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'A gaping silken dragon,/Puffed by the wind, suffices us for God./We, not the City, are the Empire's soul:/A rotten tree lives only in its rind.'

Thursday, 19 April 2012


... almost. The Grant refurb that is. Chips, weathering, dust, pennants, all that is missing is crew for the turrets. I have a Matchbox Humber armoured car chap waiting, and I'll search about for another likely fellow. I know I have some Britannia 8th Army tank crew, but they are a bit bulky for Airfix armour, so I'll see what I have in the way of plastics. Anyway, here they are (at last!):

Looking at them now, I am reasonably pleased with how the refurb turned out. What didn't work, however, was the idea that I could do it quickly. It probably didn't take much less time than if I had done them from scratch. However, they've been given a new lease of life ... after nearly 40 years!

On another note, I was working at home today so I could enjoy coffee and pipe breaks in m'garden. The apple blossom is looking good:

Unfortunately, I can't remember the variety of the tree above. I bought it as a maiden in a bag (a gardener's term!) from Woollies, so it is 'the Woollies' apple'. However, I can remember this one:

It's a russet, which is, quite simply, a marvellous apple with rough khaki skin and very white flesh, and it keeps as well!

Today was one of those wonderful April days - bright sunshine (see above), then sudden, very heavy rain, a brief thunderstorm, more sunshine, and cold with it all. This is a good time of year, and, in the past, when I was a poet (!), one of my published efforts was:

'Familiar Aprils' appeared in NAVIS, Winter 1994/95. A much lamented (at least by me) magazine. I had to blow away dust and cobwebs to find a copy. We are like the grass...


  1. Great to see the grant completed and well done for a splendid effort. I have enjoyed the garden visuals of late here. A wander in one's garden coffee in hand is a joy especially after a hard day at work...

    1. My thanks, Your Grace, you are too kind. Indeed, as Hilaire Belloc wrote, 'Time grows young in a garden'.