Jesus Christ! It sure was hot!

We went to see the latest stage performance of Jesus Christ Superstar last Sunday. The one with a spice girl in it, Mel B or is it C, I don’t know.

It must be nearly 40 years now since we last saw it on stage in London, as a young couple in beads, flares and patchouli oil, with not a care in the world. Mrs N and I had a couple of days there one hot summer when first married, and were totally entranced by all that was going on at that time. We returned home having spent every penny we had in the world.

So, would it live up to our expectations, after all we were there at the beginning.

Well, the music and singing was just as powerful as I remembered, with some brilliant guitar work from two young lads who were probably 20 years away from being born when it was first performed. The vibrancy and energy of the dance routines was just as good , and the special effects were ‘awesome’ as my grandkids would say.

I was a little disappointed with the modern day setting though, and  would have preferred it to have been in its original ‘biblical’, form. The background of last year’s city riots, wasn’t really a big enough political theme to portray an oppressed occupied nation, and Pontius Pilot as a judge just didn’t work, I think he was a bit more powerful a figure than that.

All in all, it was a great evening that whisked us back 40 years for a couple of hours, as we sang along to every tune.

Something happened that evening however, to reminded me of the need to live a good life if I wasn’t to end up in that burning inferno down below.

No, it wasn’t that I had some sort of  Damascene conversion during the concert, it was because the bloody heating on the bus was broken and couldn’t be turned off. We had to travel two and a half-hours, both there and back, set on gas mark 6, and emerged from the bus each time like basting turkeys. Talk about hot, if that’s a taste of what Hell's like, then I promise never to put another foot wrong dear lord.

Season of Fumes and Awful Noisiness

They were definitely biting at the bit the other morning down at the site, and off to a flying start just after I got there.

The favourite, ‘Lofty Len’ (he keeps pigeons), was the clear early leader down broad bean straight, making good use of the soft going. ‘Effing Phil’ (who swears alot) soon caught him, but pulled up limping near the cabbage patch, and was last seen inventing new swear words in his shed. ‘Cucumber Col’ (always grows the biggest) turned out to be a bit of a dark horse, and came from behind to the front of the pack. Not to be outdone however, the ‘Merry Tiller’ (he’s always so  happy !) made a  strong late run to be declared the overall winner. Unfortunately, failing a drugs test he was later stripped of the title, but at least we now know what those ‘exotic’ plants are in his polytunnel and why he's so bloody happy all the time.

Yes it’s that time of the year again folks, when the rotovators come out.

Whilst appreciating the effectiveness of these modern day machines, the noise and fumes emitted from them negate what allotmenteering’s all about for me, fresh air and quietness.

I prefer to dig by hand, which is just as well seeing as I don't own a rotovator, and find it quite satisfying turning the earth on an autumnal morning, at a gentle pace of about 30 groans per minute.

Occasionally stopping to survey the results of my sweated labour, I’ll look upon the scene with a sense of wonder.....just where do all those large stones keep coming from each year ? And whilst lamenting the lack of toilet facilities on the site, nip in the shed for a quick pee.

No, you can keep your white man’s machines as far as I'm concerned, I’m sticking to the old method as long as I can.

Now I must go and find that Merry Tiller, I need to see him about some, ahem, seeds.

Still learning.

“I am not ashamed to confess I am ignorant of what I do not know”. ( Marcus Tulius Cicero. 106 - 43 BC)

I have a limited knowledge of our native trees. I’m OK with Ashes, Oaks and Willows etc, but any further than that and I start to struggle.

That, and the fact that we now live on the edge of woodland, in which we regularly walk, prompted me to buy this book.

The book

It’s full of photographs of the leaves, bark, fruit, flowers, you name it, of trees, and positively teeming with information on how to identify them. The author couldn’t have made it any more idiot proof if he'd tried.

Well he didn’t allow for arboreally challenged idiots like me did he, because the first time I tried it on a particular tree, I failed miserably.

Mystery tree.

 The leaves of the one in question looked similar to Sweet Chestnut, well to me they did anyway, but were less serrated and the fruit that were forming didn’t have that spiky exterior they should have. Maybe they’ll form spikes later I thought.

Passing the tree often over the following months, I watched the fruit swelling but they didn’t get any spikier, not even a bristle. What I needed was to have a look inside one, but as they were all too high, I had to wait patiently for them to fall in autumn.

So you can imagine my dismay recently, to discover they’d all gone. Something or someone, obviously taller  and more agile than me, had stripped the tree completely bare of fruit.

Not to be beaten, I searched for ages around its base to see if the nifty nut-nicker had missed any, and as it’s near a public path, attracted strange looks from passers-by as they steered their children clear of the nutcase searching for nut-cases.

Eventually I was rewarded with a single specimen and, it still had its contents, phew ! So taking my trusty Swiss penknife, made in China, I tried slicing it open but was met with resistance just below the green outer surface. However, I had exposed just enough of the familiar surface of the shell inside, to tell me straight away what it was.

Public Announcement!!!.......Can all people knowledgeable about such things, please stop reading at this point , as I'm embarrassed enough as it is.

Yes I have to admit, that as many as I've gripped in the jaws of a nutcracker, or eaten along with their whips, that's the first time I' ve seen a walnut in its natural state !

Walnut

Me? a gardener ?

Today was a sad day for toms, the ones  in the greenhouse I mean, but I do include myself to some extent because it’s that time of year when the greenhouse had to be emptied of them.

Before

After

It only seems yesterday that I was sowing those tiny seeds, then pricking the seedlings out and keeping them warm, before placing them gently into their final growing positions. Such a contrast to today as I mercilessly lopped them off at the roots for the compost heap.

I grew one of my old favourites again, Gardener’s Delight, but I’m going to ask for my money back under the trades descriptions act, because I was far from delighted with the quantity this year. I think they'll have a good laugh at  me implying I'm a gardener though, no doubt.

The Alicantes in contrast, which I grew for the first time this year, were very prolific. They were disappointing in taste as fresh tomatoes I thought, but they made fantastic soup, I'll certainly be growing them again next year.

One variety that I regretfully didn't grow this year, was another of my old favourites, Shirley. Oh how I  missed those ripe, firm, pendulous handfuls, and I missed the tomatoes pretty much as well !

You may notice in the ‘After’ photo above, a solitary little runt  left in the corner of the cleared greenhouse. That is a plant I grew from the single seed of a supermarket bought tomato,  left on my plate one particularly reflective afternoon . I'd sat there ages marvelling at its dormant potential, and wondering if it would grow, and it did ! It's a commercially grown variety called Brioso, and although it struggled it surprisingly produced about a dozen decent  fruit.

It’s not all sadness however, as cleaning the greenhouse out will give me a chance to see where those bloody slugs and snails keep getting in. Having  re-erected it after the house move, I'm far from satisfied with its position, and seem to have chosen slug central for it, urgh !

Did I ever tell you I suffer from Molluscophobia, a condition not to be recommended for gardeners, so I'll be alright..

Me ? a gardener ? you must be joking!

A Happy Happening.

We bloggers can kid ourselves at times that the whole world out there is listening to our inane babblings, when in reality we know that’s just not so.

In all honesty I have  little idea who does actually read this blog, apart from the one, and  may I say very erudite soul, who kindly comments, as I’ve never mastered the art of monitoring it. The few other readers I did know about, have long since drifted to who knows where, because of the hiatus, and who can blame them.

I suppose blogging’s a bit like a musical performance in a way, and I use that analogy loosely as regards mine, in that if no one is listening you do wonder if it's worth continuing, regardless.

Well of course it is, I say, because though you may desire an external audience as a measure of your ability, it isn’t a necessity.  You're also your own audience, and can simply play for your own enjoyment if you wish.

So I’m making the following announcement to myself today, for the sheer joy of it, but if anyone else wants to bask in my pleasure for a while, then you're very welcome.

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At 7:00 a.m.today, the 1st of October 2012, a new human being came into this world, when our latest granddaughter was born.

Yes I'm proud to announce that we have another little Netalling in the family, who weighed in at a healthy bouncing 9lbs 2 ozs, in old money.

Welcome to the world little Charlotte, we have all long awaited you're arrival, especially you’re two big sisters Sophie and Emma.

I know they all look very much the same at this stage, as if they’ve just done a couple of rounds with Mike Tyson, and yes I may be a little biased, but isn’t she adorable.

Our new little Netalling.

Curliness

I have an 8 year old grandson, he's a good lad but he is a very fussy eater.

Going back some years, there were few problems and he would eat a wide variety things. In fact he once swallowed a 20p coin whilst imitating his grandfather's magic trick!

But now, much to his mother's despair he will only eat a small number of food items, mostly consisting of reconstituted chicken in its various guises, such as "Chicken Nuggets" and "Chicken Goujons" (they're chicken nuggets for posh kids). Oh and baked beans.

As far as real vegetables are concerned, offer him anything remotely green on his plate, and you’d  think you had served him the severed head of John the Baptist !

Furthermore, and I know this is absurd, he even winces at that staple of most children’s diets today, chips !!!

But here's an interesting thing. Out there is a particularly strange food commodity, designed less for nutritional value than to make the producers lots of money, called “Curly Fries”. They're basically nothing more than thin curled chips as far as I can see, and my grandson loves them.

So you can take some thin chips, deep fry them, then add a final flurry of curliness and they suddenly become irresistible to him !

I wonder how they do it ? Is it something similar to how you can curl paper by pulling it against a knife edge, or perhaps they pass an electric current through them. Have they used genetically modified potatoes with a curly gene added? I just don’t know.

So would the novelty of curliness work with other things he isn't keen on, I asked myself ?

I know there are curly kales and cabbages, but I don't grow them, so this year I have produced just the thing to try out on him.........

                                              Curly Runner Beans.

Don't ask me why they've grown like this, I haven't clue. Maybe they were too close to the spring onions.

The Invisible Man

Had to take the car in for repair last Monday.  I’d booked an appointment the previous Thursday, but after giving the man at the reception desk my details, he tells me they don’t know anything about me.

“I did ring.....honest.... last Thursday “, I plead.

“Who took your call” ? he snapped.

Well it was a Monday morning, and there was a long queue of demanding people. I’ve been there myself many times, before I retired, so I forgave him.

“It was a girl, but  I didn’t ask her name”, I answered, quite calmly considering.

“Well whoever it was hasn’t booked you in”, he replied, with a thought bubble above his head saying, “You lying old git”.

Was I that insignificant that she’d forgot about me, just seconds after my phone call ?

I suppose she could've just been dumped by her boyfriend, in a text. Or, she’d just done a pregnancy test and it was positive. Or, perhaps she was working her notice and only had the next day left to work, so “bollocks to it”, she’d thought.

Luckily they had a spare slot and could fit me in that afternoon, he told me.

Hooray !!! I do exist and I do have significance in this world after all

“Thank you so much”, I gushed, “ and what’s your name again” ?   

“Charlie”, he replied,  I wasn’t making that mistake again.

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Later that same day. and queuing at the same reception desk to pick up my keys, I'd stood back a little to give the bloke in front some privacy with his transaction.

It was obvious to anyone I was waiting in line, but that didn’t stop one young woman, viewing Ipod, walking straight past me to stand nearer the desk than I was.

No......she’s not going to....... is she ?. She must be a member of staff......surely.

But  when the man at reception asked who was next, she cheekily staked her claim, without even looking up.

Not bloody likely !!! I thought, saying quickly, “Sorry, but I think it’s my turn..........I was stood over there and you walked past me”.

There was an audible suction slurp as she slid her eyes from the Ipod, and trained them on me.

“Ooo I’m ever so sorry luv, I didn’t see you there”, she said, with a face like she'd just regurgitated stomach acid.

Yeah right ! I thought, in her speak.

So now I’m invisible as well as insignificant  am I !