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More Pier

And why not.

On a side note: today was 2000 Guineas day. I had a bet for the first time since… I can’t remember when.

I lost.

On the upside it was a free bet and I did not chase it.

So yes, some things stay the same, as much as they change…

These are some kind of aerials, or radio masts on the pierhead. I imagine they are used by the RNLI for communications, but I don’t know. There is a tall ship coming to the pierhead at the end of the month. I am going to visit. I like ships; less sure about the actual sailing. Fortunately, that won’t be necessary to go aboard Atlantis. Thoughtfully they are holding something called ‘Open Ship’ as well as doing actual sailings. I am calling the expedition: research.

pieraerials

I also did the annual grass sowing in the garden. I am sure the neighbours were laughing at me, or heavily sighing. But, I will have grass come June.

Vive l’herbe!

What Thoreau said

I had three pieces of limestone on my desk, but I was terrified to find that they required to be dusted daily, when the furniture of my mind was all undusted still, and threw them out of the window in disgust.

How, then, could I have a furnished house? I would rather sit in the open air, for no dust gathers on the grass, unless where man has broken ground.

From ‘Walden’

The Tyranny of Grass

I spent a peaceful hour in a shady library garden yesterday, primarily waiting for a face to be painted (not mine) and had a browse of one of those books that it is interesting to read, but not so interesting that you might buy it. Except maybe second-hand on Amazon for a few pence if you ever remembered to. These are a few things I jotted down, the “lawn” being one of my permanent preoccupations.

A grass blade’s no easier to make than an oak.
James Russell Lowell (1819-1891)

Nothing is more pleasant to the eye than green grass kept finely shorn.
Francis Bacon (Of Gardens 1625)

Forests decay, harvests perish, flowers vanish, but grass is immortal.
John Ingalls (Speech in the US Senate 1874)

A lawn is nature under totalitarian rule.
Michael Pollan (Second Nature 1991)

One of the side-effects of drinking all that ale with the Devon Home Cook was that I was prevailed upon to mow my rather clumpy and long, but lush grass that I knew was hiding a multitude of sins – rather like a bald bloke’s combover.

This was the result.

As woeful as Argentina

One very good reason to stay indoors this afternoon

and look at Wimbledon’s lawn

in the absence of any live televised South African turf.

 And not forgetting I could watch the green grass of

Chantilly where Dick Turpin will attempt

to overcome the very impressive Lope de Vega

 at the awkward French time of 2.42 p.m.

Alternatively I could go outside and pave over the lot,

                                                                                         but there is something about a patch of green,

                                                                                    however small and pathetic,

                                                                                   that speaks to me.