Possibly the least interesting blog ever

Tags

Coronavirus, Covid-19, Glastonbury, Minor Injury Unit, Street, Vaccine, West Mendip Hospital

Going out just once a fortnight for my Click and Collect shopping and any other essential bits and pieces, there hasn’t been much to blog about since Christmas. How I long for restrictions to be lifted and to visit a garden or some such!

But I did have an extra outing yesterday, late afternoon Friday. I went for my first Covid-19 vaccination at the local Minor Injury Unit, the West Mendip Hospital, a few minutes’ drive away in north Glastonbury. My doctors’ surgery had called me three days previously and gave me not only this appointment, but that for my second jab, 12 weeks forward – to the very minute. (Then on Thursday I received a letter from the NHS inviting me to book an appointed online, to be ignored if I was already fixed up.)

I thought people might object to my taking photos, but not at all. The atmosphere was great, the many volunteers all very cheerful, and the one professional I met, a nurse from a surgery in Street, likewise.

First Philip

told me where to park, a task taken up a few yards on by Rob.

Then this lady, whose name I didn’t get, directed my reversing into the very nearest spot to the hospital entrance.

She told me I could go straight in. (Twelve days earlier a neighbour had had to park a long way away and was told to wait in the car until she was collected, and that they were running 15 minutes behind.)

I had arrived early deliberately because I had unrelated business with the normal hospital reception. This lady told me to explain that to the specially set-up desk.

I did so, had my hands sanitised, carried out my task, and returning to that special desk took this photo.

I was given a form and directed along this corridor This cheery gentleman is not blocking but welcoming me!

He made sure I turned right, and that I went along a corridor, where there was a row of about ten socially distanced chairs. My neighbour had had to sit on the nearest, and gradually move up, a chair at a time, each chair being sanitised after each movement. (The organiser in me would have done that bit differently, but in my case only the first (= furthest away) was occupied, and I sat on the second.)

I had just started reading the form,

when Nurse Emma came up to me and invited me into her cubicle.

She went through the form with me, and left the cubicle for a few seconds.

I’m kicking myself for not taking a photo of her actually drawing the vaccine from the vial when she came back, but I was too engrossed in asking her how much liquid she was going to put into me. The answer was 0.3 millilitres. ‘Is that all?’ I said, thinking of Tony Hancock in a reverse situation.

Having done the necessary (another photo-op missed) she gave me a very detailed leaflet, from which I later learned that I had been given COVID-19 mRNA Vaccine BNT 162b2. I left a box of chocolates with her, and she directed me to a waiting area, where I restored my left arm’s clothing, and took this photo. All were (unsurprisingly) intrigued as to why I would want such a thing, but they gave their permission.

15 minutes later I was on my way out.

This lot at the entrance insisted (well, it was the man on the right again) that for completeness’ sake I should record them as I left in both directions,

and that was that.

Today the top of my arm is quite sore but not at all red, and that tells me that the antibodies are getting on with their work nicely. In 11 weeks and 6 days’ time, to the minute, I shall, all being well, be back there again.

Park Cottage, Wrington, NGS

Tags

Coronavirus, Covid, Covid-19, Park Cottage Wrington, WRington

With a 55% chance of rain forecast and quite a long drive ahead, I probably would not have set off had I not, obligatorily under Covid arrangements, already booked and paid for my ticket for this garden visit on Saturday, 25th July. And, truth to tell, I nearly turned round about five minutes from my destination, having been diverted twice for road closures, been held up by cows on the road, and was now depressed by rain on my widescreen. But stubbornness made me continue to this garden in Wrington, near Bristol Airport.

I was not the only mad person. There were perhaps eight others wandering around these gardens in the rain, and in the course of my visit I was able to chat separately with the owners of the cottage and a gardening trainee. The proprietors had bought the cottage, which came with an adjacent field, some 27 years ago. Mrs Park Cottage was self-taught, and had designed the garden essentially for children to enjoy. I learnt this as I was leaving, when I commented that more than once ‘Alice in Wonderland’ had come to my mind as I went round. She told me that I was not the first to say the same thing.

Park Cottage. The garden was to the right-hand side, and seemed to be a long thin triangle, the apex of which was the cottage, and the base of which was at the trees in the far distance.

I first explored the patches in front of and behind the house, which together alone would have been sufficient to satisfy most house owners. Only two photos here though, as there’s so much else to see.

I then moved to the ‘field’ area. This is just the beginning.

A lovely mauve border to the main lawn

The delicate tints of this dahlia took my breath away.

I didn’t go inside the greenhouse, which housed carnivorous plants among other things. I had also seen some similar plants through the windows of the conservatory attached to the house.

From now on visitors were asked to follow the directions from signpost to signpost, numbered 1 to 8. This was because pathways were far too narrow for people to be able to cross in opposite directions while also meeting Covid guidelines. As far as I could tell, with hindsight, this had involved walking one circuit inside and touching a larger one, with a small amount of pathway in common, through a jungly area.

Entry to the vegetable garden. It was raining for all but about ten minutes of my visit. This is my umbrella, not a canopy.

10-foot (3-metre) yew hedges were a significant feature of the garden. I learnt that this is where they started. The intention had been to create a wind break for a badminton court – only it was never used as such.

I entered it and turned round. These streaks indicate how far the rain fell in 1/250 of a second, which is how long my camera decided the exposure should be.

There were many places to sit, often in arbours, but because of the rain, there was no temptation to use them.

The beginning of the jungly bit

Starting the second, larger, circuit

This ‘long walk’ is the base of the triangle, at the far end of the ‘field’.

Creamy yellow border

Back into the jungly bit

Back to the main lawn

And on my way to the car, parked in a field a couple of minutes ‘ away. I decided to find another way home. On the way, the rain was falling in torrents, the roads were more like canals – and I was held up for 15 minutes in a contraflow system. But I think I’m pleased I made the effort, for all that, as it was such a fascinating garden.

The Newt in Somerset, May, with a friend this time

Tags

bridge, Coronavirus, Covid-19, Haynes international motor museum, Morocco, Museum of Gardening, Social distancing, Sweet Track, The Newt in Somerset

I wasn’t planning to visit The Newt in Somerset again this month, but the meet-up rules had been relaxed, and I was due to pass over my previous camera to my bridge partner, Daphne. It had been she who had told me about The Newt when it opened in 2019, but my one planned visit there in August had been thwarted by bad weather (which led to my London friend Mary and I going to the nearby Haynes International Motor Museum instead).

Daphne and I had not seen each other since 5th March, the last bridge club meeting before my Morocco trip. Greeting each other with a socially distanced hug, we exchanged carrier bags via the boot of my car, and started up the entrance path.

The Newt is now charging again, but Daphne and I were already members, so we were able to bypass the ticket building to get in.

Near the top of the path to the ‘Threshing Barn’, it was sad to see that a magnificent beech tree was being removed. It was diseased on the inside apparently.

There is still a theoretical one-way system, and we were channelled through the barn.

Along withe the charges have been restored the gift shop, and the ability to buy beverages and ice-cream.

We partook of neither, and indeed our intention was to avoid the most frequented parts of the gardens. We turned off left therefore to the Marl Pit and the Marl Pit Copse.

I have just realised. This is built to the same design as the neolithic Sweet Track, dated very precisely by dendrochronology to 3807 BC, and situated perhaps 20 miles away on the Avalon Marshes/Somerset Levels.

On a day that was to become very hot indeed, it was wonderfully fresh, with the sunlight trickling down through the trees. I hadn’t explored this area on my two previous visits.

We continued into the deer park with no real expectation of seeing any deer, but we did just get a glimpse.

We went on to the walkway to Museum of Gardening, itself closed of course. In any case I’m told you must allow at least two hours to do the museum justice. It has a refreshment area to keep you going.

Looking down from the walkway…

… which Daphne is doing.

It sinews around.

From the museum, we walked to the end of the grounds of the Newt, though beyond is still part of the whole estate. I do not recall this dovecot (if that is what it is) beyond the boundary being there in January. It is built in the same style, stone and roofing as the rest of the new build at the Newt.

We ambled back. (Ambling is now allowed as ‘The Rules’ no longer require that you be outdoors only for essential shopping, and exercise.)

Until I saw this photo, taken, obviously, by Daphne, I thought my hair must need cutting.

The Kitchen garden, the almost invisible so-called Bathing Pond (that is apparently what it was used for, but not now), the Long Walk, and Hapsden House, now a luxury hotel.

Returned from the Deer Park, we ventured a little into the more crowded ‘pretty’ areas, but did not plunge in.

This was filled with tulips on my last visit, three weeks previously. I wonder what will be there on my next visit.

We stayed at the top…

… and walked along this people-less path …

… to the Cottage Garden.

Once through the arch I looked back

Finally there was the ‘Woodland Walks and Mound ‘ area, which I had not seen on previous visits.

I almost got my ducks in a row.

We climbed The Mound, of which I forgot to take a photo. It’s basically an upside-down pudding bowl with a gentle spiral path to get to the top.

But the top was a little crowded so we didn’t stay long.

It was time to go – once I had bought my Newt in Somerset cyder (sic) – leaving by the one way system exit, which meant passing the diseased beech on its other side. It had lost a few more branches, which were being removed one by one. No ‘Timber….!!!!’ was to follow i was told when I asked. It might have been worth staying to watch if so!

Daphne and I had had much digital and telephone contact in the twelve weeks since we had seen each other, but there is nothing like actually being with a friend and together doing something you both like. And now restrictions are to be relaxed further as from tomorrow, another bridge friend is immediately taking advantage of that and has invited three of us round to her garden, not of course for bridge – which would not be within guidelines, sensible, or practical – but for a good old chinwag, socially distanced of course. We will even each take our own beverages.

Permitted Walk 5/The Newt in Somerset – May

Tags

Broad-bodied chaser, Coronavirus, Cyder, Gilles Guillot, Patrice Taravella, The Newt in Somerset, VE 75

When I bought my season ticket for The Newt in Somerset late in January, I had intended to go every month or so to see how things changed through the seasons. The month of May should have brought me to my third or fourth visit. However, in present circumstances, I had just assumed that it was not open now.  But a few days ago, something prompted me to look at their website. To my delight, I found that the gardens were open, but not the house. (Given that the house is a luxury hotel, charging at least £450 a night, this would be no great hardship to me.) No other buildings, including the gardening museum, were open either, except the farm shop. And the website informed me that they were limiting numbers of visitors.

Imagining, with a lessening of lockdown in the air, that shortly the place would become very popular, especially as they were not charging for entrance, and that I might have to queue unless I arrived early, I decided to be at the gate at opening time the very next morning. And so I did, after a bit of a drive, (permitted under the police guidance given a week or so previously that any driving for a walk must be less than the time taken walking). At 10 a.m. there were just 5 other cars in the car park and I had the vast place almost to myself for a while.

These trees were of course bare in January. The path from the car park leads up to the entrance

The temporary one-way system leads you through the barn-like entrance, whose glass sliding doors were fixed open both sides for maximum air circulation.

The meeter-and-greeter explained that they were (able to?) open because of the farm shop, so I felt obliged to patronise it (no hardship, wonderful stuff). Because she had said there was a one-way system, I bought things at the beginning of my walk, which put me under some pressure for the rest of my time there because I had bought some soft cheese. Having suffered food-poisoning a long time ago through something not being adequately refrigerated, I have been acutely concerned ever since not to repeat that experience. As a result, I did not spend as much time in the gardens as I would like, anxious to get my cheese home and into the fridge! (In the event it was still nicely chilled when it found its chilly refuge.)

Having shopped, I took a peek into the cactus house whose outsize plants had inspired me at the beginning of the year to compose – with the help of the expert who sold its elements to me and planted them – my own little windowsill cactus garden. (I knew that old unused casserole would come in useful sometime.)

Photo taken about a month ago

The cottage garden

As I stepped through the gap in the hedge into the Victorian Fragrance Garden – and I know these are emotional times – my eyes welled up at the sight before them. Hitherto, the supermarket had been the furthest I had ventured from home.

Seeing a socially distanced staff meeting going on brought amusement and dried my eyes. The woman is holding a laptop and apparently explaining things.

I didn’t go into the kitchen garden. I think I may have been being obsessively cautious, but it would have meant touching the gate catch. Which I could easily have done without risk, as I had my surgical spirit with me.

Wildlife area

Red campion

I next entered the vast Parabola, devoted to the apple, which alone contains 240 varieties, and there are more elsewhere.

Most of the blossom, as in my own garden, had disappeared, with some exceptions.

Water welling up constantly

Each area is named for a British (English? I must check next time) county. Decades ago I lived in a Somerset Walk, in Berkshire. Now I live in Somerset.

It was another French gardener, Patrice Taravella, who designed these gardens on behalf of the South African billionaire who bought Hapsden House (the hotel) and its grounds in 2013. Here is an informative 2019 article from the Financial Times.

I am not displeased with this photo of an immature male Broad-bodied chaser.

The café is shut of course.

I do hope that it is not just other priorities which have left this pretty intruder on the steps.

I assumed the drinking fountain had been turned off, though I would not have been tempted in present circumstances to accept the invitation to ‘Buvez-moi’

But no, it was foot pressure which activated it.

I left the Parabola (named for the shape of the walled apple garden) and found myself back near the entrance. But I did not want to leave before 11.00.

Shop staff and a couple of visitors awaiting the start of the two-minute silence for VE 75 Day. I was pleased to be in (very socially-distanced) company at that hour.

There is much, much more to see at The Newt. The parkland has yet to be opened at all, scheduled for ‘the summer’ but who knows now. There are other parts of the gardens and woodland I have not yet seen, and I hope that it will not be too long before the History of Gardening museum is re-opened, though it may be a while before, whatever the regulations at the time, I feel confident enough to go into any building unnecessarily. Perhaps that’s a pleasure for next year.

They had set up a temporary alternative exit to maintain the one-way system, which seemed to involve walking down the tradesmen’s drive. I diverted to take a peek at just a little woodland first.

The old marl pit.

Not a bad tradesman’s entrance/exit

Reminded me of the pencil gate at Millfield pre-prep that I had seen the day before.

The one-way system in action, as fresh visitors arrive on the parallel path in the distance.

That permitted walk really did my soul good! Back in a month or so’s time, all being well, and perhaps then I’ll buy some Newt cyder (sic) – but at the end of my walk.

Morocco 7 (finale)

Tags

Atlas Kasbah, Barbary Ground Squirrel, Barbary nut, Black Wheatear, Blue rock thrush, Blue-eyed Pincertailail, Cascades of Imouzzer, Common Bulbul, Coronavirus, Covid-19, High Atlas, Moorish Terrapin, Moroccan Day Gecko, Morocco, Paradise Valley, Polygala balensae, Red-veined darter, White Hoop Petticoat Daffodil

Having visited the ancient Anti-Atlas on Thursday, on Friday 13th March, our last complete day, we were off to the High Atlas mountains. These were much younger – formed by uplift over only the last 60 to 10 million years! We only went into the ‘foothills’, but they seemed pretty high to me, and they were certainly beautiful.

But first we stood in the garden of our temporary home, as some had heard the Black-crowned Tchagra. Sadly, we didn’t manage to see it at this time, but I took a picture of a Common Bulbul, (they’re everywhere), possibly the one which sang outside our windows every morning.

Some of the food serves at the Atlas Kasbah is grown in its garden.

Our first stop revealed some extraordinary folding, caused, as for the Anti-Atlas, by the crashing of the African plate into the Eurasian one. (That is still going on – the Alps are still getting higher. My 2007 OU geology course taught me that the Mediterranean will in due course disappear!)

Another dried-up river bed to the left

The next stop involved a short upward stroll.

The next, a longer stroll along a nearly dried-up river bed, in Paradise Valley. First a few steps downstream.

Moorish Terrapins

Red-veined Darter

Blue-eyed Pincertail

And then upstream, the flow having transferred to the other side of the road by going under it, and then apparently either diverting under the geological feature or just drying up, the rest of our walk being alongside a dry river bed.

Anticline

Blue Rock Thrush (Collins Bird Guide: ‘blue colour difficult to make out at long range, mostly looks all dark.’ Indeed!)

A Barbary Ground Squirrel, a long way from the ground, on the wall opposite

Black Wheatear

A geological fault

Black Wheatear

Mohamed waiting for us

There followed a long, climbing, drive to our lunch place.

We ate our packed lunch in the Café Restaurant Le Miel. (Again they were happy for us just to buy drinks.) We were meant to wonder at the Cascades of Imouzzer. But they have not had the slight trickle of water for at least two years. (Here is a 3-minute video I found on YouTube about the Imouzzer region, made in 2015 when there were still trickles of water over the Cascades.)

Having eaten, we were driven up to much nearer them, for botanical reasons, but it gave a chance to look at the rocks more closely. From this angle, to me they look like a bearded old man, sitting with his wide sleeves dangling, his hands resting on his knees.

Looking down at the village where we had eaten

Two flowers were particularly sought.

Narcissus cantabricus, the White Hoop Petticoat Daffodil. It’s tiny. I loved the way the sun was shining through its petals.

Polygala balensae, a milkwort – very pretty flowers and very fierce thorns

We moved on to this rather unprepossessing spot, at 1300 metres altitude, (whose whereabouts we were told never to reveal, even were we able, because hordes of twitchers would drive away the bird we had come to see).

Which we did, at a great distance:

Tristram’s Warbler, normally only found at higher altitudes

Finally we moved to perhaps the most beautiful spot of the whole week (though that’s a difficult pick), high, high, high, at 1550 metres, in the (still only) foothills of the High Atlas. First our attention was drawn to several examples of the Moroccan Day Gecko.

And in due course to this dwarf iris, the Barbary nut (the tubers used to be eaten).

How’s this for a rockery garden? All natural of course.

And for the rest of the time, at this our last stop, we just enjoyed the views, and a slight, cooling breeze.

On the next day, Saturday, 14th March, we did not need to leave the Atlas Kasbah for Agadir Airport until late afternoon. Half the group had a cooking lesson in the kitchens, and the others went out with Philip and James, to review the first morning’s sightings, and to see some more. (They saw a Black-crowned Tchagra at last.) I did neither. I had not yet managed even to read the hotel’s own information folder, and really wished to do so, nor had I had a chance to wet the new swimsuit I had bought a few days before coming away. So, having achieved the former, I was then obliged to spend time here.

With its views outwards

and inwards.

For a long while I had the whole pool to myself. (In the event the water was too cold for me actually to wet the swimsuit.)

We ate the tagine our colleagues had prepared in the morning at lunchtime, and the afternoon whiled itself away. In due course we said a reluctant goodbye to those who had been looking after us so well, the more so for knowing what we were going back to.

I had a window seat again on the plane.

I feel so blessed that I was able to take that holiday, for which I had been longing for months, before the clampdown enforced on us by this horrible virus, Covid-19. As I said in the first post in this series, Morocco had already banned flights to and from 25 countries the day before we left. (We ten travellers knew about France, but not about how many countries the ban extended to. Our leaders did. Philip was looking at his screen constantly for news.) Two days after our return they added the UK and others to the list.

Now the Atlas Kasbah is shut down, like pretty well the whole world. Here on my own, thankfully with the company of my felines, I’m grateful for the telephone, and all the media, which allow me to be in touch with friends and family and the wider world. I have this extraordinary sensation of fellow-suffering, not just with those I know, in the UK, family on both coasts of the US, friends in France, the company both employed and holidaying which I so enjoyed in Morocco, but also with every single one of the world’s 7,800,000,000 people. Every single one of us is having to contend with the same fears and concerns and ignorance about the future, most of our fellows without even the resources that we have in the first world. I’m going to avoid a cliché, but this is something we do all, every single one of us, face together.