BLESSED BE ST. ENODOC....

......Blessed be the wave

Blessed be the springy turf

We pray, pray to thee.

Ask for our children

All happy days you gave

To Ralph, Vasey, Alastair, 

Biddy, John and me.

When I started this blog back in 2006 one of my very first posts was about the late Sir John Betjeman and his love of Trebetherick and his resting place of St.Enodoc church, lost among a golf course and the sand dunes of the Camel Estuary.  So, having come full circle, I`m beginning to think it might be a good time to draw a line in the sand on this blog and if nothing else to leave it having achieved at least a semblance of elegant closure.   

PASSING CLOUD.....

One of the places I never grow tired of visiting is Polly Joke, aka Porth Joke on the north Cornish coast.  The name apparently comes from the Cornish Pol-Lejouack, meaning Jackdaw Cove and it`s one of those more remote places - you have to walk a while to get to it and, when you do, there are no `facilities` so you have to fend for yourself, which can on occasions be a test of ingenuity.

When the tide is out, there are a number of caves exposed in the cliff face which I can`t resist exploring and on one of those adventures I found myself inside one of the caves looking out and saw this passing cloud which seemed to match the symmetry of the rock face.......

MEETING POINT....

A few years ago now we stayed at Hope Cove on the south coast of Devon.   A quiet place, quite difficult to get to down the Devon lanes and life seemed to go at its own pace.  One morning I managed to catch these two local residents meeting up to put the world to rights.   What a lovely place to meet friends in the morning......

A LABOUR OF LOVE...

One of Cornwall`s more enchanting, yet largely ignored places is Penpol in the parish of Feock way down on the south coast.  Not even the south west coast path bothers to include itself in this particular bit of coastline and yet Feock itself is full of interest.   For example, the church is one of those rarities where the tower is detached from the church itself and locally there are remnants of the past maintained in modern day road names which retain the prefix `La` such as La Vague and La Feock - deriving from `lan` - a place of worship in olden days.

Anyway when we stayed at Penpol last year our early morning walkies with Barney took us along Penpol Creek and it was there that we came across this gentleman busily (well, dreckly) repairing his boat.   It was indeed a labour of love.......

A GENTLE REMINDER....

As from now on the days grow longer than the nights I know the summer will fly past before they begin to dwindle down to a precious few; but it was encouraging to see the sun bright in the morning sky today and it reminded me of days spent along the River Yealm in south Devon when we used to wander around the Revelstoke Drive and take in the peace and timeless tranquility of scenes such as this......... 

All I need is a boat really.......

SPRINGTIME ?

Today is allegedly the first day of Spring, although it doesn`t feel like it with snow still on the ground, frosty nights and gloomy outlooks.   So for today`s photo I have gone back to one I took in Springtime a couple of years ago.   It shows the harbour at Portscatho in Cornwall - a real favourite place of mine - with Valerian in the foreground, the expanse of Gerrans Bay and in the distance the beaches at Carne and Pendower leading to the majestic grandeur of Nare Head........     

 I could do with being there right now.......

 A PICTURE PAINTS.....

Been looking back over my old pictures that I`ve taken in recent years and posted either on Flickr or Ipernity and thought it might be a pleasant change from all the stuff going on in our troubled world to share some of them on here.   To start with, here`s one I took on the coast path in Cornwall showing an `interesting` sky above St.Ives Bay.......

I took this as long ago as October 2012 - maybe my photography has improved a bit since then but it`s still a nice image and reminds me of yet another inspiring visit to that wonderful part of the world.......

So, at last Southampton FC have finally decided to part company with manager Mauricio Pellegrino and his assistant chums.   His record of just five wins in his 30 Premier League games in charge and just one solitary win in the last 17 speaks for itself.   For us Saints fans the only thing that has really puzzled us is why, oh why, has it taken this long when the writing was on the wall back in October.

Now, of course, on a human level it is always unfortunate when people lose their jobs and despite the fact that MoPo and his mates are doubtless handsomely rewarded for their collective failure, there is still some sympathy for Mauricio who is clearly a decent man who did his best but sadly lacked the kind of drive and initiative that life in the Premier League demands.

So, next please - and attention is now drawn to the next appointment as Saints manager.  I`m not sure the job is as attractive as it was when someone like Ronald Koeman took over - there are just eight games remaining which include fixtures against Arsenal, Chelsea, Manchester City and the likes of Leicester and West Ham.  West Ham is our next away League game and could well be played behind closed doors given the Hammers` misdemeanours last weekend.   Before that we have the FA Cup quarter final on Sunday away at Wigan, so whoever comes in to the Saints hot seat faces a very daunting challenge with not much time to address it.

Mark Hughes (a former Saints player) is tipped for the job along with Marco Silva, late of Watford, also the current Fulham manager whose name escapes me but is largely unpronounceable and then there is another former Saints player in Graham Potter who has impressed since dragging Osterlunds from the fourth tier of Norwegian football to their recent stab at the Europa League.  

In these days of gender equality, however, Saints now have the chance to make a real statement by appointing someone of charm, experience and elegance who will represent the club as a modern, forward looking, outward going, all inclusive outfit - Joanna Lumley would do nicely, as would Darcey Bussell or Joanna Trollope.  Given the other worldliness, the parallel universe, the fantasy land the Premier League has become, I can`t see why not.

Well, yesterday was a case in point - just one of those days.  It all started with high hopes and keen anticipation only for it to end in disappointment and frustration.   Now I should be used to those feelings, having been a Saints fan for over 70 years and, of course, I have witnessed my club in a far more perilous state than it is at the moment - being at the bottom of League One (Division Three really) and minus ten points following administration, for example.

But after years of clawing back from that, there was every hope that Southampton might finally become an established club in the Premier League.  But it`s all gone horribly wrong and yesterday`s embarrassing 3-0 defeat away at Newcastle confirmed the real prospect of relegation at the end of the season.   Yes, there are eight games left to salvage the situation but yesterday`s abject performance, along with the daunting fixtures that lie ahead, do not bring much hope of survival.   It`s almost reached the stage whereby relegation might actually come as a merciful release.

And away from the Saints, England lost the rugby international away in Paris, with the French inflicting the second straight defeat on England, following their collapse last time out against resurgent Scotland.   And to add to the gloom, Forest Green Rovers contrived to lose 2-1 at home to Notts County. 
  
So where to look for some consolation?  Well, our street`s local hero Scott ("Buzzin` six pack") Wagstaff was part of the Gillingham team that went to Portsmouth yesterday and came away with an impressive 3-1 win over Saints` traditional rivals in their self-proclaimed fortress of Fratton Park (Krap Nottarf.)  Truro City secured another narrow victory, this time against Bishops Stortford, while Maidstone United also managed a 1-0 win at home to Torquay. 

So maybe it`s not so bad after all and at least I can console myself with the comfort of knowing I`m not a West Ham fan.  

  Picked up the newspaper this morning and, quite rightly, the main headlines were concerned with the attempted murder in Salisbury of a former Russian spy and his daughter.   Other issues appearing on today`s front pages were inevitably concerned with Brexit, which really can`t come quick enough.

But plastered across the top of at least one newspaper was emblazoned the information that `Meghan is baptised into Church of England with holy water from the River Jordan.`  Alongside it was a photo of the said Meghan looking dutifully demure with a fixed grin and eyes like limpid pools gazing into a predictable future.

This private ceremony was conducted by the Archbishop of Canterbury at the Chapel Royal, St. James`s Palace and is reported to have marked "an important step in her transformation from divorced Catholic American actress  to future grand-daughter-in-law to the Queen."  Her baptism, with water from the River Jordan from the Royal Family font being poured over Meghan`s head,  was immediately followed by her confirmation, thus overcoming a tricky obstacle in advance of her marriage to Prince Harry in May.

And so another royal family interlude leaves me wondering whether the report was for real, another wind-up, yet another chapter in life`s intriguing fairy tales or the latest in the long line of tales from `You couldn`t make it up.` 

Beam me up, Scotty!

WINTER`S RELENTLESS GRIP..

Well, here we are in early March and we are still held in winter`a relentless grip.   As you can see from the photo I took early this afternoon, there are still enormous problems with the lying snow and the promised thaw seems unbearably slow in coming.

But, of course, these extreme conditions also bring their challenges and I am thinking of mounting an expedition with the help of local adventurers to see if it will be possible to scale the forbidding heights of this particular daunting  challenge.  I did manage to venture out into the foothills on something of a reconnaissance mission and provided the weather conditions don`t worsen, it may be possible to reach the summit at around tea time.

In other weather related mews, Mrs. Snopper and I are still abiding by the advice given by the government, which is to stay warm, have hot drinks and don`t go out unless it`s absolutely necessary.  The roads around here are still very treacherous, as can be seen in my photo, but we did manage to get to Tesco`s this morning to stock up on absolutely essential supplies.   It seems the schools might be open again for those pupils hardy enough to make the journey but, all in all, this winter just seems endless.  It must be nice to live somewhere where you don`t have to face this kind of privation every year, but for now we will battle on and hope that Spring will bring some much needed relief by about Wednesday.   I`ll keep you posted.

This was a bit of my back garden a couple of days ago as we struggle our way through a week dominated by `The Beast from the East` and `Storm Emma.`  Even now as I look out of the window it`s snowing again and it has got me thinking about the experiences I have had with snow over the years.

The first really bad snow I can properly remember was in 1947 - I was seven at the time - and I remember being `sent out to play` in the deep and crisp and even and encouraged to make sure I was home in time for tea.  I still recall being very cold - `shrammed` to use a good old Hampshire description - but it was a memorable introduction to the ravages of severe weather.

My maternal grandfather was `old school` - a pattern maker in the Great Western Railway Works at Swindon and I remember my mother telling me that, when my grandfather and his chums went on a coach trip somewhere, they managed to get as far as Aldbourne on the Wiltshire Downs on their way home when the snow finally defeated them.  So, what did they do?  They got off the coach and walked the eight miles from Aldbourne back to Swindon, mainly by walking along the tops of the hedges, such was the depth of the snow they encountered.   They don`t make `em like that any more.

And on Boxing Day in 1962 in started snowing and the snow and icy conditions went on and on.  We had almost forgotten what grass looked like, as it wasn`t until the very end of March that the weather relented and Spring crept into being.   Our first son was born on 31st March 1963 having had the good sense to remain tucked up in the warm whilst the worst of that winter ran its course.

Maybe this winter hasn`t been so bad after all.  And at least my garden looks as tidy as everyone else`s.