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Archive for November, 2009

I don’t like November.

It’s official.  I don’t like November.  I dislike the fireworks (see previous blog entries) and I don’t like the wet, cold, windy weather that dominates the month.  November typifies all that is unpleasant about the British climate.  It’s cold, without the prettiness of frost. It’s wet, but the promise of spring flowers is so distant that the rain is unwelcome. It’s windy, but because of the aforementioned rain, you can’t get out there and let the wind rosy up your cheeks – you just end up peering through wet spectacles whilst trying to remove the soaking strands of hair that are wrapped across your face. November saps enthusiasm for everything except for duvets and doughnuts, and the apathy it breeds permeates every aspect of your life.  No wonder our ancestors established winter festivals.  Could we really get to March without Yule in  between?

More Remembering.

For The Fallen
With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,
England mourns for her dead across the sea.
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,
Fallen in the cause of the free.

Solemn the drums thrill; Death august and royal
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres,
There is music in the midst of desolation
And a glory that shines upon our tears.

They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted;
They fell with their faces to the foe.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years contemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.

They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;
They sit no more at familiar tables of home;
They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;
They sleep beyond England’s foam.

But where our desires are and our hopes profound,
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
To the innermost heart of their own land they are known
As the stars are known to the Night;

As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain;
As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,
To the end, to the end, they remain.

Laurence Binyon

 

 

 

Remember re-bloody-member.

I HATE fireworks.  I’ve never particularly liked loud bangs, standing around in the cold or the idea that millions of pounds go up in smoke every year.  I also refuse to believe that little packages of gunpowder which can potentially kill or maim should be on sale to the general public. These days, however, what upsets me most is the way they make my pets behave.  Penny, our dog, trembles like a drunk the morning after the night before virtually every evening from mid October to Guy  Fawkes Night, and we’ve had, two years in a row, our usually clean cat deciding that there’s NO way he can go outside to the loo.  As I write this, The Bloke is cleaning up after the cat, there are lights in the sky, pops, squeals and bangs every few minutes and the marshmallows I dipped in chocolate are sitting heavy in my stomach making me feel rather sick.  What’s the Bonfire Night equivalent of ‘Bah Humbug’?

Pembrokeshire

We returned from a week in Pembrokeshire yesterday.  We stayed in the caravan at Little Dumpledale Farm which is between Haverfordwest and Pembroke.  The proprietors are Carol and Trevor, and they are just about the best hosts one could hope for on a self catering holiday; knowledgeable about the area, enthusiastic and friendly.  They are also animal lovers and share their home with a large number (is it 7, Carol?) of dogs, mostly sighthounds.  The leader of the pack is the handsome Waljan, a 7/8 deerhound. Because of their own dogs, Carol and Trevor make visitors’ dogs extremely welcome at Dumpledale, and our lurcher, Penny, adores it there.

Pembrokeshire is a very beautiful county. The coastline is rugged and characterised by many little bays and coves; it’s a place crying out for exploration.  The seaside town of Tenby is a popular destination but other places such as the tiny city of  Saint David’s, with its magnificent cathedral; and Pembroke itself, with its quirky shops and its castle are also worth visiting.  We decided to make this holiday one where we visited many places, and managed to fit in two or three on most days.  Despite how much we packed in, we never once felt rushed, harassed or stressed; driving from place to place, even when the roads are long and winding, is a pleasure in Pembrokeshire.

I may come back to this blog entry at a later date and add some more detail about the places we visited, but in the meantime you might like to have a look at my holiday snaps!

Click image for more photos.


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