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Flotsam and Jetsam

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Everything in the garden…

May 20, 2016 in Flotsam and Jetsam | Permalink

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidIdioms

“Everything in the garden is rosy”

(British English, saying) “everything is fine”

Oxford Learners’ Dictionary

A couple of weeks back I posted some snaps of the pleasant surprises that our recently acquired garden (yard!) has been bestowing upon us.

Sadly, not quite everything in our little corner of paradise was as gorgeous as those images may have suggested. There was one rather sorry strip just below our patio – about thirty feet wide by ten feet deep – that could only be described as ‘scrubland’.

This patch – which incorporates a fire-pit – may at one point have been graveled. Much of that covering had long since disappeared and whatever it was that remained clearly provided the perfect habitat for every possible variety of weed and couch grass known to man (and a few others for good measure).

As the spring progressed the presence of this eyesore became increasingly irritating until even this minimalist gardener could stand it no longer and decreed that action must be taken.

I spent a considerable portion of two days earlier this week removing the top surface of this blasted heath and winkling out as much weed root as I could bear to do. I discovered that not only was a fair chunk of our garden irrigation system just under the surface of this patch, but that it had several leaks, a couple of redundant spurs and was not laid in the optimal locations. All this was speedily remedied before I levelled the area and laid and pegged down a porous membrane across the whole patch – in the hope of at least keeping some of the weeds and grasses at bay.

Then it was hotfoot to my local supplier of aggregates – Peninsula Landscape Supplies – to order three yards of half inch clear crushed aggregate. I did this at around one o’clock on Thursday last and was delighted when it was delivered to our door shortly before three o’clock that same afternoon. Splendid service!

The dump pickup dropped the load as close to the patio as possible, but that was a good twenty five yards away. It was then down to me – armed only with a plastic wheelbarrow, a shovel and a rake – to transmute the resultant mountain into the rather splendid gravel strip that can be seen in the attached photo – and all before the Kickass Canada Girl arrived home from work!

If I tell you that three yards of aggregate weighs in the region of four and a half tons, you might understand why my body feels today rather as though it has been hit by particularly large truck.

I suspect it would have been considerably worse had I not been attending weights classes twice a week since September last. I knew that there was a reason for so doing…

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Voyage of discovery

May 10, 2016 in Flotsam and Jetsam, Photos | Permalink

 “The only real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes'”

Marcel Proust.*

For each ‘new’ garden (Canadian: yard!) that one inherits there is a marvelous, scary, joyous voyage of discovery – lasting a year – during which time is revealed all that lies concealed within. This earlier post told part of the story of our garden; the images below testify to the fact that there is never (thus far at any rate) a dull moment therein.

* What Proust actually wrote was:

“The only true voyage of discovery, the only fountain of Eternal Youth, would be not to visit strange lands but to possess other eyes, to behold the universe through the eyes of another, of a hundred others, to behold the hundred universes that each of them beholds, that each of them is; and this we can contrive with an Elstir, with a Vinteuil; with men like these we do really fly from star to star.”

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson Reid

 

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Going home star

April 9, 2016 in Flotsam and Jetsam | Permalink

Image from PixabayLast week the Kickass Canada Girl and I attended the Royal Theatre in Victoria for one of two performances by the Royal Winnipeg Ballet of a new piece – ‘Going home Star – Truth and Reconciliation‘ – which was commissioned for the Ballet by Artistic Director André Lewis and presented with the support of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada.

The subject matter of this ambitious work – concerning the residential schools programme controversy and its effect on those of First Nations’ descent – attracted a heavyweight artistic team. Joseph Boyden – award winning Canadian author of ‘Three Day Road‘ and ‘Through Black Spruce‘ – provided the story. Mark Godden – whose list of credits and awards throughout North America is too impressively extensive to list here – choreographed. The excellent music was by Christos Hatzis – two time Juno award winner.

Those without Canada may not be familiar with the background of the residential schools programme. Herewith for your benefit (should you be at all interested) is a brief history lesson.

An amendment to the Indian Act of 1876 – intended to remove First Nations’ children from the influence of their families and culture to assimilate them into the dominant ‘Canadian’ culture – made attendance compulsory at day, industrial or residential schools. By 1931 there were 80 of these residential schools across Canada. The numbers declined thereafter, with the last federally operated school closing in 1996, but by then some 150,000 (around 30%) First Nations children had passed through the system. More than 6,000 did not survive the experience, dying whilst yet in attendance.

A new consensus emerged in the early 21st century that these residential schools had done significant harm to the Aboriginal children who attended them by removing them from their families, depriving them of their ancestral languages, through sterilization, and by exposing many of them to sexual abuse by staff members and other students. In June 2008 a public apology was offered by the then Prime Minister, Stephen Harper, on behalf of the Government of Canada. At around the same time the Indian Residential Schools Truth and Reconciliation Commission was established to uncover the truth about the schools.

As might be gathered from the weighty subject matter, experiencing a work of conscience and of art such as this was no walk in the park. Though the music set the tone masterfully – being a highly intelligent blend of European classical, contemporary stylings, Inuit throat singing and traditional drumming – and the movement was both highly imaginative and at times exquisitely beautiful, the work was also inevitably harrowing at times. The Girl – whose grandmother and two of whose aunts were survivors of the residential schools – not surprisingly found it particularly difficult.

I think that it is fair to say that not everything came off – and the fact that the Royal Winnipeg Ballet includes not one dancer of Aboriginal origin left this attendee at least feeling distinctly ambivalent – but in general the avoidance of the obvious pitfalls and the bravery of the conception and the execution should be – and was – applauded unreservedly.

It is right that art should be able take such risks and sometime to make us feel less than comfortable by so doing. Long may it continue to do so.

Kudos to all concerned.

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To dwell is to garden

April 4, 2016 in Flotsam and Jetsam, Photos | Permalink

“To dwell is to garden.”

Martin Heidegger

The weather has at last become more clement and it has been possible to get out into the garden and to start doing all that must be done to wake it from its winter slumbers. I am a gardener only in the sense that I have a garden. I do think – however – that it would have made my father happy to see me tending my (half) acre(s). Yes – you do detect a theme… my father’s birthday would have been at the start of April!

When I got outside these ‘guys’ were already there!

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson Reid

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The Night Manager

March 26, 2016 in Flotsam and Jetsam | Permalink

Free image from PexelsThose familiar with my oeuvre may perhaps be accustomed to my occasion panegyrics in praise of one or other of the BBC’s splendid drama productions – ‘Parade’s End‘ back in 2012 for example – or the more recent ‘River‘ of last year. Should you be one such you may be wondering (if you have nothing considerably better to do with your time) why I have not likewise registered my approval of the wondrous adaptation of John Le Carré’s ‘The Night Manager‘ which approaches its culmination this Easter weekend on BBC1.

I has indeed been remiss of me not so to do.

It would be fair to say that the show is in need of no such puffery from me or – apparently – from anyone else. Viewing figures started high and went up from there. This is one of those occasions on which both the BBC and the viewing public get it splendidly right. This is one classy production – based on a typically strong Le Carré novel but given an update and polish that not only takes nothing away (something of a rarity in itself) but in fact adds quite considerably.

Money has clearly been spent on this Anglo/American co-production – and spent in a way that makes this viewer at any rate purr with pleasure. The writing is precise and spare, the direction and camerawork would not be out of place on the big screen and the acting is sublime.

There is no getting away from the fact that the English public school thespist ‘mafia’ – out here yet again in force in the shape of not one but two Old Etonians – currently appears to pretty much have the monopoly on the cream of the TV and film roles going. Many commentators see Tom Hiddleston’s expertly judged performance as the brooding hero Jonathan Pine as nothing less than a Bond audition. He is – however – given a serious run for his money by Hugh Laurie’s ‘worst man in the world’ – Richard Onslow Roper – from whom it is difficult to drag one’s gaze. Add the wonderful Tom Hollander and Olivia Coleman to the mix and one is blessed with a heady brew of a cast.

It can only be a sad indictment of the failure to invest adequately in the state secondary education sector in the UK – not to mention the ideological interference in the running thereof – that so many of the new breed of actors have as their backgrounds the rarefied atmosphere of the public (UK sense here) schools. Eddie Redmayne, Tom Hiddleston, Harry Lloyd, Rory Kinnear, Henry Lloyd-Hughes, Benedict Cumberbatch, Damian Lewis, Dominic West, Chiwetel Ejiofor, Rosamund Pike, Rebecca Hall, Emily Blunt… the list goes on. Of course these schools have wonderful facilities and can recruit teaching staff from the top drawer, but there is more to it than that. Whatever the reason, the top independent schools in the UK (as most likely in Canada and elsewhere also) ascribe an importance to the arts that is no longer the case in other parts of the ‘system’.

Flame off!

Anyway – though it may seem a little late to be recommending ‘The Night Manager‘ at this juncture do remember that it is an Anglo/American production that has to date been only seen in the UK. It will doubtless be appearing on a streaming service near you ere long.

Don’t miss it!

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Swing, swing together

March 17, 2016 in Flotsam and Jetsam | Permalink

ADN-ZB Mittelstädt 19.8.82 Berlin: DDR-Doppelvierer im Training für die Weltmeisterschaft im Rudern- Als Titelverteidiger sitzen erneut im Boot Schlagmann Martin Winter (vorn), Uwe Heppner (dahinter) und Karl-Heinz Buss:Ert (hinten). Neu hinzugekommen ist Uwe Mund (3. v. vorn). Achtung! Bitte offizielle Nominierung am 20.8.82 beachten!Jolly boating weather,
And a hay harvest breeze,
Blade on the feather,
Shade off the trees,
Swing swing together,
With your bodies between your knees,
Swing swing together,
With your bodies between your knees.

The Eton Boating Song

I have of late been thinking about my mother. This is not unusual for the time of year – she died six years ago at the end of February and her birthday fell within the first couple of weeks of March – but so to do does tend to leave me a little wistful and reflective regarding life’s strange twists and turns.

The regular reader might well at this point already be scratching his (or her) pate and wondering what this could possible have to do with the Eton Boating Song. That is, indeed, a good question – the which I will endeavor straightway to answer.

Before the war my mother was in the Sea Rangers and – I am pretty certain – rather enjoyed rowing, though I don’t know to what level she practiced it. As with many things that one thinks one ‘knows’ from childhood this may turn out to be a ‘false’ memory, but of one thing I am certain – on a number of occasions she expressed regret that I had not taken up rowing whilst at school. She was clearly somewhat enamoured of the notion of having a son who ‘rowed’.

My Alma Mater was a grammar school in north Surrey which was also my father’s school. It was – and remains – a good school, though it is now co-educational which it was not in my day. Whilst certainly not one of the ‘great’ rowing schools it has always been there or thereabouts. The school has its playing fields – complete with boathouse – on the banks of the Thames and it takes the sport seriously. The alumni include at least one Olympic gold medal winner in the shape of James Cracknell, of whom the school is understandably proud.

Much to my mother’s dismay I declined to join the boat club. I was a fairly stringy kid at that age – fast enough as a sprinter but without much in the way of upper body bulk. I have always considered myself far too much of a lightweight for such a physical sport. Besides – the rowers had to turn out for training at six in the morning – in all seasons! Since I lived a good hour’s journey from the school that meant getting up at an ungodly hour regardless of the weather – or of the fact that it was still the middle of the night! The final straw was that the master in charge of rowing at the time was the sort of petty tyrant fairly prevalent in grammar schools of the era. I had already had several unpleasant run-ins with him and I didn’t fancy making myself a target in yet another area.

Previous posts on this journal do attest – however – to my enjoyment of rowing as a sport. I was fortunate enough to work at two institutions which can truly be considered ‘great’ rowing schools – one of which built its own rowing trench (later used as the venue for the London 2012 Olympics) and the other of which is the current holder of the Princess Elizabeth Cup at the Henley Royal Regatta.

In light of all of this I like to think that my mother would have been looking down from god’s elastic acre on Tuesday last with a smile on her face. Had she done so she would have observed the Kickass Canada Girl and I – in the company of a couple of elderly (but most impressive) expat Englishwomen from the Victoria City Rowing Club – taking our first outing on Elk Lake in a quad scull!

How this came about is of itself something of a saga – featuring a conversation that the Girl had about rowing at a Burn’s Supper with a gentlemen who knew one of these redoubtable octogenarian athletes and who put her in touch with them. The ladies were marvelous… unbelievably fit and most wonderfully patient with the couple of complete novices. I don’t for a moment suppose that sculling in a four looks easy and I can assure you that appearances do not deceive. Balance – co-ordination – the ability to perform a sequence of contradictory actions simultaneously but independently… I was expecting muscular pain and shortage of breath. What I got was mental agony – from trying to stop my conscious brain from impeding the required subconscious rhythm.

Will we try it again? We may well do. For those brief moments when the four of us magically became as one and the boat flew across the water the sensation was magical – so who knows!

I think mother would be pleased!

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Pure dead brilliant!

March 13, 2016 in Flotsam and Jetsam | Permalink

Image from PixabayAt the risk of giving the impression that this journal has drifted off into that territory more commonly inhabited by rugby blogs I do just have to post something regarding the penultimate round of the 2016 Six Nations’ Championship.

Since I wrote somewhat despairingly a few weeks back concerning Scotland’s crablike progress since last year’s World Cup – with particular reference to the manner in which they surrendered the Calcutta Cup to the English – I have maintained a (reasonably) dignified silence. I have thought not to trouble the gentle reader either with the Scots’ further missed opportunity against the Welsh or indeed the occasion on which they eventually broke their recent Six Nations’ duck with an appropriately convincing win against Italy in Rome.

I cannot – however – let pass without comment today’s epic demolition of the French at Murrayfield, the first such victory for a decade. Brilliant! Quite apart from the historic nature of the victory – and the most satisfying manner in which it was achieved – it has been a considerable while since the Scots enjoyed back to back wins in the championship. This will do their confidence no end of good.

The result has had the slightly unexpected side effect of handing the championship to the English (who had an equally gratifying if much more tense win against Wales at the Cabbage Patch) with a fixture yet in hand. This has apparently not happened since the five became six back at the turn of the century.

The final round of matches next Saturday might thus at first glance appear to have little import, given that the tournament winners have already been decided. I do not, however, believe this to be the case.

Wales – up first – will doubtless want to put yesterday’s lacklustre performance behind them by savaging the hapless Italians, past whom the Irish put nine tries yesterday (some of them gift-wrapped and delivered by express courier).

The Scots would love to cap their recent renaissance with a win in Dublin which would give them their best finish in years, but the Irish – who have themselves suffered a dismal campaign – will doubtless be inspired by their antics against the Azzuri.

The English – having won the championship without actually being there to celebrate – will doubtless want to rout the French in Paris to win a Grand Slam – which would be the first such since their world cup winning year of 2003. Were they so to do a great deal of the hurt and misery subsequent to their dismal exit from the last world cup might be somewhat assuaged.

For now, though, congratulations to the English on the championship – and even bigger congratulations to the Scots for their magnificent win against the French.

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…or studio?

March 5, 2016 in Flotsam and Jetsam, Photos | Permalink

As promised in my last post – herewith some images of how my studio/study has turned out. Needless to say – I am pretty dashed pleased with it.

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidThe black things in the corners and on the side walls are bass traps, which I made from six inches of acoustic insulation covered with felt following one of many guides available on the InterWebNet. For those unfamiliar with such matters the idea is to try to produce a room that is as acoustically neutral as possible. No parts of the frequency spectrum should be exaggerated or diminished, reflections should be kept to a minimum and the layout of loudspeakers and listening position should be carefully calculated to avoid standing waves.

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidThe little desk was already built in. I added the shelves.

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidHaving lived for nearly two decades in apartments – however splendid they may have been – and thus having been restricted both in the amount of space available and the level of sound that could be produced without complaint, this is pretty much heaven! I have never before been in possession of a space large enough that I could dedicate it specifically to this end, and my gratitude that I finally am so knows no bounds.

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidThe icing on the cake? This is what I see through the window from my desk!

Photo by Andy Dawson Reid

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Man Cave…

March 2, 2016 in Flotsam and Jetsam | Permalink

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidIt was, you may recall, my intention that I would convert the capacious outbuilding behind the house (used most recently by my predecessor here as a woodworking/carving shop) into what the Girl delights in describing as a ‘Man Cave’.

Should you happen to be unfamiliar with this particular sobriquet the InterWebNet is – as ever – most helpful. The Urban Dictionary defines the ‘Man Cave’ thus:

“A room, space, corner or area of a dwelling that is specifically reserved for a male person to be in a solitary condition, away from the rest of the household in order to work, play, involve himself in certain hobbies, activities without interruption. This area is usually decorated by the male that uses it without interference from any female influence.”

Well – that sounds good – though I’m not too sure about the ‘female influence’ part!

Should one care to investigate further one can find on the InterWebNet what is described as ‘The Official Man Cave Site‘ – under the tagline “Taking back the world one Man Cave at a time” – whatever that might mean! Yes – well… that’s quite enough of that!

Now – I have always prided myself on being something of a ‘reconstructed man’. I certainly fervently believe that the sexes are equal (and should be treated as such in every respect) – except when the (not so) occasional bonehead behaviours of some of my gender cause me to sigh deeply and to wonder if the female of the species is not – after all – perhaps more equal than the male. I therefore have to distance myself somewhat from all of this testosterone and to declare fervently that both sexes have equal need of spaces in which to practice their own essential rituals and creative acts.

Mine – as it turns out – will not after all be in that rather delicious looking outbuilding.

Once winter set in it became all too apparent that a space that large and disconnected from the house would rapidly run up a fairly hefty heating bill were it to be kept warm throughout the season. Further, the building’s origins as a glorified shed were betrayed by its not being as free from damp as both I and my musical instruments were prepared to tolerate. Reluctantly I decided I had to look elsewhere.

This downstairs room image(of which this picture came from the Realtor’s details) was listed as a bedroom. The Girl called it ‘the Sauna’ for obvious reasons. With a tiled floor, pine clad walls and a rather odd layout which included an exterior door, it was difficult to know quite what use might be made of it. A little head-scratching and contemplative stroking of the jaw – all the while gazing at the space through half-closed eyes – lead to a ‘light-bulb’ moment.

This might after all make the perfect studio/writing room…

In my next post I will show you how that turned out.

 

 

 

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Same, same – but different!

February 22, 2016 in Flotsam and Jetsam | Permalink

Back to Westhills Stadium in Langford on Saturday for Rugby Canada’s last home fixture (the final two games are away in Argentina and Chile!) of the 2016 Americas Rugby Championship. This match was also the first ever rugby test match between Canada and Brazil! Exciting stuff…

As you can see, this is very different to a 6 Nations fixture:

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidThese pictures are – of course – somewhat misleading. The stadium holds getting on for two thousand and was on this occasion gratifyingly almost full. The grandstand – however – runs only along the south side of the ground, with the result that my photos give the impression that the match was played in the middle of nowhere.

Rugby in Canada – as in the Americas as a whole – is definitely on the up but there are things that we Brits take for granted that they don’t yet have here. This has much to do with the game in Canada still being amateur, along with the concomitant dearth of funding. As you can see to the right in the background of this view of Canada warming up for this week’s thriller…

Photo by Andy Dawson Reid…there is at one end of the stadium a big screen showing rugby. Unfortunately it is not equipped to actually show the game being played – let alone the now obligatory instant slo-mo replays that are demanded in the UK – so instead simply cycles random northern and southern hemisphere ‘highlights’ throughout the proceedings… presumably to add ‘atmosphere’.

In fact, no additional atmosphere is required because watching the national side in Victoria is a true delight. The crowd may be small but they are knowledgeable and the ‘craic’ is first rate. On both of our recent visits to Westhills we got chatting to families supporting their sons who were recent additions to the youthful Canada squad. Two of these made their debuts off the bench for the last ten minutes or so on Saturday. One of them scored the final try and the other landed a penalty – to the delightful and unbounded joy of all concerned.

That one of these young men was the first representative player in an age to have hailed from Nova Scotia only highlights how difficult it is to organise a national team across such a vast land mass. There are more clubs and players in Ontario than anywhere else in Canada, but the climate is less favourable – with unpleasantly harsh winters – which explains why Rugby Canada’s headquarters is about as far west as one can go – in Victoria. Lucky for us that it is so.

Fans here are as fanatical as they are anywhere:

Photo by Andy Dawson Reid…but in Victoria you can reserve your seat simply be dumping your toque on it!

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidBut of course – you are eager to find out what the result was…

Well – the Brazilians are quick and athletic and they didn’t give up without a fight – even though a fair bit of their play took place suspiciously close to the offside line. They don’t as yet – however – have the bulk or the necessary technique up front and it was no real surprise when Canada put their collective feet down and ran in seven tries, closing the match 52 – 25 victors. It was also particularly telling that all seven of those tries were scored by forwards – though that fact gives a misleading impression of the play, which was in the main adventurous and free-flowing.

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidWatching rugby at Westhills reminds me more than anything of being at grounds such as Moseley’s ‘The Reddings’ or London Irish’s Sunbury back in the amateur days in England. Very friendly, very intimate and a lot of fun. Big days out at Twickenham are all well and good, but there is a lot to be said for the way that the game is in Canada now.

Mind you – my favourite ground remains ‘The Rec’ at Bath… at least when they are winning!

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