Tags
ATP finals, Cenotaph, Fashioned from Nature, Lorenzo Lotto, NAtional Gallery, Nervous States, Regent's Park, SS Mendi, The Guardian, Willaim Davies
After visiting the Fashioned from Nature exhibition, I made my way to Westminster and walked up Whitehall, stopping at the Cenotaph which had been the scene just four days previously of the remembrance service, 100 years to the day after the ending of the First World War.
I was particularly moved by the text of this African wreath:
“Be quiet and calm, my countrymen, for what is taking place is exactly what you came to do. You are going to die….. but that is what you came to do…. Brothers, we are drilling the death drill. I, a Xhosa, say you are my brothers. Swazis, Pondos, Basutos, we die like brothers. We are the sons of Africa. Raise your war cries, brothers, for though they made us leave our assegais in the kraal, our voices are left with or bodies.” Reverend Isaac Wauchope Dyobha – Address to the doomed men of the SANLO, aboard the SS Mendi, sunk on its way to France 21 February 2017.
In fact she sunk in thick fog, struck by a Royal Mail ship.
Continuing up Whitehall, I was pleased to see that this gathering of Brexit supporters standing opposite the Cabinet Office, where (yet another) crucial Cabinet meeting was about to takes place, was nothing like as numerous as 700,000.
I was aiming for Trafalgar Square and the National Gallery
where I met Mary for lunch. Afterwards we went to the Lorenzo Lotto (c1480 – 1556) – no, I hadn’t heard of him – portraits exhibition there.
I had been pleased that the Fashioned from Nature exhibition had not restricted photography, (it was my failure to ensure there was a memory card in my camera that had) but was reprimanded after I had taken a few at this one, so I shall content myself with sharing just these pictures I took during an introductory video.
In the evening I went to a very interesting talk at the offices of The Guardian, where one of the newspaper’s editors interviewed William Davies, Reader in Political Economy at Goldsmith’s College, University of London. He had just published a book, Nervous States – how feeling took over the world.
His explanations around the rise of populism and fake news in politics were extremely interesting.
The next two days were spent at the O2 watching the tennis, so I was not looking for too much activity in the hours remaining on Saturday. Mary and I went for a gentle walk in Regent’s Park.
Then we joined four of her tennis club friends for a coffee in the club’s café in the Park.
My London visit was completed by watching, with Mary, the first of the ATP tennis semi-finals on television. Then it was time for me to make my way to Hammersmith for my long-distance bus home. Somehow I managed to stay awake all the way, catching up on downloaded radio programmes through headphones. That had been quite some four days!
We decided to walk the kilometre plus to our lodgings, which, in addition to the steps, proved to include lots of ups and downs. With more luggage than the other two, I resolved there and then that I would return by the metro on Wednesday morning!
each with its own teensy private bathroom on the landing, 
we went out to find a meal, and chose the first open restaurant we could find having headed towards the centre of the city. This turned out to be a popular Chinese one, where we enjoyed a good meal. Or rather Teresa and I did, as Harvey was feeling under the weather, and not up to eating much, a state in which he sadly remained, though improving, for the rest of our short stay.
What fun the designers must have had in creating this, and converting the original building! All the transformational work had been done by local stone masons, though the stone they used came from Normandy, as we learnt in due course. (As the water in the pool was unheated, there was absolutely no question of my trying it, neither did the others.)
It being Monday, we could not, as we had hoped, go by boat to the 
After the obligatory coffee on arrival, I left the elegant Georgian stable block, which now houses café, shop and plant sales, and took a backward glance at it.
The first exhibition was a collaboration between the NT and the National Portrait Gallery, London. 
None looked like achieving anything, until the World War I when women proved their worth in ‘men’s’ jobs. I actually got a little angry inside as I looked at the changing pictures , some of which are in the slideshow below, showing just what work they had done. 
But it was closed, so I went back to the entrance café, not wishing to take a meal in the main restaurant in the house. After having my soup, I went off in search of the old 1950s Post Office, but reading the notice saved me the tramp over there, though the path looked enticing.
I came across a granite cross, which I have since learned was erected in 1873 in memory of the 10th Baronet who did so much to develop the estate, by 40 of his friends. But for me the main interest was that it was swarming with harlequin (i.e. non-native) ladybirds, scurrying about, never still and occasionally flying off and returning. 
I soon understood why.
I moved on after a few minutes. The Somerset willow/wicker industry is still thriving, (and indeed we display a wicker coffin in the museum). 
There was dry stone walling, 
and timbercraft. 
I particularly liked the bench which could be moved around like a wheelbarrow. (A wheelbench? Or a benchbarrow?)
I saw no pressing, perhaps because judging was still taking place, but was delighted to discover the Rural Life Museum’s stall nearby, as I could now stop worrying that I would never find it.
and dozens, if not hundreds, of stalls selling things to consume, to wear, and to play with, and offering services, commercial, voluntary and public, (no photos of any of these). There were horses, 
and ponies, 
sheep, 
young (and older) shepherds dispensing advice, 
sheep judgings, 
sheep products, 
small goats (and large), 
alpacas, 
pigs, 
and a judge getting down to things. 
Cattle big and small,
I had wandered about the huge showground so much that I was a little concerned that I’d never find the cider and Somerset heritage marquee again. I was just about on time. 
One of the children’s activities we offered was stick weaving, which I had never heard of. 
Custom was slow to begin with, but it picked up, and it was useful that there were two of us to chat with both children and grown-ups. A few had visited the Museum before it closed in 2014 for refurbishment, and some had already visited after it had 
I saw more horses, 
bees and bee products, 
bantams,
golden goose eggs (?) 
and other kinds, 
and Egg Sheeran. 
Just when I thought there couldn’t be any more kinds of animals (and was pleased not to have seen cats in cages) I came across a few rabbits. 
Human exhibits changed every hour. This is the Barnacle Buoys, who often sing in support of the RNLI. (Apologies for the words clipped at the beginning and end. The latter is ‘ago’, and is sung one tone up followed by one tone down – for those concerned.)
Well away from the main dog classes was a ring where some kind of obedience test was happening. I didn’t stay long enough to understand what it was all about, but this apparently obedient dog is here being persuaded by the ring master – in vain and for the third time – to retrieve a ball and take it back to its owner. 
The dog classes were continuing.
Take-off was imperceptible and we were up and away before we knew it.
At last some wild animals – running deer, tiny specks here.
We saw fields with patterns.
After some 50 minutes it was time to start descending. 
Once the balloon had deflated sufficiently we were allowed to get out.
We were invited/encouraged/cajoled to help push all the remaining air out of the balloon, then to roll it up and put it back in the basket. 
It was some time before a minibus arrived to pick us up. The interval was very pleasantly spent sipping champagne and chatting with fellow passengers. 
It had been worth the two-year wait! Thanks Geoff for kicking off the whole adventure! And 
From there, we continued along the coast to the west, and then turned inland to another upland, very different from what we had seen, a plateau heathland, once more above the clouds. 
They were building a huge reservoir where we made a brief stop (in the middle of the left-hand brown area on the map), but we were there to see more of this magnificent native plant, called Pride of Madeira, echium candicans. 
I’d liked it so much the first time I saw it, on the first day, that I’d bought a t-shirt. The flowerheads really are this big. ![20180627_094406[1]](https://musiewild.files.wordpress.com/2018/06/20180627_09440611.jpg?w=529)
The label says it was made in Madeira.
At the end – a place called Risco – there was a long, but narrow, waterfall, to which I found it difficult to do justice in photos. 
Back at the hotel, it was time to pack, then go down one last time to a restaurant near the seafront, and climb back again.
At the end of our walk was a tunnel, through which the levada continued, and along which we had been intended to walk, but I was glad that that thought had been abandoned – it would have meant uncomfortable bending over for 800 metres. 
I did venture a very little way into it, and if this photo is viewed on a big enough screen, the light at the end of the tunnel can just be seen.
My memory of this place in November 2016 was of a meal taken in a revolving restaurant. This time our stop was for coffee, and then for a very short exploration of the local geology. I nipped off at one point to buy some cherries from a stall, and when I rejoined the group they were all staring at the beach. I could see a tern or to. 
And I liked these contrasting grey textures. 
Only on looking more closely did I see that some of the stones were in fact terns, roseate terns I was informed. 
From here we were taken just a very short distance westwards, and deposited to walk along the old coastal road (closed to traffic) for about a mile.
Two of us were ahead of the others, so we were the first to venture in to this tunnel, which we could see was dripping wet for the first and last several metres. 
It was fun, once emerged from it, to see the others noticing the ‘hazard’ and then venturing in. 
From here we were taken via Seixal to Châo da Ribeira, where there were picnic benches. The sun had gone in again, and it was again a little chilly. We were joined by 5 feral cats and a kitten, all very wary, but won over by gifts of ham and cheese. 
From here we went for a short walk in the 
Lunch had been late, and we were running later. We made just one more stop on the way back to the hotel, to see the rare Madeiran saxifrage. Here it is: 
and here are some of us looking at it. 
Another lovely dinner in a Funchal restaurant, another fitness session back up to the hotel. Then watching a fireworks display taking place back down in the harbour, an event which the town of Funchal lays on every Saturday evening in June.
Unfortunately I was beaten after an hour or so. By the wind. Not having had full sensation in my feet for a couple of years now, passing over a high and very exposed spot, unbalanced by camera and binoculars round my neck, and wearing a wide brimmed sunhat, I was actually terrified that I would be blown over by a gusts of the (pleasantly warm) wind onto the hard stony ground. Very reluctantly I had to turn back and reach a more sheltered spot, where I sat for a while. 
After a bit, I moved further towards the car park, and found an almost suitable boulder on which to sit. For a long while. I confess that I did get a little bored, but amused myself taking more photos.
And a video.
I could indeed identify people from our party. I assumed they were sitting to have their lunch (which I took to as a cue to have my own) but I learned later they had been birdwatching and had seen, among other things, canary and rock sparrow. Oh well, I had watched grasshoppers … 
and a rather elegant wooden tourist boat, the Bonita da Madeira, following the coastline of the bay. 
Together once more, we went back along the south coast towards Funchal, and stopped at Ponta da Garajau, 
for liquid refreshment and what was intended to be a further walk down a cliff path to find a particular plant. 
However, the authorities had roped it off as too dangerous. This did not stop our leader venturing just a few metres into it to collect this insect from a cactus. 
He then passed it to a volunteer who agreed to crush it in her palm. 
This was the cochineal insect, much prized as a very expensive trading item centuries ago, and which set me off singing to myself an extract from a madrigal by Thomas Weelkes (1575-1623), Thule, the period of cosmography. This includes the line, ‘The Andalusian merchant, that returns laden with cochineal and China dishes,…’.
We had been told that the last part, to the top of the Pico, was just 400 steps. The white splodge at the upper right of this picture is a refuge at the bottom of those last 400 steps. 
After quite a lot of walking I had admitted to myself that there was no way I was going to inflict that last stage on myself, and indeed that I would probably turn round well before it. In fact I did make it to the refuge, but once there was not in the least enticed by the thought of being able to see a very rare plant (viola paradoxa, a yellow violet, an oxymoron to me!) at the top, or by the encouragement of my companions to attempt it. 
I ate my lunch at this halt, 
pleased to find that it was not totally occupied by others already. Given that doing the walk were many people of many nationalities – German, then French, then Portuguese in my estimation far outnumbering British people – I was pleased to have a bench to myself.
to have a wander around the coastline, 
and to admire the geology. 
I hadn’t really twigged before that volcanic rock could be sedimentary, but of course these lines are formed by layer upon layer of volcanic ash and other spewings.
Indeed, on the previous occasion I had noticed that there were ‘levada’ walks from that place, known for its trout farms, and I was pleased to have the opportunity this time to follow them up. We did two, one before our picnic lunch and one after. The first 
took us to a viewpoint at Balcóes. I took all these following photos within ten minutes of each other and from the same spot!
I struck out on my own, as did most people, leaving the very keen botanists with Martin, along a broad levada walk, again from Ribeiro Frio. 
After a rest at out hotel, we walked down to town for a meal in one of the dozens of restaurants in the Rua de Santa Maria, where you take your liberty in your hands if you haven’t already a booking (we had) or at least a target firmly in mind!
