megustaleer

Don't expect The Pale Horse to be anything like the TV version of a couple of years ago. There is much less of the occult in it.

'I'll email you the menus' from DiL, as I couldn't read the menus she sent on my phone.

All their hits take me back to significant times, places - and crushes - of my early/mid teens. Oh the nostalgia!

I'VE watched you now a full half-hour, Self-poised upon that yellow flower; And, little Butterfly! indeed I know not if you sleep or feed. How motionless!---not frozen seas More motionless! and then What joy awaits you, when the breeze Hath found you out among the trees, And calls you forth again ! This plot of orchard-ground is ours; My trees they are, my Sister's flowers; Here rest your wings when they are weary; Here lodge as in a sanctuary! Come often to us, fear no wrong; Sit near us on the bough! We'll talk of sunshine and of song, And summer days, when we were young; Sweet childish days, that were as long As twenty days are now. To a Butterfly - William Wordsworth

A bow-shot from her bower-eaves, He rode between the barley-sheaves, The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves, And flamed upon the brazen greaves Of bold Sir Lancelot. A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd To a lady in his shield, That sparkled on the yellow field, Beside remote Shalott. The gemmy bridle glitter'd free, Like to some branch of stars we see Hung in the golden Galaxy. The bridle bells rang merrily As he rode down to Camelot: And from his blazon'd baldric slung A mighty silver bugle hung, And as he rode his armour rung, Beside remote Shalott. All in the blue unclouded weather Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather, The helmet and the helmet-feather Burn'd like one burning flame together, As he rode down to Camelot. As often thro' the purple night, Below the starry clusters bright, Some bearded meteor, trailing light, Moves over still Shalott. His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd; On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode; From underneath his helmet flow'd His coal-black curls as on he rode, As he rode down to Camelot. From the bank and from the river He flash'd into the crystal mirror, "Tirra lirra," by the river Sang Sir Lancelot. She left the web, she left the loom, She made three paces thro' the room, She saw the water-lily bloom, She saw the helmet and the plume, She look'd down to Camelot. Out flew the web and floated wide; The mirror crack'd from side to side; "The curse is come upon me," cried The Lady of Shalott. The Lady of Shalott, part III - Alfred Lord Tennyson

What a timely resurrection of this thread - our first Christmas card catalogue of the year arrived this very morning

or maybe i should say 'threatened' heatwave? can't cope with the heat myself, even though the tomatoes love it

It's a good idea to check the whole length of the tomato plant regularly, they have a sneaky habit of sending out new side shoots at the lower end, when you think you've already dealt with them all. Not all tomato plants need to have their side-shoots removed, so read the instructions on labels or seed packets. A couple of years ago I heard/read that if you stick a newly broken-off side shoot into the compost it will root and provide you with a fresh tomato plant. It works! Sometimes they wilt, but just keep them moist and wait. I don't think I've had one fail yet, although some are rather slow to get going I buy in my tomato plants, and this is a good way to get extra plants for my money. Also, my son planted out his tomatoes too soon this year (misled by the early summers we had round here for the last two years) and lost the lot. I was able to supply him with half a dozen well rooted plants from side shoots. Admittedly late, but he should get some fruit - especially if the promised mid-August heatwave materialises.

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, There is a rapture on the lonely shore, There is society, where none intrudes, By the deep sea, and music in its roar: I love not man the less, but Nature more, From these our interviews, in which I steal From all I may be, or have been before, To mingle with the Universe, and feel What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal. From Childe Harold, Canto iv, verse 178 - George Gordon Byron

My mind still thinks I am 53 years younger than my chronological age, my body is currently telling me I am by far the eldest person here.

I found the letter in a cardboard box, Unfamous history. I read the words. The ink was frail and brown, the paper dry After so many years of being kept. The letter was a soldier's, from the front— Conveyed his love and disappointed hope Of getting leave. It's cancelled now, he wrote. My luck is at the bottom of the sea. Outside the sun was hot; the world looked bright; I heard a radio, and someone laughed. I did not sing, or laugh, or love the sun, Within the quiet room I thought of him, My father killed, and all the other men, Whose luck was at the bottom of the sea. The Son - Clifford Dyment

My tomato plants have been growing almost visibly since the weather warmed up, but only started setting in the last week or so, due to the late cold spell that meant I didn't plant them out until the last w/e of May. Even then they were much less developed than they had been when planted out, two or three weeks earlier, in years 2020 & 19. Just hoping for an extended summer (but a few degrees cooler than this) to keep them fruiting. I would ask for a bit of rain to swell the fruit and save me carting a watering can about, but I have a feeling that we might get a bit more wet than I require over this coming weekend.

Obviously it depends on personal taste, but I don't think you could do better than The Enchanted April by Elizabeth von Arnim.

Here is a link to the advertising/promotions policy of this board. https://www.bookclubforum.co.uk/community/index.php?/topic/9107-promotional-advertising-policy/

The book "Up The Junction", by Nell Dunn, referred to the area around Clapham Junction, not to a public house. There may be, or may have been at some time, a pub of that name in the area, or there may not. No doubt there have been plenty of pubs called "The Junction" in the vicinity of many other railway junctions, it is not uncommon, but not necessarily with any literary connection.

HER PEDIGREE. I. To trace the Kilmansegg pedigree To the very root of the family tree Were a task as rash as ridiculous: Through antediluvian mists as thick As London fog such a line to pick Were enough, in truth, to puzzle old Nick, Not to name Sir Harris Nicolas. II. It wouldn't require much verbal strain To trace the Kill-man, perchance, to Cain; But, waiving all such digressions, Suffice it, according to family lore, A Patriarch Kilmansegg lived of yore, Who was famed for his great possessions. III. Tradition said he feather'd his nest Through an Agricultural Interest In the Golden Age of Farming; When golden eggs were laid by the geese, And Colehian sheep wore a golden fleece, And golden pippins - the sterling kind Of Hesperus - now so hard to find - Made Horticulture quite charming! Opening stanzas of Miss Killmansegg and Her Precious Leg - Thomas Hood

When butter goes rancid these days.... Beneath hot beams of summer sun rays The puddles of oil

There once was a man called Ben Siller Whose movie career was a thriller When he walked through the Bronx... Amid hooting and honks

My mother groand! my father wept. Into the dangerous world I leapt: Helpless, naked, piping loud; Like a fiend hid in a cloud. Struggling in my fathers hands: Striving against my swaddling bands: Bound and weary I thought best To sulk upon my mothers breast. Infant Sorrow - William Blake

Steady rain here for the past 4 hours, gradually getting heavier. From the noise it is making I think it has now moved into the torrential category. The perennial flower border I planted in the spring is just about to burst into flower - or was. I hope it is not all flattened by the morning.

76 next month

Young Myrtle had a pet ferret Who won every prize going, on merit... A polecat once said The ferret was bred With few polecat traits to inherit >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Young Bert took a dip in the river

Young Myrtle had a pet ferret Who won every prize going, on merit... A polecat once said

A man called Clamden from Camden.... Rode a horse called Ramsden During his first race.... He fell on his face

I am enjoying watching TGBSB. I think I have watched every series. Apart from the competition element of it, and the garments they produce each week, I am amazed at the way dressmaking has changed since I bought my first sewing machine with money I saved from my Saturday job in C&A. My current machine is nearly 50 years old, and is not capable (or maybe I'm not) of handling many of the modern materials, and the idea of cutting out using weights not pins to hold the fabric seems quite foolhardy to me. There is some very skilful work being done at this stage in the competition.