Melplash Show 2007

Today was spent trudging about the Melplash Show. Due to the current livestock movement restrictions, well done Pirbright, there were no cattle, pigs or sheep, except for one stand which in contravention to the abovementioned restrictions claimed to have brought the Lamb of God. The restriction enforcement inspectors couldn't see it either, despite the stallholders' arguments that it's not because it's invisible that it's not there. Meanwhile the organisers were making do with what else they could get hold of. We thrilled to falconry, lumberjackery and dog displays, and otters and rabbits gambolled in carefully fenced-off areas. There were helicopter rides, two people wingwalking on biplanes and you could buy a new tractor, seeds and implements, farming clothing, Shirley Bassey Wellingtons, beef and stilton pasties, and farming insurance. My trip through the "rural crafts" tent saw me richer by one Thai silk kimono top and poorer by £25. Does Thailand count as rural? I suppose so.

My parents should have entered their runner beans in the vegetable class. The ones we ate last night for dinner were far finer than the winners. Ah well, you can lead a horticulture but you can't make her think.

It was very hot. Candy floss is still available and yes, it still does cause sugar rushes, overexcitement and vomiting in small children. Flake 99s are not as yummy as they once were but pasties are even better. We had a swim off East Beach to cool us down. I am now enjoying, to my great surprise, a bottle of J.C. and R.H. Palmer's Light Pale Ale.

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Archiving the ancestors

Since we lost Grandpa in June, the family's become somewhat more interested in genealogy, and I have spent large portions of my holiday at home scanning and archiving my ancestors. We've turned up a few characters. For example:

My Swiss great-grandfather visiting his new French in-laws in rural Haute-Savoie, around 1911. We thought his choice of socks was to prevent them feeling bumpkinnish, but later photographs reveal he just had an alarming taste in socks and, the better to exhibit them, wore plus-fours whenever he could get away with them, well into his eighties.





The same great-grandfather, proving that the Swiss did once play rugby, in his "La Servette" Geneva rugby team photo in 1906. It was the last year before La Servette switched to football.







My great-grandmother and her sister, French milliners imported to the UK around 1909 to work at Selfridges. My great-great-aunt later millinered for Madame Lanvin. It certainly explains the outrageous hats.







My Mexican great-great-great-grandmother. How she ended up marrying a Swiss is still unclear.

It so happens I have a USB key in my handbag (I like to Be Prepared...) so you'll be seeing a bit more of this lot over the coming months...

While I'm away...

Let's have a game of Mornington Crescent!

I'll start you off with Ruislip Gardens. Doubleclicky to embiggen.



Unless I meet you in Bridport, squeezing Fearnley-Whittingstall's huge tomatoes at the Farmer's Market, I'll see you all again on August 28th.

About bloody time

The UN should have sent a UN, not AU, peacekeeper force in YEARS AGO, 2003 would have not been too soon. There may not be enough of them, either.

Currently listening to....

Angels and Airwaves. For those of you who enjoyed "All the small things", and the more matured direction they took with the 2003 album, such as "I miss you", Tom DeLonge's post-Blink-182 venture features anthemic mantras of teenage angst and love and occasional actual enthusiasm ("The Adventure") over very competent pleasant soft rock, reminiscent of the Cure, U2 and, according to Scouse Doris, a 1970S prog rock band called Yes that I should probably check out.

Those of you who recommended Sigur Ros, you know who you are John B., may find A&A pleasant, in a more structured, teenagey way. Plus they're not singing in Icelandic. Although I quite like the Icelandic. I don't have a snowball's chance in Algeria of understanding it, so for once I don't try, and the vocals float about like another instrument. Quite restful, really.

I have a stinking cold but I've made chicken and leek soup out of some very fatty chicken wings, so if the rumours about the curative properties of schmaltz are true as the Jewish grandmothers always said, I should be right as rain in no time.

OK - review without spoilers

Well, it gets very much worse for Harry before it gets any better. You're going to need some hankies. The battle scenes are going to require some cutting-edge CGI work when the film is made. And a lot of mysteries are revealed, such as who dies, who ends up with who, and what's really up with Snape*.

But you all knew that.

However I was caught out by one element. All I can say is, Randall Sherman is going to find a particular scene of HP n° 7 extremely familiar indeed.

*IMHO the man needs a hot bath, some cocoa, and a few of my homecooked dinners, he'd perk right up.

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I have purchased the new Harry Potter. See you in a couple of days.