The House Husband

It was a lovely day of sun and cloud and threatening rain which never materialised.

After shopping and a long overdue almond croissant, we decided to visit Old Thatch, an NGS garden which was open today. Linda (eventually) took us there, down quaint country lanes and over the Basingstoke Canal, and, eventually to Dogmersfield.

Old Thatch is hidden away in woodland, the land (about 10 acres) sloping down to the edge of the canal which, built in 1792, is not as old as the house. Mind you, the thatched house as we see it today is a good deal bigger than the original which was built sometime in the 17th century.

According to the hand-out we picked up at the gate, the original house would have been a “…simple A-frame hovel without a chimney.” Sounds pretty ghastly! Today, of course, it looks perfect for decorating the lid of a tin of biscuits or the final image of a 900 piece jigsaw. Quintessentially English, in fact.

I’d just like to mention the hand-out and map we received at the gate. A fantastic idea and very welcomed (by us at least). Apart from the obvious advantages of the map, the short historical notes are an excellent way to dissect the place and put it into context. It’s not so bad with small gardens but when you visit a big one like this, it’s always great to know a bit of the history of where you’re walking.

The house sits, more or less, in the centre and the grounds spread out around it. Not that the thatch is the only building these days.

The Thatched House itself

There’s the Chapel (serving teas and cake), the Millennium Barn (built in 2000 and housing, among other things, a dovecot) and another big building without a name to indicate its purpose (it might be where the owner’s actually live). There’s even a granary sitting atop the rat defying mushrooms so popular in gardens these days (Mirinda wants one which, in itself, makes them popular).

The Chapel was built on the site of a goat house. A blind owner had a rope fence leading to the goats so she could find her way down there to feed them each day. After the Chapel was built (sometime after 1986), the present owners were married in it without, as they state in the hand-out, any goats.

In fact, we didn’t see any goats so I assume they don’t live there any longer. Goats there may not be but they do have some sheep and three very tiny donkeys. The smallest donkey is not long born and garnered many an ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ from the many visitors who patted him through the wire fence.

Tiny donkeys

There’s a lot of tiny areas dedicated to various plantings but the thing about this garden is the whole which far greater than the sum of its parts, though the staggering amount of daffodils is almost incomprehensible. The current owner planted 5,000 bulbs every year for ten years. Makes our little offering a bit sad. Mind you, if I planted 50,000 daffodil bulbs in our little garden, there’d be nothing else.

Something we’ve never seen before was the use of sheep’s wool as mulch. It is spread among the plants in the vegetable garden. I thought it was to keep the young plants warm but apparently it’s mulch. It looks a bit odd but if it works, why not?

In the garden behind the thatch and spreading down to the canal, is a bronze, full size statue of a horse. It looks remarkably real (except it’s green) and I kept expecting it to stop it’s eating and look up as people wandered by.

The remarkable horse

According to the map they gave us, the horse’s name is Vegetia (or something like that – the copy of the map is a bit blurry). The only information I’ve been able to find is for a Roman pottery woman who is a member of the equestrian class and I have no idea if it ralates to her or not. Still…great statue.

Mirinda poses

Of course we indulged our taste-buds with tea and cake before gradually making our way back home.

Old Thatch is a very different garden to the ones we normally see but the feel of the place is very friendly and not in the least bit formal. We thoroughly enjoyed it.

Mirinda feeds the lambs

Another great NGS garden. There’s a few more photos here.

We had nothing planned for today so we let the weather decide. Given the weather was fabulous – chilly, blue skies without much breeze – we decided to go for a walk. Sadly, because Carmen is still recovering, the poodles had to stay home.

We had a choice…I say ‘we’ but Mirinda always makes me choose so that if it turns out bad, it’ll be my fault. I chose the Basingstoke Canal from Odiham to King John’s Castle. It wasn’t the best option, given how muddy a lot of the tow path was, but it was still a lovely way to spend the run up to lunch.

It’s been ages since we last walked along the canal. So long, in fact, that Mirinda not only forgot where the castle was but also which side of the canal it was on. Fortunately, I remembered. Mind you, you can’t really get lost when you’re walking along, beside a canal. You just keep going. One of the added benefits is that it’s generally flat.

We had both forgotten how far it was, however. Though, once you get started, you really don’t feel inclined to turn back before reaching your destination. Anyway, we didn’t. We made the castle.

King John's Castle

It’s called Odiham Castle now (I guess the residents of Odiham wanted a castle) but it was originally built for King John between 1207 and 1214. He stopped off here on his way to Runnymede to sign the Magna Carta. It’s also famous for being a favourite place for Eleanor of Aquitaine (John’s mum) to visit when the mood took her. In fact, there’s a steady stream of famous visitors – Simon de Montfort and his wife, Edward III and Philippa of Hainault, Scottish King David II (who was held under house arrest here).

Mirinda, showing how chilly it was, enters the castle

Having reached the castle and indulged ourselves in a good wander around, we turned around and walked back to Sidney, who was obediently waiting outside the Waterwitch. On the way back we spotted a rather brave kayaking couple.

On the Basingstoke Canal, annoying Gary

Actually, they managed to keep slowing down in front of us so we never lost them. This wouldn’t have really been a problem except they kept scaring the birds in the trees before I reached them. So I couldn’t get any nice aerial shots of them. Not much I could do about it but I’d have quite liked to submerge them.

The only birds I managed to photograph, were swans. Two of them. They followed us down the canal.

Happy swan on the canal

Arriving back at the Waterwitch, we decided to have, rather than just a drink, a full Sunday roast. And so, a massive serving of roast chicken was put down in front of Mirinda and an almost as big serving of roast pork was put down in front of me. We thoroughly enjoyed our meals, as did the rest of the pub which was heaving with Sunday diners, and left for home, completely stuffed.

At the bar

Today was my first day back at the Science Museum after a month. And quite a few things have changed. Actually, if I was to avoid any exaggeration, two things have changed.

Firstly Exhibition Road. The pedestrianization has progressed to the front of the Science Museum, cutting off the Director’s Entrance and causing mayhem with the general entrance/exit to the museum for visitors. Fortunately I only use the group entrance which is unaffected. Although I do now need to cross Exhibition Road to the V&A before crossing back because of the single lane of traffic, driving a slalom between the witches’ hats. In fact Barbara almost came a cropper there this morning, running into an immovable pedestrian as a wing mirror attempted to maim her.

The second change, which has a lot more impact on me is the new caterers. For some reason the Science Museum has decided to switch to a new lot (money, presumably) and they have changed things about, including staff by the look of things.

Ostensibly, it all looks the same but on closer examination, and when you’ve visited as many times as I have, the changes are immediately apparent. The baguettes are better and the coffee is situated in a much better place. It’s also prepared by a human rather than a machine and therefore tastes a lot more like a coffee based beverage and less like something that needs a pound of sugar to make it even approach palatable. It even comes in a china mug!

After a delightful lunch (it wasn’t too crowded) I popped up to inspect the shipping gallery. They have an amazing collection of model ships. I’m thinking the Maritime Museum has more but this would have to go a close second.

They have a wonderful model of the SS Great Britain, which we visited in Bristol (here). I took a few photos, attempting to replicate images from the real one.

The SS Great Britain at the Science Museum

OK, it’s not nearly so impressive inside a glass display case. I can see that.

The other night I watched a TV programme about the saving of the canals in the early and mid 20th century. It was a great (if somewhat anoraky) piece, showing home movies of people who were witness to the state of decay the canals had sunk to as well as the restoration. Of course it featured quite a few painted barges.

As the cost of transporting cargo became unsustainable, most of these boats were crewed by the man who owned it and his wife (with any kids resulting from the close quarters living, helping). The barges became their homes as well as their livelihood. They worked as an efficient team and in most cases, never left the river for any great amount of time.

One man told how, as a child, the barge would pull in at a particular town and his father would tell him to jump ashore and get off to school. He’d only be there an hour and it was time to leave as the boat had finished loading/offloading and had to set off again. As he said, he didn’t learn anything from school.

You might be wondering what the connection is between this programme on British canals and my day in the Science Museum. Well, here it is:

The How a Lock Works display at the Science Museum

It shows how a lock works by using a narrow boat, a lock keeper, his wife and the couple on the boat. This is the back section (clearly).

Anyway, after wandering the display cases of boats and more boats (no gondolas though) I returned to work, researching a few chaps and learning about the stocking knitting machine, invented in the late 1500s by a guy who has slipped out of history as if he was never there and the guy who subsequently invented an attachment that went on the front of it in order to make ribbed stockings, who is not only remembered for it but is very famous for designing a few bridges across the Thames as well.

Nick was full of praise for my work and I left work with a bigger head than I arrived with.

Up at the crack of dawn, John and I wandered into the village to use the public conveniences (which were very convenient), collect fresh bread for the boat, stock up on a few supplies (for instance, we’d finished off a few bottles of cider which needed replacing) and then wandered back. In typical French fashion, the charcuterie does not open on a Monday.

We set off on the canal at about 9am with most hands awake and drinking tea. We navigated through a few locks – The Captain did try and ram one but we’ll not mention that here – and managed to miss the dock at St Laurent. This pissed Matt off to the extent that when we reached Malestroit (he more or less accused John and Darren of deliberately missing the dock), he and Bev took off, walking back so they could visit a prehistoric site, as the rest of us went up to the medieval centre ville.

What a lovely place. A fantastic collection of gargoyles adorn the outside of the church. The inside had a bit too much Jesus in it for my liking (I prefer a good sprinkling of saints as well) but did have a wonderful construction of wooden scaffolding in the tower. It was a very impressive bit of engineering and we all marvelled at it. Actually we marvelled more at the scaffolding than the church.

Interestingly the bell started pealing as we entered the doors. Lorna claimed it is because she’s a lapsed catholic and they like to let everyone know when one returns to the arms of the church.

We wandered around for a bit before sitting at a bar for a few beers (Sean had a Kir, which he said was very refreshing) before setting off for the supermarket for supplies. While I was wandering around on my own I found the world famous Malestroit lintel. It’s hidden down a little alley and is not that easy to find, except by accident. I tried to convince the others that they should see it but they decided to wait for the photo.

The famous lintel at Malestroit

It has, carved into its surface, three ancient maxims in three ancient languages, Hebrew, Greek and Latin. They say, roughly,
Hebrew: I have hope in your mercy, Jehovah
Greek: Know yourself
Latin: The ground is only one short stay, it is the sky God has reserved for us, like a fatherland

From what I can translate from the sign, it was originally made in around 1470 and was part of a convent. It somehow ended up in Malestroit, over what appears to be a barn door, down a nondescript alley, in 1828. I have to say, the Greek one is the only one that really appeals to me.

At the supermarket much time was spent in the cheese section as we debated which ones would make the boat the smelliest and then duly bought them. We have a cheese drawer on the boat. It’s very good at keeping the smelly stuff at bay…until it’s opened. You realise pretty quickly that it is the cheese drawer. On the hotter days we’d have to scoop up the runnier stuff and pour it into a bottle for later consumption.

We gradually wandered back to the boat, unpacked our groceries and then settled down for a nice lunch on the top deck. At least John, Lorna, Darren and I did. Sean and Carlee had disappeared and Matt and Bev were…well, who knows. It was lovely sitting in the sun enjoying French smelly cheese, cider and salad.

Eventually we had a boat full as they wandered back in dribs and drabs and we once more set off. The prehistoric site which Matt so wanted to see was a bit of a damp squib, by the way.

The canal progressed through the countryside, arrow straight in parts, as we headed towards our next nights stop, Le Roc Saint Andre. It has an amazing bridge! Before the bridge is a big campsite with a pontoon for boats to dock at but this was full so we continued under the bridge. On the other side was a lovely long pontoon, completely empty. We claimed it for all Weaseldom and tied up.

Next to the pontoon was a small park which contained a cavern with a statue of the Virgin Mary with gifts of flowers (it sort of resembled a very small version of Lourdes) and a couple of young, hormone inflamed youngsters, clearly practising for their dentistry exams.

After docking, we took a wander into the small town. It’s high up on a hill and has a bizarre steeple on its church. It also sells weasel beer. It’s not really weasel beer but the beer I had last time I was in Brittany with a label that looks like a weasel. Suffice to say, Lorna, Darren, John and I settled outside a small bar and consumed a few. We were soon joined by Sean who also had a few.

The odd steeple at Le Roc Sainte Andre

The decision to eat at the same establishment was an easy one. There wasn’t anywhere else. Fortunately the food was delicious and we all stuffed ourselves, drinking cider like it was running out.

Feeling somewhat full, I decided to go for a bit of a walk and was eventually joined by Lorna and Darren as we searched for a chateau that was distinctly indicated on a sign post but, in true French fashion, did not indicate how far it was.

I have a game I play in these cases. I decide how long I aim to walk for and if I have not found the thing I am walking towards by then, I simply turn around and come back. It saves a lot of shoe leather. I explained this to Lorna and Darren and they agreed to play by the rules. We had 15 minutes and then it was back to the boat.

When we reached our limit we turned and spied a couple of shadow figures approaching us. And then there was a great commotion as two owls fought it out in a night time dogfight, high in the trees. It was extraordinary and had us fearing for our lives! Actually, that’s not true. We made up a silly story to account for it. The story ended up somewhat embellished and broadened to include a kitten in a wheel chair that served the older owl in return for the gift of flight. I guess you had to be there.

Anyway, we gradually made our way back to the dock, choosing a path we hadn’t been down, testing our resolve to trust in the gods of night time wanderers, who didn’t let us down.

By the way, we didn’t see the chateau as it was further than 15 minutes away.