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| My bike at Walton Bridge - no suspension sadly |
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| We rode along that good path in front of Hampton Court Palace. |
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| THIS IS NOT US, THIS IS NOT TODAY. I forgot to take any photos. But it was like this. Blue sky. |
Friday 27 October 2017
Cycle ride, Richmond Park
Today, I went on a 30-mile bike ride to the middle of Richmond Park. I couldn't believe how quickly we got there and back. We rode along the towpath most of the way - at Ham we went through a housing estate and entered the park at the Ham Gate. At the top of the hill there was a mobile café, and I had a bacon buttie (so much for my vegetarianism). I didn't hurt much when I finished - bum a bit sore - but now I do feel my thighs seizing up.
Monday 16 October 2017
Doubles Marathon and Red Sky Day
Here are some pics of the Doubles marathon. (not very clear, I am not the photographer!)
Today, after skiffing, we went on a bike ride to Molesey but the weather turned windy and then very still, with a red sun, and then the sky turned yellow - there is a hurricane in Ireland. The wind picked up dust from the Sahara, apparently, that is what made the light here turn yellow with huge dark clouds. A very odd day. I was glad to get home as I thought a huge storm must be coming.
Sunday 1 October 2017
Allotment year 2, post 5 ish
So this year I planted 9 courgettes because I wanted to see if they would survive from such small and measly seedlings and that was 4 too many. Five is the correct number of courgette plants and if one of them dies you still get plenty of courgettes. I took a good many large courgettes to my club. I didn't waste any. I made soup, and I made marrow and ginger jam. A. made chutney. I made courgette cake.
I was completely bullied by the huge number of beans. I planted about 18 plants and one died. That is about twice as many as I needed. I cut up and froze the beans in small portions. If you freeze them in large bags you never use them. I also gave them away by putting a bag of them on the green with a "help yourself" sign.
I planted three types of potatoes and this time I didn't mix them up. I planted one row of Charlottes and harvested them as soon as they flowered; they were nice, apart from the ones that were a bit scabby. But we ate them all while they were young, but most of them had to be peeled.
One row of Desiree was enough, they have done well apart from some scabby ones, and they should mash well. I also planted some Roosters because the packet of seed potatoes was reduced (roots growing through the mesh. These are lovely round potatoes which hold their shape well when you boil them. They were lates because I planted them as an afterthought.
So apart from the potatoes, courgettes and the beans things didn't go too well. The mange tout did nothing (soil too poor?) So I just pulled them up and eventually I planted leeks in that place. These are growing quite well. When I planted the leeks I also planted two rows of beets. We ate a lot of the young leaves as salad. I eventually pulled up some - they didn't take long to grow. I have never cooked these before but today I roasted some and they were nice. We also had home-grown potatoes and beans (from the freezer).
The raspberry canes produced a decent number of berries but we need a few more so we can collect a couple of bowls full at a time. At present, I am still eating them on the hoof (and very nice they are!)
The strawberries gave us one crop (about 10 bowls) and then put out loads of runners. I have been planting up new plants from the runners but they aren't taking very well. I need to dig out the whole bed and get rid of the original plants, which are getting too old. That bed is very weedy too and needs feeding which I am going to do.
The rhubarb plants went completely mad and after the thirsty spell, which tested them severely in June, they grew incredibly. We should have a good lot next spring. You shouldn't eat the stems after July because they contain chemicals which give you arthritis and gout!
The other thing that needs doing is the construction of a compost bin, from pallets. A. has collected two good corner posts and some pallets and dumped them behind the shed. He is too busy to do any more. The rubbish heap may have some good stuff in it but I am going to have to burn a lot of it because I haven't the container for making compost.
(Home compost is going well - lots of thin pink worms - if it was a nicer day today I would be out putting the compost around the shrubs.)
I was completely bullied by the huge number of beans. I planted about 18 plants and one died. That is about twice as many as I needed. I cut up and froze the beans in small portions. If you freeze them in large bags you never use them. I also gave them away by putting a bag of them on the green with a "help yourself" sign.
I planted three types of potatoes and this time I didn't mix them up. I planted one row of Charlottes and harvested them as soon as they flowered; they were nice, apart from the ones that were a bit scabby. But we ate them all while they were young, but most of them had to be peeled.
One row of Desiree was enough, they have done well apart from some scabby ones, and they should mash well. I also planted some Roosters because the packet of seed potatoes was reduced (roots growing through the mesh. These are lovely round potatoes which hold their shape well when you boil them. They were lates because I planted them as an afterthought.
So apart from the potatoes, courgettes and the beans things didn't go too well. The mange tout did nothing (soil too poor?) So I just pulled them up and eventually I planted leeks in that place. These are growing quite well. When I planted the leeks I also planted two rows of beets. We ate a lot of the young leaves as salad. I eventually pulled up some - they didn't take long to grow. I have never cooked these before but today I roasted some and they were nice. We also had home-grown potatoes and beans (from the freezer).
The raspberry canes produced a decent number of berries but we need a few more so we can collect a couple of bowls full at a time. At present, I am still eating them on the hoof (and very nice they are!)
The strawberries gave us one crop (about 10 bowls) and then put out loads of runners. I have been planting up new plants from the runners but they aren't taking very well. I need to dig out the whole bed and get rid of the original plants, which are getting too old. That bed is very weedy too and needs feeding which I am going to do.
The rhubarb plants went completely mad and after the thirsty spell, which tested them severely in June, they grew incredibly. We should have a good lot next spring. You shouldn't eat the stems after July because they contain chemicals which give you arthritis and gout!
The other thing that needs doing is the construction of a compost bin, from pallets. A. has collected two good corner posts and some pallets and dumped them behind the shed. He is too busy to do any more. The rubbish heap may have some good stuff in it but I am going to have to burn a lot of it because I haven't the container for making compost.
(Home compost is going well - lots of thin pink worms - if it was a nicer day today I would be out putting the compost around the shrubs.)
The old boys' marathon
The sad thing about the Old Boys' marathon is that the Old Boys are now coming up for retirement age, and some are retired already. So there are no young Old Boys, and this is something we should redress, perhaps by trying to teach the older school boys how to scull in a skiff.
Why is it that when we were young a skiff represented its own challenges - it's heavy so you need to use a different technique to move it - and now the young don't like challenges at all. They say things like "it's like rowing a bath-tub". Aha - well, see how well you can row a bath-tub!
Skiffing used to give an oarsman who had rowed at school or at his (men's) college, a chance to row with girls. Some events are mixed. Nowadays there are events for mixed eights but it used to be the only chance for a young man to get into a boat with a young woman.
But I think anyone who skiffs finds themselves loving the boats. The design, the materials, and the practise of rowing a skiff, are the source of happiness. I used to scull along thinking of all the men and women - like my grandparents and their parents - who had skiffed along my reaches before me, and I would hope that, from the other side they could see me and they thought I was pretty damn capable at skiffing. I always imagine that years ago, say before the 1950's, women just dabbled at strenuous sports and didn't like to get hot and sweaty, but how do we know really? Maybe there were rebellious women in the Edwardian era who'd get down the backwaters where no-one could see, and really use their muscles.
But anyway, young people don't see that the skiffs are beautiful and they don't want to race in them. But we folk from the very tail of the Baby Boom, we still love them, and the Old Boys managed to summon up six men who could skiff and put three crews together.
After this event I had a nice beer and I finally told the man who had been my "crush" that I had first seen him when I was thirteen. I was a cox, a somewhat reluctant, an extremely shy and nervous cox, and he was a twenty year old student who was winning every event for a rival club. My club captain described him to me as a "long-haired hooligan" who won everything, and he added the crushing detail "he throws the blades" (the sculls). We wouldn't do that; we would treat the equipment with care. He sounded awful. Like a wild man.
I knew him as soon as I saw him at the regatta; he had so much energy, he drew the eye, he enjoyed being the best at skiffing and he enjoyed being alive. He rushed everywhere. He was in the beer tent on that sunny day, and every so often he would come out and get the blades and go and race, or there would be a bit of a hullaballoo and he would come out carrying a girl - a pretty girl with long hair - and threaten to throw her in the river. "Skweeeee, skweee" the girls screamed ( I think there were two of them). While I watched he repeated this routine about three times and I was hoping he would, eventually, throw one in the river.
I was by myself under the tree, my parents were not there and the other members of the club were much older than me and I felt bad about sitting with them in case they couldn't say what they wanted to say in front of me. While I sat there this person became my crush, because he was good at "playing". It seemed strange to me that he was a grown-up, and was good at playing, and I was a child and I was absolutely useless at it. I wondered if I would get better at it? Would he ever "play" with me? I then realised that I was too young to have fun with. He would only have fun with grown-up girls. By then, I was already menstruating, but I didn't have any of the self-assurance that a woman has. I dressed in my brother's clothes because I was so uncertain of my feminine value.
So I realised that I wasn't about to have fun like this young man and the long-haired girls, and when I got home I told my parents - my mother, actually - that I wouldn't go coxing again, as I was at an embarrassing age, and that other people had fun, but I had no fun at all. And I didn't! I got a Saturday job at a sweet shop next, and then I got a Saturday job at British Home Stores. I was good at getting jobs. I was pretty clever. But I never forgot that young man.
I started back at the skiff club when I came back from University. (This time I wasn't just coxing; this time I learned to scull.) I wondered if he would still be skiffing and I was glad that he still was. He didn't win any more. There was a guy called Andy who was winning every week. I kept thinking I would talk to this person (chat him up) after a regatta but by that time he was quite seasoned, as it were, with women, and I knew I was still too young for him. But there were times, in the evenings, when the men had lots of beer inside them and they sang. "Can you hear Molesey sing? Doodah, doodah? Can you hear Molesey sing? I can't hear a FUCKING THING." And then the two groups of rowing club men sang dirty songs together, and it really was quite a good time. They were full of testosterone. I think I was watching, just watching to see if any of them would notice me.
Then once my brother and I after a beery evening, decided to go for a pizza, and we found this person in the restaurant with a lady we knew called Mary. Mary was a grown-up enough woman, possibly too grown up, and she was talking strongly to him, while he was drunker than I have ever seen anyone. He was green and swaying and his eyes were closing. I wondered if he was putting it on because he didn't want to go to bed with Mary. Mary looked pretty determined.
I was worried that he got so drunk. Every time I saw him he got so drunk. Was he bored, or disillusioned, or damaged? (broken-hearted). A lot of men had a bit of history with women and felt damaged. But anyway, I was damaged myself, and was in no fit state to cope with him. And I never talked to him at all until I was 55 years old.
We talked about the deer in Bushy Park, and how they eat conkers.
Why is it that when we were young a skiff represented its own challenges - it's heavy so you need to use a different technique to move it - and now the young don't like challenges at all. They say things like "it's like rowing a bath-tub". Aha - well, see how well you can row a bath-tub!
Skiffing used to give an oarsman who had rowed at school or at his (men's) college, a chance to row with girls. Some events are mixed. Nowadays there are events for mixed eights but it used to be the only chance for a young man to get into a boat with a young woman.
But anyway, young people don't see that the skiffs are beautiful and they don't want to race in them. But we folk from the very tail of the Baby Boom, we still love them, and the Old Boys managed to summon up six men who could skiff and put three crews together.
After this event I had a nice beer and I finally told the man who had been my "crush" that I had first seen him when I was thirteen. I was a cox, a somewhat reluctant, an extremely shy and nervous cox, and he was a twenty year old student who was winning every event for a rival club. My club captain described him to me as a "long-haired hooligan" who won everything, and he added the crushing detail "he throws the blades" (the sculls). We wouldn't do that; we would treat the equipment with care. He sounded awful. Like a wild man.
I knew him as soon as I saw him at the regatta; he had so much energy, he drew the eye, he enjoyed being the best at skiffing and he enjoyed being alive. He rushed everywhere. He was in the beer tent on that sunny day, and every so often he would come out and get the blades and go and race, or there would be a bit of a hullaballoo and he would come out carrying a girl - a pretty girl with long hair - and threaten to throw her in the river. "Skweeeee, skweee" the girls screamed ( I think there were two of them). While I watched he repeated this routine about three times and I was hoping he would, eventually, throw one in the river.
I was by myself under the tree, my parents were not there and the other members of the club were much older than me and I felt bad about sitting with them in case they couldn't say what they wanted to say in front of me. While I sat there this person became my crush, because he was good at "playing". It seemed strange to me that he was a grown-up, and was good at playing, and I was a child and I was absolutely useless at it. I wondered if I would get better at it? Would he ever "play" with me? I then realised that I was too young to have fun with. He would only have fun with grown-up girls. By then, I was already menstruating, but I didn't have any of the self-assurance that a woman has. I dressed in my brother's clothes because I was so uncertain of my feminine value.
So I realised that I wasn't about to have fun like this young man and the long-haired girls, and when I got home I told my parents - my mother, actually - that I wouldn't go coxing again, as I was at an embarrassing age, and that other people had fun, but I had no fun at all. And I didn't! I got a Saturday job at a sweet shop next, and then I got a Saturday job at British Home Stores. I was good at getting jobs. I was pretty clever. But I never forgot that young man.
I started back at the skiff club when I came back from University. (This time I wasn't just coxing; this time I learned to scull.) I wondered if he would still be skiffing and I was glad that he still was. He didn't win any more. There was a guy called Andy who was winning every week. I kept thinking I would talk to this person (chat him up) after a regatta but by that time he was quite seasoned, as it were, with women, and I knew I was still too young for him. But there were times, in the evenings, when the men had lots of beer inside them and they sang. "Can you hear Molesey sing? Doodah, doodah? Can you hear Molesey sing? I can't hear a FUCKING THING." And then the two groups of rowing club men sang dirty songs together, and it really was quite a good time. They were full of testosterone. I think I was watching, just watching to see if any of them would notice me.
Then once my brother and I after a beery evening, decided to go for a pizza, and we found this person in the restaurant with a lady we knew called Mary. Mary was a grown-up enough woman, possibly too grown up, and she was talking strongly to him, while he was drunker than I have ever seen anyone. He was green and swaying and his eyes were closing. I wondered if he was putting it on because he didn't want to go to bed with Mary. Mary looked pretty determined.
I was worried that he got so drunk. Every time I saw him he got so drunk. Was he bored, or disillusioned, or damaged? (broken-hearted). A lot of men had a bit of history with women and felt damaged. But anyway, I was damaged myself, and was in no fit state to cope with him. And I never talked to him at all until I was 55 years old.
We talked about the deer in Bushy Park, and how they eat conkers.
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