circle very unstable for a while, for Lytton loves Ralph and Carrington loves Lytton. then there are two further printing press employees in this volume alone.

Crossword Clue: (from The Week): Virginia's partner into endless marijuana? That's serious.
It's a classic clue. Virginia's partner is Vita and endless marijuana is gras. Together = gravitas. But could you get it if you didn't know VW had a love affair with a person called Vita?

Anyway, in this book Vita comes on the scene and at first VW is not impressed. "We had a surprise visit from the Nicolsons. She is a pronounced Sapphist, & may, thinks Ethel Sands, have an eye on me, old though I am. Nature might have sharpened her faculties. [whose?] Snob as I am, I trace her passions 500 years back, & they become romantic to me, like old yellow wine."

At one point I'm sure she says that Vita has a perfect body, but can't find that bit now. Ah yes. "All these ancestors and centuries, & silver & gold, have bred a perfect body. She is stag like, or race horse like, save for the face, which pouts, & has no very sharp brain."

Not very impressed then. But Vita pursues L & V determinedly! "Vita was here for Sunday, [Rodmell] gliding down the village in her large new blue Austin car, which she manages consummately. She was dressed in ringed yellow jersey, & a large hat, & had dressing case all full of silver and night gowns wrapped in tissue. ... But I like her being honourable, & she is it; a perfect lady, with all the dash & courage of the aristocracy, & less of its childishness than I expected. ...

"Vita,...is like an over ripe grape in features [no, me neither], moustached, pouting, will be a little heavy; meanswhile, she strides on fine legs, in a well cut skirt, & though embarrassing at breakfast, [oh do tell how!] has a manly good sense & simplicity about her which both L & I find satisfactory. Oh yes, I like her; could tack her on to my equipage for all time, & suppose if life allowed, this might be a friendship of a sort."

Vita was "embarrassing at breakfast".
I chose this pic in which she is not wearing a hat,
 so we we may judge whether  or not she looks like
 an over-ripe grape. (And Molesworth 2 have a face like a squished tomato)

The real hero of this volume is Leonard. The artistic types are always asking his advice about money and practical matters. He takes Virginia to Spain for an adventurous holiday. He writes his own, serious books about Africa and India and he is the editor of a magazine called the Nation. He lectures working men and others about aspects of socialism and is always politically active and committed. He is the foundation of Virginia's happiness. Now she is getting taken up with titled people and the rich, seems to love it all, and what happened to socialism, Virginia?

Leonard seems to have been short and small,
 very narrow-chested, with a disproportionately large head.

Allotment part 2

The idea we have with the allotment is to divide it into 4 quarters, use 3 of them for crop rotation and 1 for a permanent crop. However, one of the apple trees that came with the plot is in the wrong place and will have to stay with a succession of other crops. The other apple tree has started off the fruit quarter and we have also put in 2 gooseberry bushes, and 2 raspberry canes. We want to put in some rhubarb crowns next.

Most of the ground is still covered with grass which is covered with black sheeting to kill it off. We have inherited a bench so we will place it in the area with the proper turf (the previous occupant put down some turf for his children to play on).

We have cleared enough earth in one quarter to grow curly kale, cauliflower and (out of their place) onion seedlings. Apparently, we are not supposed to grow onion seedlings; we are supposed to grow onions from sets. (But we bought the seedlings in trays because we were away in Australia and couldn't grow from seed.) The "supposed to" ideas come from our fellow allotmenteers, who are very forward in giving advice. Anne tells us what "we all" do, inferring we should do the same, e.g. build compost heaps out of pallets.... Anne has 2 half plots near the back of her house and keeps an eye on the allotments all the time and knows who everyone is.

We also get lots of advice from Nick, who used to be a professional gardener and has a very full allotment with lots of cloches and things. He gave me some gorgeous french beans last week. All the allotmenteers make comments about each other's doings, e.g. Anne thinks Nick has used the wrong material to cover his lettuce cloche and that he will find the foxes tear it.  Nick saved lots of big cardboard boxes for us to cover our ground with under the black sheeting, so that the grass dies back over the winter. He is really kind.

Today I went with a hoe to cut down some grass seedlings that were coming through around the fruit bushes and encouraged by Anne, I also cut back an enormous overgrown rosemary bush, which I will cut back side after side so as not to kill it. She thinks I should dig the whole thing out, especially as there are grass weeds and bindweed roots growing between its roots. But I kind of like it as a hedge between us and the main path.

Other allotmenteers introduce themselves from time to time; the American lady gave me marigold seeds when I admired her marigolds, deaf Anne came to introduce herself and tell me that she had disturbed a lot of mice in her shed and put her hand down to pick up what appeared to be a piece of wire and turned out to be a mouse's tail! A live one, thank God.

Today I was listening to Dezzy Disks on my headphones and didn't hear Anne shouting at me. I didn't water as rain is forecast for tomorrow. We have had such an amazing fine spell. I have been for 3 5 mile walks this week, two of them with Amanda (my friend and neighbour) to Virginia Water. It was incredibly beautiful but I did not take my phone so I sadly didn't take any pictures.

Oxford vs Cambridge

I have never really thought about what distinguishes one from the other - they are both very fine universities. But Virginia Woolf is quite sure that Cambridge "men" (as they generally were in her day) were better, more purely intellectual - poor scholars. She describes "An Oxford young man, inclines to smartness, dress and culture. His soul is uneasy in Cambridge company. He squirms a little visibly."

IT wars

Isn't it difficult? I like Windows. I like Google Chrome. I use Google all the time. But now they are fighting over me in the same way that the omnibus drivers used to mow down the customers who were waiting for a rival firm's bus.

It started when I downloaded Windows 10. It took hours and hours and afterwards my computer hardly worked at all and as for getting the Internet - each time I clicked on Chrome it melted into plain screens and locked up. There was no start menu. I had to crash it twice. What could I do? I thought I had overloaded the poor old thing to destruction and I went to bed with a heavy heart. Could anything be salvaged from the wreck of my laptop?

Next day Windows 10 started to work. It's looking good. It's finding all its elements. File explorer is better than it was; it prioritises the things you actually look at. When you finally get the start menu that looks good too, and it's gradually doing its job.

What goes wrong is when you ask Windows 10 to open Google. It says, Oh yes, I hid that in the attic, and goes off to have a look, and pokes about for a while, but no joy, and it thinks it might be in the back of the garage behind the rusty bicycles and under the old kitchen shelves. That box there. Have a good feel around. Got Google? No. Then it's completely exhausted and starts to freeze in panic, and finally you have to do the IT equivalent of smacking its face, ie. Task Manager, End Task.

But what is really annoying me now is that I can't play anything on iPlayer. I had no idea I wanted to do this so often. It happens that this week on Radio 4 there is an interesting series of talks from Europeans about the local bookshop in their town. I caught the first one - what the Danes are reading - on Monday morning, after Start the Week, and I have been trying to listen to it again and catch up with the other nations' state of play ever since.

But Windows 10 just doesn't seem to be able to find the software that streams content, even though it was there before, and I suppose I will be have to be patient while it rummages about in a few more packing cases for things that were lost in the move.

Postscript: Windows 10 is working fine now: streaming content and finding things quickly; I am happy with it.

****

A friend came to see us recently who is still working on "heritage" computer programmes, working his way through old programmes (25 years old) and trying to work out what the coding is for. He is something of an expert at this but even he has to give up sometimes and say: we don't know what this part does. Sometimes he is amazed that any computer programmes, anywhere, work because they are all patched up and working around defunct bits - it very much reminds me of DNA, which for a while, geneticists said, not much of it seems to do anything! (Perhaps they know more now.)