Rainy

Finally, after several weeks of good weather, a wet and rainy day.  And apparently more to come.

Good for the garden, and will help people to stay home.

And stay safe.

Rye and Epsom

So I left a romantically-foggy Rye today and travelled to a wet and drizzly Epsom.

O Beamish!

For various reasons we were in the North East late last August, as demonstrated by the bridges.  So on the late Summer Bank Holiday we decided - despite the rain - to go to the open air museum at Beamish.

Beamish celebrates and records the lost industrial and agricultural past of the North East of England.  But it does so by recreating a landscape through which visitors can walk and explore.  Like the confectioners above, which in addition to selling sweets from jars, has a sweet-making workshop in the back, where various flavours of boiled sweets are produced.  This requires large amounts of molten sugar, pulled around like taffy and flavoured as it cools, and then cut in to lozenges for the pleasure of the customers.  Hot, and amazing.

 Elsewhere there are mineworkings, miners cottages, a chapel and school, actors selling things and so forth...

While Beamish occupies a big area, it is still walkable, but most people seem to want to use the trams and buses and carts that travel around the different locations on the site. 

There are indoor bits (where we sheltered when the rain got too bad)...

... as did some other residents...

And of course, as you might expect, there is a little bit of heritage steam railway to have a go on.

Although to be fair, not every heritage steam railway has a replica of Puffing Billy!

Shed near Derby

Anyway, as we drove down the M1 from the far North, just by Derby, up front we could see the bright sunny blue skies of the South.  And behind?  A gray wall of dark heavy cloud.  Sad.

Who's that?

Finally got to watch the last Dr Who of the series (the Wedding of River Song) - we had to i-Play it because we were away at the weekend.  Up North in the rain, away from the sunny South.

It was great!  If you haven't seen it watch it now before it fades away from the BBC Web site into the Silence....

Out West

So we went to Wales for Martin's wedding to Viva-Mari; lots of people played music and we stayed on a marvellous organic farm in a yurt.

I really should end this post there,which sums it all up nicely, but here at least are a few pictures:

Martin is an ex-Durham physicist who would appreciate my comments about Prof Wolfendale earlier. The weather was very good for Wales:

We partied into the night...

... and then headed for the yurt:-

 As you can see, it was canvas-covered rather than traditional carpets and stuff (much more sensible in damp Wales):

Come the morning it looked quite good:

The yurt was proper civilised, with a cooker (which we couldn't work out how to light and were afraid of burning down the yurt with - hence the camping Gaz), beds and matresses.  It was luxury for the four of us - it could easily have served for 6 or 7. 
We hung around for the next day or so in the Welsh hills and enjoyed the views...

That night we had another bonfire (which we all enjoyed: it felt wild and exciting, although it doesn't really look it here...)

And then we left. 
On the way home, we saw this (hopefully a good harbinger for Martin and Vivi-Mari...):-

Brightening up Nunhead Lane.

So a light shower of rain was just ending, and I was in the greengrocers near the dry cleaners on Nunhead Lane, when one of the women serving squealed (I kid you not) and dashed outside with her phone.

I followed more slowly, in my lumbering, leaden way. This is what we saw:

I have to say it really brightened up my day. Why can't they put these on more often?

Poem of the Week

A Description of a City Shower
Jonathan Swift, 1710
Careful observers may foretell the hour,
(By sure prognostics), when to dread a shower.
While rain depends, the pensive cat gives o'er
Her frolics, and pursues her tail no more.
Returning home at night, you'll find the sink
Strike your offended sense with double stink.
If you be wise, then, go not far to dine:
You'll spend in coach-hire more than save in wine.
A coming shower your shooting corns presage,
Old a-ches throb, your hollow tooth will rage;
Sauntering in coffeehouse is Dulman seen;
He damns the climate, and complains of spleen.

Meanwhile the South, rising with dabbled wings,
A sable cloud athwart the welkin flings,
That swill'd more liquor than it could contain,
And, like a drunkard, gives it up again.
Brisk Susan whips her linen from the rope,
While the first drizzling shower is borne aslope;
Such is that sprinkling which some careless quean
Flirts on you from her mop, but not so clean:
You fly, invoke the gods; then, turning, stop
To rail; she singing, still whirls on her mop.
Not yet the dust had shunn'd the unequal strife,
But, aided by the wind, fought still for life,
And wafted with its foe by violent gust,
'Twas doubtful which was rain, and which was dust.
Ah! where must needy poet seek for aid,
When dust and rain at once his coat invade?
Sole coat! where dust, cemented by the rain,
Erects the nap, and leaves a cloudy stain!

Now in contiguous drops the flood comes down,
Threatening with deluge this devoted town.
To shops in crowds the daggled females fly,
Pretend to cheapen goods, but nothing buy.
The Templar spruce, while every spout's abroach,
Stays till 'tis fair, yet seems to call a coach.
The tuck'd-up sempstress walks with hasty strides,
While streams run down her oil'd umbrella's sides.
Here various kinds, by various fortunes led,
Commence acquaintance underneath a shed.
Triumphant Tories, and desponding Whigs,
Forget their feuds, and join to save their wigs.
Box'd in a chair the beau impatient sits,
While spouts run clattering o'er the roof by fits,
And ever and anon with frightful din
The leather sounds; he trembles from within.
So when Troy chairmen bore the wooden steed,
Pregnant with Greeks impatient to be freed,
(Those bully Greeks, who, as the moderns do,
Instead of paying chairmen, ran them through,)
Laocoon struck the outside with his spear,
And each imprison'd hero quaked for fear.

Now from all parts the swelling kennels flow,
And bear their trophies with them as they go:
Filth of all hues and odour, seem to tell
What street they sail'd from, by their sight and smell.
They, as each torrent drives with rapid force,
From Smithfield to St. Pulchre's shape their course,
And in huge confluence join'd at Snowhill ridge,
Fall from the conduit prone to Holborn bridge.
Sweeping from butchers' stalls, dung, guts, and blood,
Drown'd puppies, stinking sprats, all drench'd in mud,
Dead cats, and turnip-tops, come tumbling down the flood.

The trees around Nunhead on Tour 8: Further North

The same day we toured the soaking gardens of Alnwick, we ventured on to Lindisfarne, Holy Island. Known for being wet. We just had time to cross the causeway, park, take a few shots and feel the wind, and return. Or so we thought. This is what it looked like as we crossed onto the Island:-
The sea was already creeping in, and we didn't think we had much time.
No time to get out of the car to photograph the causeway, certainly.

So, we arrived and parked up and squinted into the squally distance (past a tree, hurrah!):-
We squinted sideways:
Then we (OK, I) panicked, got in the car and drove back across the encroaching seas...






Ah well, another day we might get closer.

Nunhead on St Andrew's Day

Wet.
Very wet.
So wet I'm not going out.
However I can still take photos through the window.
No problem.
Here's a tree:-

... and it gives me a chance to fiddle with how the autofocus works....

Which of these is best?