Loads of Pumpkins

 Loads of pumpkins outside the Arkadia shopping centre in Warsaw.

Guess that the pumpkins add a bit of colour to the place.

Kotek's Tiny Box

Somehow, Kotek customised this tiny box so that he could sleep in it in the hallway.

Unfortunately, he has now chewed most of it away.

PJ Harvey - Warsaw Palladium (25-10-23)

This was the third time I'd seen PJ Harvey but the first time I'd seen her in a very small place under cramped conditions.

Got inside the Palladium about 70-80 minutes before the gig started and there was already a big build up of people jockeying for a decent position for the (obviously) sold out show:

I ended up somewhere just to the right of and behind the mixing desk.

Once the concert started after a small technical problem, I started getting increasingly pushed into a pillar and kind of remained in a semi-crushed position for the first half of the gig.

From the first half of the set, showcasing the recent album I Inside the Old Year Dying, my favourite tune was always going to be A Child's Question, August (think that this is the best song that PJ Harvey has done for some years).

Found it interesting to read that PJ Harvey comes from Dorset, my favourite county in England, still largely rural and culturally English thanks to the abiding presence of Thomas Hardy (my favourite novelist).

Think that PJ Harvey kind of shares a profound sentience, a deep understanding of the human condition, like Thomas Hardy (of course, this could just be my imagination).

For the second half of the set (the older songs), I tried finding a better spot further back, but just ended up completely behind a pillar.

But at least, I now had some space.

From this position, I could see some of the band members:

But not PJ Harvey herself.

This position became interesting as a lack of the visual lead to an intensification of the audio.

And especially during The Garden, I could kind of feel the full subtlety and quality of PJ Harvey's (narrative) voice.

Plus just before the encore, when many people headed for their coats, I managed to get a central position where I stood on a lone chair and watched/listened to White Chalk in comfort.

After the show, it was noticeable that not everybody moved away from the stage, as quite a lot of people just stayed rooted to the spot, trying to fully take in the musical sublimity they'd just experienced:

Me, myself, I was happy to get an ice cold beer before collecting my coat and catching the metro home.

Wet Autumn Leaves

 Just a few of the many wet autumn leaves that I saw:

While out on my last Sunday afternoon walk.

The strange billboard faces below also caught my eye:

It was a rainy sunny afternoon, can understand why the Americans call autumn the Fall.

Warsaw Uprising Mural at St. Faustina's Shrine, Warsaw

Having not walked this way for a few weeks, this Warsaw Uprising mural outside the opening leading to St. Faustina's Shrine in Warsaw immediately caught my eye.

It seems to transform the whole street:

My Battered Copy of G.K. Chesterton Short Stories

After 2-3 years, I'm over 600 pages into my battered copy of the Complete Collection of Father Brown Stories.

Some of the Father Brown stories are riveting and others okay, while a few pass by without me hardly noticing them.

Many of the stories are characterised by two key points: Father Brown's detective instinct to quickly see when things don't logically add up, and his Catholic priest ability to see the original sin side of people's souls.

Concerning the latter point, the central message that I take from Chesterton's Father Brown stories is that all human beings are only one or two bad decisions away from committing mortal sin and heinous crime. 

This is something that Father Brown, himself, often reflects on at the end of the stories, as he offers insights into the workings of the human soul (e.g. learning to direct it towards virtue rather than vice) to the secular/non-religious sceptics that are willing to listen to him in the stories.

Rainbow at Modlin Airport

Early morning, mid-August: a beautiful rainbow at Modlin Airport.

I was waiting around to fly to England.

Earlier on, I'd been at Warsaw Central Train Station, the early morning zombie hour:

Just hanging around:

Waiting for the 3am train to Modlin.

Dreaming about what my south-west to north-west England trip held in store.

Late Summer Flower

From a few weeks ago, a wonderful late summer flower from our Eastern Poland garden.

The daisies were also still in bloom:

Not far from the orchard:

Behind the barn:

Wrenching Out Moth-Infested Box Plants

At the side of the house, all the box plants had been destroyed by an invasive moth common to Poland.

Taking out the box plant manually turned out to be a long laborious job over a few days, as first I used a saw to cut off the branches:

Which I took to a woodpile behind the barn:

I decided to cut all the branches off first before focusing on getting the bush stumps out:

And after a while, it came time to wrench the stumps out which was backbreaking work:

Getting the stumps out involved digging downwards around them with a pointed spade for quite some time, and sawing all the underground roots that gradually became visible.

This process continued until, hey presto, the stump became loose enough to be pulled out:

Doing this kind of work did kind of make me feel like a dentist.

Getting each stump out seemed like a minor miracle but there was a sense of satisfaction, especially as more and more came out:

And finally, the whole place was clear of the box plants, ready for some other plants to go in:

It's now a few weeks since this work, but I can still feel a nagging pain in my right arm.

But all in all, I enjoyed wrenching the box plants out, it was a kind of challenge and great physical exercise.

Back in Eastern Poland

 

After a couple of weeks in Warsaw, I went down to Eastern Poland for a week to do some gardening work there.

As usual, I bypassed the town centre through taking the scenic riverside walk:

On this walk, I'm always on the lookout for beaver work, but on this occasion, there was little or no evidence of any beaver activity.

But still the river looked great in late summer:

And upon reaching our place, my wife had prepared a wonderful chilli falvoured, courgette stew:

And in the garden greenhouse, the tomatoes seemed to be growing nicely:

After 2-3 weeks in a big city, it was nice to be in the rural world again.

Goodbye to Bury, Lancashire (for Another Year)

 

Early Wednesday morning, it was time to make my way to Manchester Airport.

My faithful three-man tent had looked after me throughout Somerset; south-east Wales; Gloucestershire; Nottinghamshire; the Lake District; and my hometown, Bury (Lancashire).

But now it was time to part ways, as the tent was too heavy for carrying round on the kind of South England-North England tours that I do (back in Warsaw, I'll look for a decent smaller tent).

Before going to Manchester Airport, I had a look at the place where I'd gone to St. Marie's cubs as a young boy in the mid-1970s:

Which is attached to St. Marie's church, of course.

And then found myself looking at some of the old gravestones inside the Bury Parish Church grounds:

It's amazing what you can still see in Bury if you have keen eyes.

Bury (Lancashire): Lost on the River Irwell

My last adventure before flying back to Warsaw was finding a beautiful stretch of the river Irwell in my hometown, Bury.

Just before passing Nuttall Park in Ramsbottom, I saw an unusual small library at the foot of someone's garden:

Alongside Nuttall Park, a running stream lead me down to the river Irwell:

This stretch of the Irwell was amazing:

I just followed it with curiosity,

With no care for the direction I took,

Or for getting lost.

At some point, I reached a dead end:

And had to retrace my steps:

But still the place was beautiful:

At some point, I came upon a part of Summerseat that I didn't recognise, and a woman walking a dog pointed me the way to Brandlesholme Road:

Never knew that the Freemasons were so open these days, they used to do everything behind closed doors.