It's about time I updated my blog, which I haven't had the mental or physical energy to think about. I'm not there yet in terms of recovery, but I live in hope, some days more hopeful than others. Given how sedentary I've been forced to be, I was delighted to come across my old microscope last week, and I set it up immediately. There was no problem looking for specimens to examine, the windowsills being full of dead flies and wasps. There were even mouse poos, and dog hairs. Of course there were: no one has done much in the way of cleaning lately. It's not exactly a pigsty, but someone with OCD would rush for the yellow Marigolds before you could say "disgusting".
I spent an utterly fascinating hour peering at wings, thoraxes, tiny immaculate spiky hairs that the naked eye could not even imagine. No matter how small the specimen, it was made up of exactly the same detail as we are, or anything is, perfect but in miniature. Miniscule filigree on an apparently transparent wing, noses covered in weeny sensitive cells that seem in close-up to belong to a boar, or a cow. It was mesmerising, but squinting into the eyepiece was very uncomfortable, and I could see why research scientists have one for each eye. I'm so glad I rediscovered it, though, and will keep it going now. Blood, spittle, skin, nails, a salt grain, sugar, eggshell - everything is constructed according to a geometric pattern that is simply marvellous to examine. What it all means is quite beyond me. Creationist or evolutionist, it's a miracle whichever way you look.
I drove through Framlingham the other day and nearly lost control of the car. There in front of me was a shop being refitted, as what? A tattoo parlour and vaping lounge. In Framlingham. I really couldn't believe my eyes. I can only wonder at the reaction of the local denizens who, on the whole, belong to the well-heeled class, many of them comfortably retired. Apart from mothers - and the occasional father - who drive their children to the town's primary school, most people tend to walk, and this shop will be unavoidable for them. I'm tempted to hang about outside when it's finished, to see just who is going to use it. I have no patience with vapers, who seem to me like toddlers with dummies. If you need to smoke, then use a proper fag or just stop it, that's my view. But who will the tattooist's customers be? Smart grannies looking for a discreet dove on their shoulder blade in solidarity with their grandchildren maybe. Or their husbands who have always hankered after a naked lady on their bicep and know that it's unlikely to be spotted. The mind boggles.
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| Not wanted, dead or alive |
My wisteria has finally been cut back and the mouse problem solved. But I was distressed to discover that the pigeon nest had been completely revealed and the two big featherless chicks had no protection from the elements apart from Ma. I found the man on the neighbourhood website, and he had a long ladder and could do the work quickly. But why did he remove their cover when I particularly asked him to leave them alone? It seems an act of unnecessary cruelty. I hoped their feathers would arrive soon and they could fly off. Go south, my young friends, and find some sunshine, I told them. It's what I would do. But when I took a photo of the nest today I saw that one of them is dead and the other already a fledgling, unconcernedly preening its new down. I'll never know what happened, but I'll have to get rid of the body, and I'll make sure they never come back.
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| October 2014, lawn just laid |
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| Other half |
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| October 2015 |
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| October 2016 |
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| October 2017 |
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