Shape of things to come

A quick note for motoring enthusiasts: it has been suggested to me that the man who designed the 105E Anglia using only fruit cake and icing (picture above; see blog of 21.12.2009), was probably also responsible for a later Ford design classic: the original ‘jelly mould’ Sierra of the early 1980s.

Instinct tells one that this has a ring of authenticity about it, but sadly in this case I have been unable to source any pictures of the master at work.

Little bastards

In the garden on Sunday - warm and sunny - it struck me how few butterflies there are to be seen now. There was a time (a long time ago, admittedly) when one sometimes saw dozens of them at a time.

On Sunday our garden had attracted just three cabbage whites. A red admiral appeared, though, and settled by the edge of the lawn. Things are looking up, I thought. Then one of our cats (the one pictured further down here) jumped on it and ate it.

What a crappy end to the morning. What is there to be said for cats?

Talking of sport... do you have to?

Talking of sport... athletics, as we all know, can be quite exciting to watch. So it's ironic that when it comes to discussion it appears to be the dreariest area in the world.

Ever listened to Radio 5 coverage of international athletics? If you think ex-footballers talking about football is sometimes less than compelling, try listening to ex-athetes on athletics. Well don't. Watch some paint dry.

You don't hear paint drying discussed much on the radio, which is a shame, because watching paint dry is quite interesting really. (Emulsion paint in particular, because gloss, in the main, is much more uniform.) Emulsion paint on a wall will dry at different rates in different areas - reflecting, obviously, to some extent, the varying thickness with which it will inevitably have been applied, but also the characteristics of the wall underneath and the relative absorbency of its surface in different areas, which itself, in the case of an old wall, may hint at its history, allowing us to deduce the alterations and repairs which may have taken pace over the years.

It would make an interesting discussion on radio, I think. When I say interesting, I do mean relatively, of course. Relative to some I have heard. Dear BBC: do give us more of your Radio 4 arts programmes, in particular those Saturday evening ones.

And they call that sport

One of the symptoms of mid-life crisis, it has been said, is the acquisition of a 'sports' car. (I use quotes because... well, what has ownership of a daft car that you would struggle to get your holiday bags into, let alone any significant amount of sports equipment, got to do with sport?)

Anyway, if it is an indicator of mid-life crisis, my observations on the roads of Dorset indicate that more women than men are afflicted these days. It has long been suggested that women, in general, have more common sense than men. Obviously not.

Not nice

If you were small wildlife intent on minding your own business, here’s the sort of sight you wouldn’t want to see. They're horrible really, cats.

Another wildlife encounter

Out on the bike yesterday near Sydling when a weasel (I think) ran out from the fields with a baby rabbit in its mouth.

Seeing me coming along, it dropped the dead rabbit in the middle of the road and dashed into the hedge on the other side. I stopped about 30 yards down the road to see if it would go back and pick up the rabbit, and a couple of minutes later it did…

Not sure how fascinating anyone else may find this, but it was interesting to me.

Expecting to fly

We were eating at the Saxon Arms in Stratton when what seemed to be a young house martin on one of its very first flights flopped on to the windowsill.


Worth a picture, I thought. (Actually Stephanie did. Left to myself, I probably wouldn’t have got round to getting the camera out of the car before the thing had flown away. Which it did manage to, after a while….)

Nice.

Rocking on

Still rocking... on Portland this time. Here is some Portland stone waiting to be turned into part of something monumental.

Recently I bumped into Geoff Smith of Stone Firms Ltd - one of the two remaining Portland stone suppliers. He it was, of course, who was dubbed the Limestone Cowboy by the papers, when all sorts of stuff hit the fan after the stone used for the much-heralded South Portico job at the British Museum (intended to match the Portland stone of the original building) turned out to have come from somewhere in France, not Portland.

Not sure how that misunderstanding (or not, depending on whose account you are listening to) got settled in the end (if it did). Can't see that it even matters hugely, because newly-cut stone is never, surely, going to exactly tone in with stone that has been weathering in London for a couple of hundred years or so.

Anyway, he seemed like a nice chap to me.