renaissance man
After the short introductory Pt. I post, we can start to really dive in. The next batch of images focus on bench-end carvings, and some armorial memorials. The latter seem to include lots of bunnies!
Another galleroid: pulpit and stuff.
And now for a deep dive into more woodworking wonders…
And we’re still far from done!
So… yes, it’s to be three posts on one church. And we’re only on post II. I did take a lot of pics! But St Peter’s really is a stunning church.
I’ve visited Walpole St Peter’s before. I adore it. It’s full of beauty and riches. I’ll definitely be coming back here. Maybe bring folk with me?
This first gallery is all shot in the porch.
Next, some images from the area around the inner area, adjoining the porch, where the organ is situated.
This church has such an abundance of riches, it’s going to take a couple more posts to cover them all. And that’s by no means everything St Peter’s has to offer. Of that I’m certain!
In fact this post isn’t a great deal more than a recapitulation of my previous visit here. It’s only really in the next couple of posts that I look deeper and harder at the wealth of treasures this place has to offer.
Love it!
I stopped down a little lane, as I prepare this blog post. It’s a cool grey, cloudy day. Raining lightly. The wind wafts a faint perfume of Spring on the air.
I’ve been utterly miserable, and completely without energy, for several days now. Fortunately for me, getting out to do my ‘umble delivery work, and when I’m done with that, stopping to appreciate beauty, mostly in nature or churches, is therapeutic.
As the pictures in the gallery above load, the church bells chime. They sound small, and not entirely tuneful, in a rather parochial and sweet way.
This church has two rather modern doors, that don’t look at all original. And once inside, the peculiar ravages of time are both ample and immediate.
This is another ageing edifice in the care of the CCT, Churches Conservation Trust. If I could afford it – and, sadly, currently I can’t – I’d take out a modest monthly subscription, to support their work. When I can, I believe I will.
I took a copy of what I imagined might be the latest issue of the CCT’s members’ mag. But it turns out it’s from way back… the Summer of 2019! Isn’t that pre-Covid?
Several Days Later…
Reading Pinnacle, at the Amazon Depot car park, in Peterborough, waiting to start my second shift of the day (15th May, now), I came across the above article.
Now I know why this particular somewhat out of date copy of the magazine is stocked here…
The first thing that surprised me about this classic tale, is it’s brevity. I hadn’t realised it is, in essence, a short story. Because of this it’s almost always published with other appended stuff. And often quite a bit if the latter.
This Penguin English Library edition adds The Bottle Imp, also by RLS, and a short essay not by the author, (?). But it was the slimmest/cheapest version I could find at the Ely branch of Topping Books.
It could easily be read in one day. If all or most of that day was given over to it. As it was, with work and other life stuff intervening – inc. a lot of sleeping in my case – it took me two days.
Part I
Since the collapse of the charges brought against me in Jan ‘23, and my subsequent acquittal, one might have hoped for a return to a prior state of affairs. And I suppose to some extent that is happening.
But it’s also true that – just as something has happened during the Covid period; something still as yet undefined/undiagnosed – that has negatively impacted my physical health, so too have these events caused, so it seems, lasting damage to my mental health. And possibly to Teresa’s also.
One of the most obvious manifestations of this, at present, is my constant (chronic?) hyper-exhaustion. I went to bed at 7.30 last night. And was soon fast asleep. I’ve had wakeful spells in the subsequent 12+ hours. But in essence I’ve slept most of that time. And could very easily continue to do so. And would much prefer to do so.
But shit needs to get done. The daily demands of earning an income, paying bills, and other onerous stuff (e.g. a pending speeding fine).
The blunt and unpalatable truth of the matter is that, right now, I’d prefer sleep/oblivion/death, to what life asks of me. And far from rising to the challenges of life, I feel utterly crushed and spent. I have no fuel in the tank.
I don’t want to repeat the ‘sins of my father’, so to speak. But I can, in some respects, understand how he feels. And I feel, whether I like it or not – and on this score I don’t like it – cut from the same damaged cloth.
There are so many things I want to get down, in relation to all this. For example, how the Amazon Flex work, whilst in some respects suiting my current circs admirably, is in other ways awful.
It’s good cause it’s flexible, not too demanding, and gets me out. It’s less good ‘cause I’m not earning enough, and it’s so heavily reliant on/demanding of constant screen-time.
It feels like it promotes addictive/compulsive reliance on tech, rather like potential addictions to social media, such as FB. I feel I ought to wean myself off all such stuff, including the ‘I spend therefore I am’ m.o. our materialist capitalism so sedulously promotes.
But I feel powerless to do so. I’m not even King Canute, trying to face down the waves. Rather, I’m more like a grain of sand, helplessly tossed on the tides of the times we live in.
To find fault with things as they are, and wish for better or different – whilst on some levels both natural, useful, poss’ even laudable – is also to condemn oneself to disappointment and ultimately bitterness.
As Sting sang, in ‘Consider Me Gone’, many moons ago, ‘To search for perfection, Is all very well, But to look for heaven, Is to live here in hell.’
Part II
Well, there’s some of the problems or issues I’m facing. What about solutions?
The most obvious and tempting to me is simply to obey mind and body, and sleep. But whilst I expect that doing so is – up to a point – the right thing. Beyond that point it might simply make things worse.
Knowing where that point is, esp’ when not in the best way physically or mentally, isn’t easy. But I fear I’m already there.
Solutions!? Eating better, exercising, and all the daily minutiae of living life well, seem obvious. As do cultivating positive habits of mind and body. Practice positivity. Gratitude, etc.
The thing is, I know about all of this. Have done all along. Just can’t seem to put it into practice. I suppose baby steps; little but often. All that malarkey…
Part III
Well, just coming up on 11am, and, having allowed myself to go back to sleep, I’m rudely summoned from this blissful state by… a bitcoin/PayPal scammer’s automated telephone call.
As Blur had it, on one of their album covers, modern life is rubbish!
* Allegedly transferred from a mural on his wall, to canvas. How!?
In keeping with our birthday traditions, Teresa had two croissants (as did I: one with bacon, tomato & onion, the other with a soft-centred fried egg), and some bubbly and/or Bucks Fizz.
After breakfast in bed, and a lie-in, it was lunch in the garden. Moules mariniere, smoked salmon, salad, garlic bread, etc. The heat was so intense, we ultimately changed posish’.
After lunch we drove over to Ely, and parked our buns on the street where Riverside Antiques is. Once parked, we toddled down to the riverside itself, and set up shop, in the shade. Lovely!
We spent a couple of hours by the riverside. Teresa visited the Antiques gaff, whilst I chilled, waterside. We had wanted to take the Ely riverboat cruise. But they were shut, sadly.
Next stop. The Lamb Hotel, in Ely town centre, for dinner.
We both opted for roast pork, etc.
As ever, Teresa is over the moon at having her picture taken. Food arrived scarily quickly. And was ok. But I wouldn’t opt for it again.
Teresa generally only drinks alky-hole, if at all, on Friday and Saturday. I.e. not when she’s working. And I’m currently more or less constantly tee-total.* So water was the beverage of choice! Actually Teresa had some OJ, as well.
* I’m basically tee-total. But I’ve had a single drink – usually a bottle of beer – on a few occasions. Literally just two or three times in the last six months.
Dinner over, a few more pressies unwrapped, family calls taken, and bill paid, we skedaddled. Homeward bound.
Teresa’s wrapping up her day with Hitchcock’s Rear Window. Her all time favourite film. I’m so dog-gone tired, I’ve retired to bed, at 7.30 pm.
I’m typing this, trying to book more Amazon delivery shifts, and eating a bit of Teresa’s birthday (choccy) cake. I may start reading this:
Later…
Nope, no reading. Instead, just semi-watched some Duckula. Or rather Duckula played on DVD/TV, whilst I looked for work, and wasted time on FB. I need to wean myself off so much phone screen time!
Time to go downstairs n’ pee… that’s what it’s come to…
It feels a little churlish, to append what follows to the ostensible happy times of T’s b’day, butt… I feel I must!
When she was at the Antiques Emporium, Teresa bought a book. It was, funnily enough, a book I’d also spotted (although I didn’t investigate). I innocently asked why she’d bought it.
Rather than simply answering my question (e.g. “‘cause I like the illustrations”, which is probably the reason), she proceeded to be really horrible to me. Quite why, I simply don’t understand. It’s something that couples seem to do; bicker totally unnecessarily!
Maybe she thought my question implied some kind of pejorative criticism? Which it absolutely didn’t. I just wanted to know why she’d picked that particular book. It had a nice cover (one of the reasons, I reckon). But in some ways – a science book about weather n’ suchlike – it seemed an odd or unusual choice.
And it was mainly the tone – the embodiment of nagging turned sour; anger, vitriol and hatred – the spirit of it, that really shocked and upset me.
That kind of out the kibosh on the rest of our day, for me, alas. I tried to just let it pass. But the truth is, it’s brought on a pretty profound depression. Maybe I should tell her? Maybe not… I just dunno!?
So weird! A lovely sunny day. A picturesque spot. Me going out of my way to make sure she gets to do whatever she wants. And boom. That shit blows up in my face.
Teres and I spent yesterday evening and most of today, over at dad’s, in Hardwick. He treated us all to lunch at Frankie’s café. Thanks, Pops!
Sadly, Frankie’s had just been burglarised, the evening/night before. Subhuman scum, as Alan Partridge would say. But we didn’t let that spoil our lunch.
This was another locked/closed church. But there was some kind of scent going on nearby. Enquiries after were made, successfully, for a key. And lo, we gained entry.
A gallery of images…
The church is officially closed. In part due to ongoing repairs. Which can be seen, kind of, in the last pic, above. And under these circs it was doubly nice to be let in to see the interior.
I’ve used my iPhone’s built-in software to enhance the two images immediately above and below. Neither photo as taken was particularly good, or easy to discern. Even tweaking the filters leaves much to be desired! But both have been somewhat improved upon.
The only thing I can make out in the smaller square one is a bit of red ochre type colour, and what looks like the outline of a circle. Pretty paltry!
But the much larger image is also much better. A crowned man is sat upon a lion, and above are two more figures. There’s also a scroll, which would doubtless have featured writing.
Certainly not the most beautiful or exciting church we’ve ever visited. But, as ever, she yields up interest if closely studied.
I’m just reading the intro to this large and battered tome. And already I love it. Jenkins quotes Thomas Gray: ‘homely joys and destiny obscure…’ Yep, that’s the life for me!
Later on he talks about the Church of England, and indeed The Church of England, as being ‘the true Museum of England’, and describes visiting English churches as feeling ‘the breeze of history’, a perfect phrase, capturing exactly the gentler aspect of the experience of my secular enjoyment of this ostensibly ecclesiastical – but in truth much broader – experience.
We have Patrick stopping over. Just had a pot noodle each, in the garden, for lunch.
And then I mowed the lawn. Or the scrub that passes for a lawn at ours.
Re-turfing bear patches (growl!) is a job we ought to do ASAP.
Teresa puts the picnic chairs and table back, as Pat tries to get out of camera shot. You can’t escape, Pat; even out of shot, we can see your baleful shadow…
I always enjoy cutting the grass. Both for the job itself. And for the results. Overall our garden is still a messy, shaggy affair. This little note of civilised order brings a welcome note of contrast. And a slightly reassuring sense of our ability to, if not control the garden, at least interact with it.
This evening Patrick and I went to a jazz gig, in St Neots. Pat is actually taking lessons with Ant Law. So it’s the pupil watching the teacher, in action.
Ant said this gig was the debut performance of this trio line up: Ant on guitar, German bassist Niklas Lukassen, on upright and electric, and drummer, Dave Hamblett.
All three are are top-drawer world class players. And this was pretty hardcore muso-jazz. So much so some older folk, sat in front of us, left during the interval. Not their bag, I s’pose?
It was nice to go to a gig. Not something I do much anymore. But the cost of drinks – even non-alcoholic drinks – is, literally, insane!
We arrived a bit too early. And whiled away about an hour, drinking non-alcoholic beers by the riverside:
