Welcome to justthoughtsnstuff

I started posting to jtns on 20 February 2010 with just one word, 'Mosaic'. This seemed an appropriate introduction to a blog that would juxtapose fragments of memoir and life-writing. Since 1996, I'd been coming to terms with the consequences of emotional and economic abuse that had begun in childhood, and which, amongst other things, had sought to stifle self-expression. While I'd explored some aspects of my life through fiction and, to a lesser extent, journalism, it was only in 2010 that I felt confident enough to write openly about myself. I believed this was an important part of the healing process. Yet within weeks, the final scenes of my family's fifty-year nightmare started to play themselves out and the purpose of the blog became one of survival through writing. Although some posts are about my family's suffering - most explicitly, Life-Writing Talk, with Reference to Trust: A family story - the majority are about happier subjects (including, Bampton in rural west Oxfordshire, where I live, Oxford, where I work, the seasons and the countryside, walking and cycling) and I hope that these, together with their accompanying photos, are enjoyable and positive. Note: In February 2020, on jtns' tenth birthday, I stopped posting to this blog. It is now a contained work of life-writing about ten years of my life. Frank, 21 February 2020.

New blog: morethoughtsnstuff.com.

Saturday 2 July 2011

meadowsweet, willowherb, snail, partidge

















First cycle for a couple of weeks. Missed out last weekend because I was working at the Taylor on Saturday and teaching on Sunday.

Calcroft Lane, aka the gated road, is alive with wild flowers again. Just after where the gates used to be, I came across frothy meadowsweet, water mint and almost-in-flower hemp agrimony, amongst other plants, growing in a shallow stream. A few minutes later, a stand of rosebay willowherb.

I wasn't alone this morning on the bike. The snail is quite well-travelled now.

Before seeing all the plants, a partridge flew up from the verge. I was so excited. In Oxford we never saw partridges and only came across them when we were away walking. I love the delicate flight and this morning noticed how vibrant the orange markings on the bird's fanned tail were.

Then I realised that what I was really thinking about, and could actually taste, was roast partridge. At the Trout at Tadpole, say, by the log-burner, accompanied by a glass of their delicious Fleurie.

I was appalled by my carnivorous nature.

When do they start shooting partridge?
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1 comment:

  1. Rupert Neil Bumfrey2 July 2011 at 15:46

    You are now distributed through G+.

    Surprisingly no "smutty schoolboy" remarks made on the name!

    ReplyDelete

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