It’s all go at the beach

We are more warmly dressed than usual for our beach walk this morning; it is still cool after yesterday’s thunderstorm. The air is fresh and clear, with a brisk easterly wind. From the crest of the dune pathway, we can see three ships on the horizon. The Port Hills to the south are outlined against billowing ‘cauliflower’ clouds, and the distant Kaikoura mountains are clear to the north. At the foot of the dunes, families gather around Santa Claus for photos.

The sand is firm under our feet as we head north along the beach with many others, most with happy dogs. We pass a circle of people discussing the coastal environment. Overhead, a motorised kite flies by, turns and disappears into the distance. Two light aircraft follow the line of the beach, one is white and heading south, the other is red and travelling north. ‘It’s the Red Baron,’ I say.

Later, we heave ourselves upright from the log where we stopped for morning tea, and come upon two people launching colourful kites which swoop and glow against the bright blue sky. I count two dozen birds flying in formation and intersecting a jet trail – and, in this photo, forming an angle with the kite’s string line.

The kites make undulating shadows on the sand.

As we near the pathway we can see that the swim-between-the- flags are out in front of the surf club. Families are organising themselves for photos with Santa, choosing props such as hats, a cricket set, rugby ball, surfboard, and a bent (purposely?) Christmas tree – and even the Grinch – although he seems to have retreated to a distance now, perhaps to keep in character.

It’s perfect kite-flying weather. A local, walking by with her small terrier whose ears and fur are pinned back by the wind, asks us if we have been to the annual kite day – this is just a taste of it. The next one will be at the end of January in the new year.

I can see clearly now – and it’s still raining

I can see all obstacles in my way… (Thanks, Johnny Nash)

My new specs were ready this week. This morning I walked into Singing class in the rain and wind (my new Blunt umbrella blew inside out twice). After Singing, I returned a library book, picked up another, and went to Groovy Glasses to collect my specs.

The assistant fitted the glasses and adjusted them, then did the same for my prescription sunglasses which can be uncomfortable over the nose. After that, I indulged in a Belgian waffle at the Waffle Haus across the street and got my strength up for the rainy, windy walk home. Just as well: I had to hang on to my umbrella with both hands. (What’s more, I discovered my socks were damp when I got home. My waterproof ecco shoes are no longer waterproof – but they’ve had pretty solid use since 2018 when, on one occasion, I wore them on a boat to see puffins at the top of Norway*.)

The rounder shape of the frames gives the progressive lenses more scope, I think, and I’m hoping for improved performance when I’m reading or using the computer.

What do you think, Felix?

Felix is staying in today. I have put the fire on – in mid-November! The garden needs the rain.

*This reminds me of a game my friend and I played on our OE in 1981 when in Paris staying with a couple we’d met in Barcelona. The game was a bit of a competition about where our shoes had been. It began with: “These shoes have been on Machu Picchu,” I said. “These shoes have been on the Pyramids,” said our host, Elisabeth. Etc. She had been a ground steward for an airline and had the task of taking famous people – including Marlon Brando – sight seeing. I think she had the edge … or maybe it was a draw!

Companionable campanula

While I hate seeing invasive ivy choking tree trunks unchecked, campanula is a different story altogether. It is easy to control and doesn’t take over, being fine-stemmed, and there’s the benefit of the little blue star-like flowers. It creeps across the ground among other plants, popping up now and again.

Somehow, it has made its way to the back garden and makes a cosy blanket over the ‘Hamish’ statue of a boy reading a book (he was named by the staff at the plant nursery where I bought him). I can pull it away easily if I need to, but for now it looks charming. It has been joined by a Mexican daisy – ever the opportunist.

Room with a view

There’s a beautiful sunset this evening and the air is cooling after a hot nor’west day.

It was too hot for gardening, so I found a shady spot to read this very enjoyable book.

I’m half-way through and I don’t want it to end – but I can’t put it down!

Inside-outside flowers

Here is the first Precious Platinum of the season, picked for Mum. It’s her favourite, with a divine scent. The rose was transplanted from her garden.

There’s hardly any need to pick flowers to bring inside; they are visible from nearly every window. From my computer this evening I have this view:

The Cecile Brunner has always been lovely at this time of year, but not quite as good as it was, filling the whole window, when I took the photo below (left) in the 1990s. The photo on the right was taken today.

I look through the window in the morning and plan what I will do in the garden that day, or maybe later that week.

Spot the blackbird in the bird feeder

Today I planted two tomato plants and some lettuces. Next, the lawn needs mowing and there are some geranium cuttings to pot up. The roses in containers could have some liquid fertiliser and the citrus trees are due for more food. Now that it’s summer weather, it’s time to put saucers back under the pots and containers. That’s tomorrow’s jobs sorted.

A Felix can’t change his stripes

That Felix is largely nocturnal explains his very early morning interruptions of my sleep, I’ve decided. Generally he is shut out of the bedrooms for this reason. Sometimes he just wants to party and sometimes he brings in a rat.

Awoken this morning by the sound of angry blackbirds, I looked out the window to see him under attack, cringing and dodging as two blackbirds flew at him squawking angrily. I knew they had a nest in a nearby tree. I called him inside, thinking the birds had done a good job of defending their chicks.

Later, I found two little fledglings under the tree, dead; a cause of distress all day, for me and the blackbirds. “This is why I didn’t want a cat,” I grumbled to Mum. I manoeuvered the two little bodies onto a dustpan, disturbed by little movements they made and the presence of ants, and put them on the outdoor table so the watching, keening parent blackbirds could see they were beyond help – if they needed reminding. Then I buried the tiny bodies under the tree.

All day I thought of the months the blackbirds had spent setting up their territory, courting, building a nest, sitting on the eggs, feeding the chicks. I put pieces of fruit on the bird feeder to help them along and I enjoy their company in the garden – even when they scatter leaves over the drive. They are good at clearing out the guttering. This afternoon one was having a bath in the bird bath, along with some sparrows. And one sat in the kōwhai tree, looking accusingly through the window, I imagined.

Cats are obligatory carnivores according to the vet. And the instinct to hunt is strong. Perhaps that makes life simpler for them. Humans make life complicated and, probably, we are the only animals who can ‘change our stripes’ by reinventing ourselves. Stereotyping might work for cats, but humans – not so much. For example, I was surprised how gossipy boys are when I began working at a co-ed high school. Recently I was amused to be startled out of my prejudices on seeing some tough tattooed men glide into the shopping centre car park in an electric vehicle then walk up to the salad bar to order their lunch. But I can’t see Felix changing his ways. He is what he is and I just have to live with it. There’s a lot to like, of course, but the raw instincts can get you down.

Anticipation

Looking forward to something can be better than the event itself. However, I’m looking at my roses which are beginning to flower and producing heaps more buds. It’s amazing how fast they have grown after being pruned back in July. I’m pleased to find that they weren’t blown to smithereens by last night’s wild wind.

Name unknown. We call it ‘big bloomer’. Beyond it, Precious Platinum also has many buds.
Cecile Brunner

The globe artichokes have lots of buds this year; usually there are only two or three. While the blackcurrant flowers were barely noticeable, the developing fruit is more obvious and looks promising. The lime tree, which I feared was dying, is now producing new leaves. My neighbour says it may be wise to remove the flowers to give it a better chance of survival.

Globe artichokes
Blackcurrant
Recovering lime tree

Clematis montana is in full flower, and hierloom green rose ‘Viridiflora’ to the left is covered in buds. The garden will be enjoying the rain which we had been hoping for. The temperature has dropped and snow is falling further south. Felix commandeered Mum’s chair beside the fire last night and again this morning.

A new Westerland rose, kindly given to me to replace the one which died, seems to be happy socialising with other roses, and has several buds. I am planning where to plant it, which requires removing the stump of its predecessor which I had hoped might regenerate, but no such luck. Now there is the new rose to look forward to.

Everything Belgian

It was midday when I walked out of Groovy Glasses where I’d had a thorough eye examination and had ordered new lenses and frames. I was thinking of lunch. Directly opposite was the Belgian Waffle Haus.

The berry waffle, with added cookies and cream icecream, was huge. I prepared to take it slowly while enjoying the view out onto New Regent Street and the trams trundling past.

I considered the coincidence that my favourite glasses designer, Theo (pronounced tay-oh), is Belgian. My prescription sunglasses and everyday glasses are Theo, and the new ones are Theo.

Then I noticed the visual display on the wall opposite. Tintin featured, and surrealist art which apparently had its start in Belgium.

I made a valiant effort, but didn’t finish the waffle. I tried to work it off a bit by climbing the stairs to the fiction section on the fourth level at Tūranga but, by the second level, digestion and climbing seemed to be in conflict and I took the lift.

I managed the thirty minute walk home, however, and looked about for other Belgian connections. There is my Tintin collection. And Hercule Poirot. That he is Belgian was a deliberate choice by Agatha Christie. His off-sider, the bumbling and rather dim Hastings, is an Englishman. This was a deliberate reversal by the subversive Christie. Hercule Poirot is not your normal hero, not a Hercules at all, but rather pear-shaped (une poir), and interested in the psychological motives of his suspects. He is sniffy about being mistaken for a frenchman.

While it’s hard to put aside the gruesome colonial history of the Belgian Congo – particularly when colonial attitudes are evident in Tintin books – Belgium may have redeemed itself as headquarters of the European Union and participation in the International Criminal Court. Its national dish is Moules Frites (yum) and it’s well-known for waffles (hmm…) and chocolate. Other Belgian innovations include Art Nouveau, the Smurfs, the longest tram line in the world, and the saxophone. For me, Theo comes out on top.

Or chocolate …