A Storm Tossed Coast

This week we decided to drive down to the coast. Two reasons: Marcia has been making a few tiny changes to the book in production (that is the one that will be published in 2015) and wanted to check to make sure that these were right and I needed a couple of photographs for this seemingly never ending saga on books about Marcia's books. It seemed logical to combine these two requirements and so we set off for Dartmouth and across to Torcross in order to meet the first part of the job and then on to Lannacombe just the other side of Start Point so that I could do my bit.

Even now, after all these years, I am astonished at how thorough Marcia is: in the past I have said that if she records that such-and-such a flower is out on such-and-such a day at such-and-such it is because she has been there and seen it with her own eyes. Well, here she was being thorough once again – not that she needed to bother as her memory had proved to be absolutely spot on.

In so far as any of Marcia's books are set in a given time (and most of them are although there is no direct reference to exact dates), this book is set in the autumn of 2013 – and finishes just before Christmas. Then, in the following February, storms hit the south coast and caused a great deal of damage not only to property but to many businesses in the area.

This was the first time we had come down to the coast since those storms (to Dartmouth, yes, but not along the coast) and there is still ample evidence of those 'extreme weather events' as our politically correct weather forecasters insist on describing them – a very bad habit that has been taken up by the media generally. A gale is a gale, a storm is a storm, the tail end of a hurricane is the tail end of a hurricane and heavy rain is, well, heavy rain. Still . . .

We stopped briefly in the car park in Torcross line where we, too, enjoyed ice creams. It is interesting to remember that when I started driving the road was slightly to the seaward side of this car park and had to be realigned inland after heavy storms in 2001 undermined the road's foundations. Well, the same thing happened again but this time, fortunately, it was only the car park that suffered. Last year the cars nearest the sea would have been parked facing the beach. Now the authorities have had to lay temporary wooden barriers to keep vehicles away from the edge, parking parallel to it. This problem is not going to go away and we can expect further damage to this shingle bank (for that is what it is) until, one day, it allows the sea to break through into the Ley behind it. This is not a question of “if” but of “when” and the best estimates are all placed in this century.

Then we passed The Boathouse. You may remember that I mentioned this place in my last blog of 2013 and showed you some pictures of it and the people who work in there.

Well, this is how it looks today. Having been battered by the waves – all the windows were broken and the seas surged into the building – a week or so later there was a devastating fire which left the property a total wreck. As you can see, it remains shrouded in scaffolding and canvas. It is hoped that they will be able to open in time for the 2015 season.

Much the same happened back in the 1970's when almost all the properties facing the sea in Torcross had to be rebuilt and a new sea wall was constructed which, or so it was thought at the time, would make sure the same thing never happened again.

And so to Lannacombe which has also changed completely. This was the cove that inspired “the cove” in Second Time Around. Here we have Marcia standing by the stream that runs down over the beach – a stream in which she played as a small child. So far so good.

Here we see that tons of large boulders have been piled at the top of the beach in the hope that they will take most of the power out of the waves. If this fails the house and, of course, the business operated from it which includes bed & breakfast and a camp site, will have to be relocated.

Meanwhile this photograph shows where the sea ripped away part of the cliff – where you can see the unweathered red sandstone. The South Coast Footpath runs just above it and it would not take more than another small cliff fall for that to become unsafe. Clearly the path could be rerouted but it would be a very expensive operation. My guess is that if there is further damage, the path between here and Start Point will be closed and people will have to walk inland which will be a long and rather boring detour.

However, despite all we had a very happy time revisiting these old haunts: haunts much alive with a number of Marcia's characters. Perhaps one day she will revisit the cove and find out what happened to the people living down there during the storms of February 2014.

Meet Martha – sometimes called Martha Tydfil – who also answers to the name of Monkey (that best describing her character).  

Storms

This last week our lives have been dominated by the weather. I am sure that all of you, no matter where in the world you live, will have heard that there has been a series of disturbingly violent weather systems streaking across the North Atlantic and hitting the British Isles with storms: torrential rain, winds in excess of ninety miles per hour and much higher tides than usual (thanks to the strong winds pushing more water towards our coast).

The results has been considerable coastal flooding twice a day at high tide times – flooding which in places has done serious damage – and flooding inland because there has been more rainfall than the rivers could disperse.

We are told this is due to the position of the jet stream and the difference in temperature on either side of it. That all sounds reasonable but then others say that there is more power in the weather thanks to climate change and that also sounds reasonable. To be frank I really don’t know about the causes but I really do know about the effects.

Probably the most dramatic is the damage to the cliffs at Dawlish. The sea has carried away all the supports under the railway tracks and they are now suspended in the air, swinging as if they were made of rope and not steel. It will be many weeks before this line is opened again. Click here to see video of what happened.

For the people living down here this is rather a disaster: it is the only railway line that feeds west from Exeter. Plymouth and Truro, both cities, plus all the main towns – Newton Abbot, Totnes, St Austell, and Penzance to name but four – and countless smaller communities are isolated from the country’s rail network.

It is a line dear to both of us. So many characters in so many of Marcia’s books use it. In the Chadwick Trilogy Fliss used it to come home every week-end when she was at Rolle College. Kate used it to go to London for the presentation in The Sea Garden. It has really hit home because the book Marcia is now writing (I shall call this The Book) was conceived as she was travelling down on that railway having been upcountry to visit her son. Furthermore, in the second paragraph of The Book Claude (you will have to wait until the autumn of 2015 to meet Claude but I can tell you that I like him enormously) travels down through Dawlish from his home in Salisbury on his way to Dartmouth.

Then there is Torcross. This one hit both of us. I am (as you know) struggling to finish the first book about Marcia’s West Country – the one dealing with Dartmouth and Start Bay and the novels set in that area. The text is all written and I am working through now popping in the photographs and adding the required captions. Here follows a photograph I put in on Wednesday and the caption that I wrote.

Huge boulders were brought in to protect Torcross from the sea although, on such a placid day as this, it would seem they would never be needed.

It just so happens that on the day I am writing this (5 February 2014) it has been announced that Torcross suffered from another storm last night with a number of houses being evacuated - and that despite the new sea wall.

I said “to both of us” because Jemima returns in The Book – and Jemima is now living in Torcross which is one of the communities that suffered from those coastal floods. The seas were so strong that they carried huge amounts of pebble and hurled them against the houses where they smashed windows and caused other damage. Some people could not escape by going out of the doors on the landward side of their homes as the waves were breaking right over the roofs and there was water – very active water – everywhere.

So, yes, it has been a worrying time but there have been very few casualties. What it has done is to make many of us think quite seriously about the fate of people in other parts of the world. We are remembering those who died and suffered other losses in events such as Hurricane Katrina and the dreadful tsunami that followed the volcanic activity in the Indian Ocean in 2004.

Marcia and I have escaped unscathed although the noise in the house as it is being battered by the high winds is sometimes very scary.

Meet Percy - a dog that lives in a doggy heaven, s "deli".

Hello 2014

It is conventional, at this time, to look back over the last twelve months and list the highs and the lows - and then to look ahead and consider what it is hoped will be achieved in the next. Well, since we have shared the former here on a weekly basis there seems little point in going through it all over again. As to the future: I am no prophet so all I could write about would be hopes and they are always the same every year. 

Since there are no suitable photos to go with this blog, I thought I would have a look at some taken in previous Januaries. Here we have Tintagel Head taken in 2007. Marcia was trying to find out where Julia would get rid of the little Merlin (The Way We Were). Well it was from here, a few feet nearer the edge of the cliff on which I was standing when I took this photograph.

I hope that the world will be a kinder and a more peaceful one than hitherto and that all who are dear to me (which includes those who follow my blog or email either Marcia or me on a regular basis) enjoy good health and have the inner strength to cope with whatever 2014 throws at them. As always, some of our hopes are destined to be shattered. My father was fond of quoting from poetry. This from Alexander Pope comes to mind, "Hope springs eternal in the human breast. Man never is, but always to be blessed."

Today is my father's birthday (which may be why I thought about this quote). He would have been a hundred and one. Why do I find that an amazing thought?

My father, in India during the war.

Have you ever thought that we celebrate New Year on the wrong day? Since the night of December 21 is the shortest here in the north - and the longest for those in the south - it would have been logical to start the year then but, no, we wait for a further ten days. It seems odd. Does anyone know how this came about? The moment the days begin to draw out, I begin to look for the signs that tell me spring is around the corner - 'my' year starts on December 22nd!

This is the same year, 2007, but now we are on the south coast of Devon at Torcross on a miserable day. In the background is Start Point. 

As it happened – in other words because someone got the date of New Year all wrong – 2013 went out in spectacular fashion as far as we were concerned. We live upstairs in this house where there is a kitchen, sitting room, our bedroom and one bathroom while the spare bedrooms, another bathroom and my study are at ground floor level. 

Te same day as the photo above. Slapton Ley.

Upstairs as well as dormer windows, all the rooms have a Velux window and outside the hall is a small conservatory with a glass roof.  When it rains heavily the noise is quite incredible. Well, we didn’t have rain on New Year’s Eve: we had hail. It was like being in a drum. It was a little bit worrying as well. Would the Velux windows take the strain? We could easily imagine the hailstorm joining us in the sitting room and I have a sneaking suspicion that in a few books down the line someone else will share this experience. I should add that it if that happens it will be described properly unlike the bald statement that I have made.

Two years later, 2009, and we are on the north coast near where The Children's Hour was set. At the time Marcia was thinking about another book set there which revolved around a house being built by an architect but this was one of those dead ends of which there have been many. Most of the ideas associated with this one became incorporated in The Summer House.

So now it is time to put the holidays behind us and to get back down to earth. Marcia is working well at the moment and feeling quite good about the book she is writing – well, for most of the time since there are the usual wobblies when she is convinced that it is all rubbish, that it has no plot and are we really meant to love any of these people?

The Dartmouth – Start Bay book proceeds. There are still a few photographs needed but they will have to wait until the spring now by which time all the text will be written - it's very nearly finished. 

This time last year I took the opportunity to record this Blackcap which popped in for a spot of grub. Being a female, her cap is rusty brown. Well, there had to be at least one bird to celebrate the first blog of the year, didn't there?

Then there is this video project. I think I shall try and take three separate environments (the moor, the coast and the farmland between the two) and try to shoot three videos each month: one in each environment so we can follow the changing seasons. There is, of course, the real possibility that this project will die on its feet before it is complete.

Meanwhile, I would like to tell you about Marcia’s jeans: the navy blue velvet pair she has been known to wear at book signings (and so some of you may have met these jeans). She washed them the other day and hung them up to dry. We went out. There was a gale blowing and so despite the weakness of the sun (when it deigned to peer at us through the scudding clouds) there was every chance that the washing would be dry when we returned. Most of it was but the jeans had vanished. Gone. Poof!

Had the local jeans thief been on the prowl or had they been blown away on a gust of wind? Marcia popped round to see whether they were in our neighbour’s garden. There was nobody at home but also no sign of the jeans. Could they have blown beyond that garden into the railway cutting alongside? We walked up to the bridge and peered over the parapet. No jeans.

Suddenly on New Year’s Eve, just after dark, the front door opened and our neighbour called up. With her were Marcia’s jeans. They had been blown between some plants and the greenhouse and you couldn't see them until you went inside. Now they were home again and in perfect condition. What a nice way to end the old year.

Lily May is a Norfolk Terrier. Having had a Cairn I would like another terrier but they are not really Marcia's favourite dog (being addicted to Newfoundlands has something to do with it). However, I am now informed that should we consider another dog she would certainly look at choosing a Norfolk. 

Last of my 2013 blogs

This morning I had an appointment with the audiologist: frankly I have to accept that the chances of her – it could have been a him, of course - being able to provide hearing aids which enable me to understand what people are saying to me are not good. The problem is that a hearing problems fall into two categories (possibly more, I am no expert): loudness and clarity. While the hearing aids amplify the voice of the person to whom you are listening (and also amplifies everything else) it does nothing to help with clarity. So often when I say ‘I can’t hear you,’ I don’t mean that at all. What you are saying sounds like gibberish.’ would be more accurate but probably not overly guaranteed to make friends and influence people. Still, there are a new breed of hearing aids available now and it is possible that these may be of more use.

One of the problems is that the hearing aid microphones are beside my ear and therefore nowhere near the mouth of the person I want to hear. I have found the best answer is to use a wonderful system to communicate when I am in a one-to-one situation such as at home with Marcia. This comprises two units: the one she wears has a microphone – near her mouth – and a radio transmitter. I wear the radio receiver to which I listen using ear buds. The real problem is that it is a bit tricky in group situations when poor Marcia has to try to keep me up to speed with what others are saying. Well, I look forward to the new aids and hope that combined with a fair ability to lip read I shall once again be fit to be in company.

The main audiology department is down in Plymouth but they hold clinics in Kingsbridge (thank goodness) which is far easier for us. Anyway, it also meant we had a good excuse to go and eat lunch in The Boathouse at Torcross. This is one of our favourite places as it overlooks the sea on one side and Slapton Ley on the other.

Torcross where these buildings are now protected by a sea wall.
This photo by my friend and one time colleague Sarah Perring

It is even more important than usual because Torcross is one of the places in the book that Marcia is working on at the moment. One of the delights here is the freshwater lake that lies behind the narrow shingle bank that separates it from the sea and on which the road runs. It is a wonderful habitat where there are many different species of water birds. As far as the new book is concerned, I am told that you will read about one known as Puddleduck who now lives in the village and, quite right, pops into The Boathouse for a meal every now and then.

The Boathouse at Torcross

There was another reason for wanting to drive along the coast to Torcross. I have been trying to get some footage of big seas crashing over the sea wall that now protects the village and, as some you will know, a number of deep depressions have swept over the UK in the last week or so: each one bringing with it heavy rains and gale force winds. The tide was almost at the top as we drove out of Kingsbridge and, even better, the sun shone down out of a fairly clear blue sky.

Not water birds.
These two were sitting on our table when we arrived at The Boathouse.

It was not to be: as we approached the coast I realised that Start Point was taking the brunt of the weather and the seas in Start Bay were nothing special. Then the sun went behind the clouds and, as we sat eating our lunch, the rain returned. Still, the day was far from wasted: as always when we visit the location of the book-in-progress, Marcia’s characters tell her things hitherto kept secret and she returns with new and fresh ideas.

And here they are again with Justine (left) and Ziggy.

Marcia and I – and all her characters (including the nasty ones) – wish all of you a Happy New Year: may 2014 be good to you.

This inquisitive face belongs to a Tibetan Terrier Cross called Liquorice.

In the deep mid winter . . .

As I sit in front of my computer writing this blog, Marcia is sitting with her laptop writing about the Royal Regatta in Dartmouth. Outside is a typically mid-December drear of the sort only too common on the south west shoulders of Dartmoor. No sun, of course, but no defined clouds either: instead the sky is a uniform dirty looking grey tinged with yellow - rather like the smogs we used to have when most houses were heated with open coal fires in the days before the clean air acts came in to force. No rain, although it lashed down not long ago: just mizzle (a combination of mist and drizzle).

Back at Regatta time we had brilliant sunshine, eternal blue skies and it was hot on hot (as they used to say in the old days). Thus Marcia has had to create a world that is so different from the one surrounding us: a world of happy holidaymakers on the embankment catching crabs or just watching other people catching crabs, people on the beaches playing with their children or plunging in and out of the sea and more energetic souls walking the coastal footpath or pumping pedals on mountain bikes.

Come Easter, and Marcia will be writing about Christmas, about now, in fact. This triggers off a memory that I may have shared with you before (in which case I apologise). Imagine Easter Sunday in the (then) small village of Avonwick. Marcia used to live in the Old Bakery there and had sold it many years ago to Sally and Brian. We had moved back into the village nut, obviously, in a different house. Marcia leaves to go down to the church as Sally is passing on the same errand.

‘Hello Sally,’ says Marcia. ‘Are the girls home for Christmas?’

There is a long pause and then, ‘Marce, it’s Easter.’

‘What? Oh, sorry. How silly of me. I have just been writing about Christmas.’

The real problem is, of course, to remember what it was like in August when writing at the end of December and remembering what it was like in the run up to Christmas when writing at the end of March. The answer, in Marcia’s case, is to take lots and lots of notes: taken in very small notebooks – one of which is always with her in much the same way as I always have a camera with me.

Thus this week we have been down to Dartmouth and Torcross to check them out so that, come Easter, Marcia will know what was what and where and how it felt.

Talking about Christmas, Marcia has written you a short letter to which I would like to add my very best wishes to you all. Some of you have had a rather difficult time recently: may 2014 be a year of peace, health and happiness.

Hello everyone,

A sudden drop in temperature, a spatter of hail against the window, and - just as suddenly - the sun appears from behind stormy, gold-edged clouds just moments before it sets behind Ugborough Beacon. Its light gleams on the last of the rosy fruit on the crab-apple tree and briefly touches the tips of the tall firs with fire. Sunset at four o'clock: tomorrow will be the shortest day. So much to anticipate: the first snowdrops, daffodills, new-born lambs but -before any of those things - Christmas.

May I wish you all joy and peace, and offer many thanks for all your support and encouragement. It is so wonderful to hear from you all, to have your good wishes, and to know that we all go forward together into the New Year. I hope it will be a happy one.

Many blessings and much love

Marcia

 Our blog dog is known to all his friends simply as Alfie, which is a bit of a comedown for such a handsome Bedlington Lurcher but there you are. The explanation probably lies with his owner whom I met in Totnes despite the fact that he hails from Par which is near Tywardreath down in Cornwall where he runs an antiques business known as Temeraire Antiques. For further details click here (which means that for two weeks running I have linked you to a business but I promise it will not become a habit).

A Tale of Two Worlds

One of the problems associated with living in two worlds – the real one and the one that Marcia creates is keeping the two separate. Marcia tends not to consider this a problem. As far as she is concerned one is of extreme importance and the other pretty irrelevant. I find it difficult to go that far although I am happy to concede that her world should take up about sixty percent of our time I do feel that the real bit deserves the other forty.

The worlds clash, as you would expect, and no more so that when it comes to where we should be living. Unlike some really lucky people, neither of us quite knows where our roots lie (other than the fact that we both yearn for the south west corner of England when we are away from it).

Are we moorland people? Should we be living by the sea or in a remote area of farmland? We still don’t know even though we have done all three.

Then comes the where? Cornwall, Devon or Somerset. Again we don’t know even though we have lived in all three.

It has been suggested that it is time for
cats to have a look in so...
As part of an occasional Magnificat series
please welcomw Kiri from Porlock on Exmoor.

What we do know is that we always want to be wherever the book that is in the making is set. This has led to all sorts of heart searching moments which have been made no easier when the locations involved include fictional communities – as in Peneglos in The Christmas Angel (which, incidentally, reappears in Postcards from the Past). I won’t bore you with the houses we really thought for a while we would buy but didn’t. There was, for example, a lovely place down on the River Tamar, not far from where Marcia put The Sea Garden, which we both coveted and which, astonishingly, came on the market at that time.

Now, however, matters are going critical again. Not only is the book on which Marcia is working set in real places but in real places we love: Dartmouth along the south coast to Torcross and beyond. The time has come, of course, to consider what we are doing in a hard-nosed and very practical manner. Well, we have been trying to do just that, we really have. So we have a list of things we want and a list of things we don’t want. It is the latter that is causing so many problems. When you get to a certain age you have experience of all the difficulties that life can throw at you (either first or second hand) and they are legion.

So, for my part – no hedges: I have been cutting and trimming hedges most of my life and I have very fond memories of the one place that had none. I really, really don’t need all the hard work but this closes many doors.

For Marcia’s part – the house must be bright and sunny. There is nothing more depressing than living in a gloomy cottage. We speak from experience: this is another of those things we have done and do not intend to repeat.

The list goes on an on. What is really good is that we agree on everything: we need to be near a railway station so that it is easy for people to come down to see us and vice versa; we need reasonable access (preferably on foot) to the basic shops having learned the problems of a fourteen mile round trip when you need anything; we need quick and easy access to the natural world from which both of us draw a great deal. Yes, the last two requirements are incompatible. We know that. Oh, how we know that!

Anyway, we had more or less settled on the idea of making the town of Totnes our centre: it has a railway station, all the shops we need, is close to Dartmoor and to the coast. Like most towns, it is surrounded by suburbs. Neither of us want to live in a suburb which, in our extremist views, is neither one thing nor the other and offers no positive advantages. Really life would be so much easier if we were just normal but we’re not. Anyway, apart from anything else, most properties in the suburbs have hedges. That means we are either well outside Totnes (as at present) or we need to be bang in the middle. The problem is that neither of us is quite able to go for the latter although I suspect it could well happen when we get old.

Dartmouth, however, holds a special place in our hearts. We both lived there before we met and we lived there again when we were together. So we have been looking at properties in Dartmouth.

Richard Blake

Our favourite estate agent in the town is Richard Blake – and no doubt it helps that his wife loves Marcia’s books – but I have a nasty feeling that we are far from his favourite clients even though he hides that very well. He has patiently shown us a number of houses and flats which we have turned down for one reason or another but one of these days we are going to be shown a place we really love. Then what? Well, Dartmouth does not have a proper railway (there is a heritage railway that links Kingswear on the other side of the river to Paignton which has one but …). Dartmouth is now fully geared to the tourist industry and this has an odd effect. If Marcia and I walk into a shop or café in Totnes it is assumed we are locals: most people are. If we walk into a shop or café in Dartmouth it is assumed we are visitors: most people are. It is an odd feeling.

Meanwhile, it is time to leave the real world and return to the one that really matters, Marcia’s world, and to celebrate the publication of her latest book Postcards from the Past which happened yesterday. In a moment we are off to Totnes where she will be signing books in the aptly named Totnes Bookshop and tomorrow she will be off to Kingsbridge to the Harbour Bookshop. Let the dance commence.

Ti and Chloe share the rostrum as blog dogs untied this week.

This week, a tumble, a wumble and an apology.

Let's get the apology out of the way first. In part this is associated with the tumble but there were other inputs as well. These included a stray nephew who asked if he could come and stay for a few nights – he is an architect who practises as a Design Manager on construction projects. He had come down from York to resolve a few problems on a site in our part of the world. Thus our evenings have been taken up chatting about old times (when he and his generation were small and would stay with Marcia) and about his work. It was great fun having him to stay but our usual schedules took a hammering with the result that I did not respond to the comments on last week's blog. Sorry about that.

Shot in Totnes outside Totnes Bookshop. Author and reader, I assume.

The tumble happened on Sunday when Marcia was walking to church. There are a number of places where the kerbs are 'dropped' to road level in order to make it easier for those in wheelchairs or using Zimmer frames. Basically she tripped over the slope at the end of the dropped section and fell rather heavily. With blood pouring out of one hand, and feeling very sick, she decided to return home but one of our neighbours saw her. Bless, her, she took Marcia into her kitchen and carefully cleaned the wounds, applied anti-septic cream, bandages and a good measure of tender loving care. Then she walked up our lane with Marcia to ensure her safe arrival home. She was extremely lucky: she could so easily have broken her wrist. As it was both wrists and her right shoulder were badly bruised – still are but now in the browny-yellowy stage, the angry purples having faded.

One of the nice things about Totnes is the total disregard most people have for cars.

There was no question of her typing on Monday so we spent the day going into Totnes, where some part of the work in progress may or may not be set, and then down to Dartmouth and along the coast to Torcross, both of which are definite candidates.

Whenever we go to Dartmouth, I gravitate to the boats.
Well, I would, I suppose. I have been doing that for as long as I can remember.

The wumble was associated with the contract for Postcards from the Past and the Sea Garden with St Martin's Press in New York. This is a fairly bulky document and the obvious way to send it across the Atlantic for checking and signing is to do so electronically. For some reason, which I still do not understand, we often have problems opening these files from the US. This time, I was able to open the it in read-only mode but not in edit-mode. Thus there was no possibility of Marcia signing 'electronically' and my sending the contract back as an attachment to an email – as we do with all the European contracts. Back to snail mail but ...

An evening shot of the mouth of the River Dart taken a few weeks ago.

In the US the standard paper size is American foolscap. Here it is A4. Furthermore, SMP call for six copies – each having twenty-four pages. Apart from worrying about the destruction of the woodlands required to produce all this paper there are the costs associated with postage. Because of the difference in paper size, the way this has happened in the past is that SMP sends the contract electronically to Marcia’s agent’s agent in New York, Kathy Anderson, who prints off the required six copies and posts them to Dinah Wiener in London. Dinah then checks the contract and, if all is well, posts all copies to us. Marcia signs them and we post everything back to Kathy. All of these costs are, of course, charged to Marcia.

This is looking down over Torcross from the hill behind. The narrow strip of pebble bank that divides the fresh water "ley" (pronounced "lee") from the sea along which the road runs is clearly visible. The village is just to the right of this picture.

You can see why we want to find an easier and cheaper way. Anyway, this time we have taken a flyer. We can read the whole contract on the screen and I was able to print off six copies of those sheets that need Marcia's signature – on the wrong paper size, of course – and I have posted them off to Kathy. Will this be acceptable to SMP? I have no idea but I'll let you know next week – assuming we know then – and I will also tell you about the complications created by publishing zones.

Looking along Slapton Ley towards the village of Torcross.

By the way: if you don’t know what I mean by wumbled, it’s time to read Echoes of the Dance.

This week our blog dog is a beautiful Bernese Mountain Dog - Oscar. Now, where have I heard that names before?

Paintings versus photographs

I have a feeling that we have been here before, you and I. If that is the case, please forgive me.

Trundling around the countryside seeking that that we seek (if it had a name it would be quite helpful but, as you all know, it doesn’t) could be quite boring when your prime function is to act as the chauffeur. It isn’t – and in part that is because if I am anything I am the elephant’s child. That means I have moments when something that has caught my attention grips me and I become a temporary fanatic. Once I have satisfied my appetite I can move on quite happily but until then I am stuck with it. “It” at the moment is corrugated iron.

It started, I suppose, when we were living the other side of the moor and there, to the north east and about a mile up the valley, was a barn. It had a red roof – rusty corrugated iron – which would glow in the evening sun. Then it was painted. That was a tragedy.

We have a painting titled “The Red Barn” by David K Stead so I am not the only rusty red roof nutter. This hangs on the wall beside the chair where Marcia writes. He is a local artist and we have bought another of his paintings which depicts The Narrows in Totnes. 

This one, which hangs beside me as I write this blog, shows the castle at Totnes in the background with The Bull public house in Rotherfold in the foreground. You can compare that with my photograph of the same scene. I am sure you will agree the painting is the better of the two.

While we are in Totnes, as it were, another painting versus photo may interest you. Chaos rued for about six months while the main road through the town was torn up so that some pipework that was long passed its sell-by date could be renewed. I took a few photographs as the work progressed. 

Anyway, in Totnes this morning pausing to gather breath in Rumour staring at the paintings on the wall I realised that these were of that time. So, I took a photograph of one of them and here it is. The artist is Stephen Bower.

Anyway, back to corrugated iron. It is fascinating stuff and you find it in all sorts of funny places. I am going to try to create a short video all about it in the not too dim future. If it works, I’ll let you know. Meanwhile, just for fun, this is a link to a short film showing Queen Canute on Torcross beach illustrating that retreat is better than defeat.

Having already confessed that I have lost my notebook (the one in which is recorded the names of the dog blog) here is another which should be anon. However, by some freak of memory I think this could be the one called Zeta. That is not to say I am sure for I am not. If this is complete nonsense, I do hope that all involved will forgive me.