Wednesday, 18 September 2013

Low Tide03:55 (0.90m)
High Tide09:56 (2.60m)
Low Tide16:30 (0.50m)
High Tide22:52 (2.50m)
Sea temperature: 14.9
Sea conditions: perfect
Weather: perfect
Joined by: The Usual Suspects
Topics of conversation:
DK's mémoires - he is recording his life story this week and yesterday was day one, he got through 7 chapters out of 28, so he's on target but his throat is already suffering a little. We discussed the merits, or otherwise, of milk for the throat as I'd always thought it was good for dry scratchy ones but bad for phlegm and having googled it seems that the jury is out. Once it is recorded and produced then the world will get to hear the stuff that we are kept amused by on a regular basis. Legs put this great picture up on Facebook last night, and yes, he is the little one.
Micro climate - the village is renowned for having it's own pocket of weather, when my Mother was a kid they called in the golden triangle as we'd often have sun when no one else does along the coast, but it also works the other way as we get the frets that roll in but get no further than to A12. Today was a golden day and it was very evident from the dark front to the south and the dappled cloud to the north. I discussed it with a village elder and we recall that Wally used to say "the sun shines bright upon the righteous". 

It made The Artist smile
Connections - I tried to map out a sequence of events which had connected perfectly over the last 24 hours, but that started with The Pirate lending me a book last year. To summarise: The Pirate and I discuss Oliver Bernard, poet, and the poem he wrote about Walberswick that I hadn't read, he lends me the book. It sparks a thought, so hang on to it, and the thought, till I have time. 2 months ago I pick up the book again and begin to research a little, only to discover (as mentioned before) that he recently died, but that a recording exists of him reading the work I am interested in. I search in vain, The Poet searches in vain so eventually I write to the estate to see if they can help, but get no reply. I promise to return the book to The Pirate and ask if his son would be interested in recording it for me and we both agree that it would be much better for him to hear the author read his own work first. I decide to order my own copy of this slim volume, produced in 1978 and track one down online. I think I've bought it but I get a message from Abebooks telling me I've made an error, typing the wrong credit card number, or some such, then I get one from a very nice man, who is the actual source of the book. I notice that his address is very close to where Bernard used to live, next to my old village, so on replying and requesting that he takes over the order, as he suggests, I ask if he perhaps knows where I could get the CD. He replies straight away saying he has a copy that I can have and he'll send it with the book. To top it all his surname is Hamburger, Michael Hamburger lived in Middleton, just down the road from here and was the subject of one of my favourite films/artworks by Tacita Dean. The nice man, Richard, is his son. Tacita Dean is currently showing a work inspired by her correspondence with JG Ballard, a contemporary and friend of Hamburger's which I'm hoping to see next month. Everything connects.
Sauce - I've been making lots of chilli sauce recently as we have a glut, in fact there's been a batch bubbling on stove pretty much every day since the weekend. Last night I went round to help The Artist with some technical issues she's been having and we got side tracked, considerably. We ended up crushing velvet, discussing canvas preparation and push up bras, and trying on shoes - as you do. After about 2 and a half hours I had a sudden flash of memory that I'd left the pan on, so abandoned her in an instant, fearing for my best pan. When I got home the house smelled like a pickling factory but the sauce was not only unharmed but it was even better. So Legs - that recipe I sent you, which said "cook for an hour" - add 2 and a half.
The Bear - The Bridge Captain has been very disappointed that none of us could see The Bear on the Bridge, so yesterday we all looked hard and it's one of those things, you don't see it till you do, then you can't see anything else. I think I might give him a trim this evening as my shears are in the hut.

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