mildly musical

Yesterday the sunshine was silver over the River Severn; today it was rather more rose and gold. It’s Sunday and it’s been a very quiet day, but the sunset had me thinking of music.

Certainly those cables across the sky remind me of a musical score – presumably ruled out ready for the music of the spheres; they’re just missing the birds sitting on them to mark the notes.
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what’s in a name?

This weekend sees the last full moon of the year and, once more, the papers are full of articles about supermoons.

I was wondering why no-one ever bothered about such things when I was a child, and then I happened upon this page on the time and date website, which says the term wasn’t coined until 1979, when astronomer Richard Nolle first used it.
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weather or not

Autumn sunshine
outside my window
the neighbour’s yellow Mini

 
Sadly, that’s not the way it looks out there at the moment; instead, it’s decidedly grey.

Still, the forecast shows surprisingly little rain for in the foreseeable future and it looks as if we may get a brief sunny spell this afternoon. Even if we don’t, the parked cars are nice and bright.

jellyfish and jungle blooms

What with Hurricane Ophelia last weekend and Storm Brian this weekend, the UK has taken a bit of a battering recently and the local park is ankle deep in mud and sodden leaves.

Clearly, though, the weather has produced the right conditions for growth for some organisms. One particular fallen tree was host to all sorts of alien growths, and looked very impressive indeed decked out in its finery of tiny beads and flounces, frills, ridges and ripples in all the autumnal shades from bright orangey russet to a deep aubergine that made me think of grapes or mulled wine.
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seasons in the sun

Given the fairly dreadful weather over the last couple of months, I’ve been trying to track down a half-remembered quotation to the effect that the worst winter ever was one summer in England.

In fact, I’ve found that the actual wording is, “The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco.” – a quotation often misattributed to Mark Twain – which doesn’t really fit the bill.
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looking up

I’m not sure exactly what variety the flowers in the top picture are, but I am pretty certain they belong to the campanula family.

It’s not the same variety as the ones that grew along the stone wall in the garden of my childhood home, whose flowers were much shallower – their delicate papery petals spread wide like fairy crinolines – but something about the shade of blue betrays their kinship. Those were were probably my favourite flowers; I learned the Latin name and never questioned its suitability.
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sporting blues

The first time I posted the poem 21st-century pugilist to the blog, I didn’t really have the right picture, so it was accompanied by a photo of the wrestler, Stan Roberts.

Now, though, I have a photo of the statue of Randolph Turpin, the boxer, so I think it’s a good time to re-post the poem, which was written in Spain around eight years ago:
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