"Not even not wrong" Email to: michaelpeverett@live.co.uk
Thursday, July 25, 2024
Lucky finds
Rayed form of Black Knapweed (Centaurea nigra var. radiata), with unusual coloration. Roadside near Beckington, 7 July 2024.
A few interesting plants I've found around Frome recently.
These were on a rough roadside that I decided to explore after seeing a flash of yellow plants as I sped by. It was one of those roadsides that's easy to see from a car but more difficult to walk to, and it turned out that sandals was definitely the wrong footwear: the place was a minefield of dewberry and bramble. The yellow plants (St John's worts) didn't prove particularly interesting, or at any rate I didn't spend much time looking at them, having soon found other things to look at.
This is an unusual coloration of the rayed form of Black Knapweed (Centaurea nigra var. radiata). I didn't even know there was a rayed form. More correctly, the "rays" are the enlarged outer florets, which in the British Isles usually characterize Greater Knapweed (C. scabiosa) and are also rather common on Slender Knapweed (C. debeauxii), but much less so on Black Knapweed. Anyway, the rayed form is a thing, though local and scattered according to the BSBI map. I'd better put this on iRecord.
The normal coloration is below.
Rayed form of Black Knapweed (Centaurea nigra var. radiata), with normal coloration. Roadside near Beckington, 7 July 2024.
The Swedish name for Black Knapweed is Svartklint.
It isn't native to Sweden and is extremely rare, with only casual records except in a few sites in Västra Götaland and Skåne. (Apparently it's relatively common in Norway.)
Information taken from this article in Borås Tidning:
The usual knapweed in southern and central Sweden is Centaurea jacea (Brown Knapweed, Rödklint), which contrariwise is a rare neophyte in the British Isles.
Anyway, here's some more of the fancy blooms:
Rayed form of Black Knapweed (Centaurea nigra var. radiata), with unusual coloration. Roadside near Beckington, 7 July 2024.
Rayed form of Black Knapweed (Centaurea nigra var. radiata), with unusual coloration. Roadside near Beckington, 7 July 2024.
Rayed form of Black Knapweed (Centaurea nigra var. radiata), with unusual coloration. Roadside near Beckington, 7 July 2024.
Wild Basil (Clinopodium vulgare). Roadside near Beckington, 7 July 2024.
On the same roadside, some Wild Basil (Clinopodium vulgare).
Included here as a blatant excuse for a link to my post about Keats' marvellous poem Isabella, Or The Pot of Basil.
... which of course concerns an entirely different species!
Below, the same plant in context.
Wild Basil (Clinopodium vulgare). Roadside near Beckington, 7 July 2024.
Hungarian Brome (Bromopsis inermis). Roadside near Beckington, 7 July 2024.
Still on the same rough roadside, I started to notice groups of a tall grass, showing up as reddish in comparison to the intermingled False Oat-grass.
I didn't know what to make of it, but the consensus of the Facebook group (British and Irish Grasses ...etc) was that it was Hungarian Brome (Bromopsis inermis, aka Bromus inermis).
I was a bit worried about the awns (after all, inermis means "awnless" in the context of grasses) but it turns out that Hungarian Brome sometimes has awns up to 3mm in length, like these ones did. And in the course of later poking about I did indeed find some awnless specimens.
Hungarian Brome (Bromopsis inermis). Roadside near Beckington, 7 July 2024.
Hungarian Brome (Bromopsis inermis). Roadside near Beckington, 7 July 2024.
Short awns on spikelets of Hungarian Brome (Bromopsis inermis). Roadside near Beckington, 7 July 2024.
Flowering spikelets on Hungarian Brome (Bromopsis inermis). Roadside near Beckington, 7 July 2024.
Leaves of Hungarian Brome (Bromopsis inermis). Roadside near Beckington, 7 July 2024.
Leaves: rather light green, broad, basically flat but shallowly keeled below, midrib raised.
Ligule of Hungarian Brome (Bromopsis inermis). Roadside near Beckington, 7 July 2024.
Sheath of Hungarian Brome (Bromopsis inermis). Roadside near Beckington, 7 July 2024.
The leaf-sheaths were closed (not split), except just below collar.
Stem-node of Hungarian Brome (Bromopsis inermis). Roadside near Beckington, 7 July 2024.
The stems were hairless except at the nodes.
A mainly vegetative patch of Hungarian Brome (Bromopsis inermis). Roadside near Beckington, 7 July 2024.
The grass produces a lot of purely vegetative shoots, with the leaves quite closely packed in a sort of herringbone pattern. In some spots (above and below) I found it subsisting almost entirely as vegetative shoots.
I am not sure if I shouldn't be using the name Bromus inermis instead. According to one scheme, all Bromes (except False-brome) are treated as Bromus.
In the other scheme there are four genera, listed here with some (but not all) of their differences.
Bromus: annuals/biennials with short awns e.g. Soft Brome.
Anisantha: annuals/biennials with long awns e.g. Barren Brome.
Bromopsis: perennials with vegetative shoots,
e.g. the familiar native grasses Upright Brome (Bromopsis erecta) of chalk grassland and the gracefully drooping Hairy Brome (Bromopsis ramosa) of woodland.
Ceratochloa: perennials without vegetative shoots. All species in the British Isles are introductions: e.g. Rescue Brome, California Brome.
Bromopsis inermis is native from Hungary all the way eastwards to China: a basic component of the grassland of the Great Steppe. It has been widely introduced for hay, pasture, habitat regeneration etc. In N America numerous cultivars have been developed, e.g. suited to different growing conditions in the north and south. It is invasive and has become one of the commonest grass weeds in the USA. Much more scattered in the British Isles, where it's no longer used as a fodder grass. Another one for iRecord....
It's a similar story in Sweden where Foderlosta ("fodder brome") was first tried in the 1930s but never really caught on.
Vegetative shoots of Hungarian Brome (Bromopsis inermis), growing through a bramble thicket. Roadside near Beckington, 9 July 2024.
Pale Toadflax (Linaria repens). Frome, 2 July 2024.
Let's go into town.
Here's a dozen plants of Pale Toadflax (Linaria repens) growing out of a concrete tree-base in the car-park of ASDA.
Not recorded before in Frome, yet very familiar-looking to me, I suppose from seeing lots of it in Spain where it's a native species.
I had the same feeling of familiarity when I saw it last summer in Sweden where, as here, it's an introduction. (The Swedish name is Strimsporre.)
Pale Toadflax (Linaria repens). Frome, 2 July 2024.
Cave Hawkweed (Hieracium speluncarum). Frome, 11 July 2024.
On Manor Road trading estate, Frome. The luck in this case is not about finding this glorious patch of furry-leaved Hawkweeds (I've watched it for maybe twenty years) but about finding someone who could actually identify the species. I posted pictures on the Facebook group Wild Flowers of Britain and Ireland, Tim Rich noticed the unusual feature of clasping leaves, and along with the numerous glandular hairs he had it nailed as Hieracium speluncarum, sometimes called Cave Hawkweed.
Records are very scattered, but as it happens I saw a reference to it being seen in the disused quarry at Vallis, just a couple of miles from here. And in the village of Mells (an old record from 1905), which is only a couple of miles further.
Hieracium speluncarum is reckoned an introduction to the British Isles. It's known to occur in urban locations. For example it's apparently quite common on the walls of Maastricht in the Netherlands.
Over the years this patch has been gradually spreading, colonizing stony substrate and low dividing walls. I'd guess there are about 300 plants now, some in smaller patches nearby. There's probably more in areas of the estate that are not accessible to the public.
Clasping stem-leaves and glandular hairs on Cave Hawkweed (Hieracium speluncarum). Frome, 11 July 2024.
Cave Hawkweed (Hieracium speluncarum). Frome, 11 July 2024.
Cave Hawkweed (Hieracium speluncarum). Frome, 11 July 2024.
Basal leaves of Cave Hawkweed (Hieracium speluncarum). Frome, 11 July 2024.
Cave Hawkweed (Hieracium speluncarum). Frome, 11 July 2024.
William Wycherley: The Gentleman Dancing-Master (1672)
Hippolita, Mrs Caution and Monsieur
[Image source: https://theatricalia.com/play/cwm/the-gentleman-dancing-master/production/s37 . From a 1961 production of The Gentleman Dancing-Master at the Pembroke Theatre, Croydon, directed by James Gillhouley. Hippolita was played by Hazel Penwarden, Mrs Caution by Athene Seyler, and Monsieur by Ronald Falk.]
William Wycherley was in Madrid on embassy duty from February 1664 to March 1665, and it was surely here that he saw or read the Calderón plays that underlie the first two of his own plays. (Both Calderón plays were included in the Tercera parte de comedias, published in August 1664.)
Love in a Wood based its "high" plot (the one about Christina and Valentine) on Mañanas de abril y mayo.
The Gentleman Dancing-Master, Wycherley's second play, takes the basic situation from Calderón's El maestro de danzar, written in the early1650s: a girl, surprised with her lover by her father, passes him off as her dancing-master. Calderón, maybe intending a tribute, adopted the title and the situation from a comedy by Lope de Vega, written back in 1594. That's how far back Mr Gerrard's breaking of the strings goes; though the actual instrument changed from vihuela (Lope) to guitarra (Calderón) to fiddle (Wycherley).
In some small ways Wycherley's treatment unconsciously restored lopesca elements such as coarser comedy and eroticism. However the author that most often comes to mind when reading The Gentleman Dancing-Master is Molière -- but the Molière of the skits and entertainments rather than the masterpieces.
The Gentleman Dancing-Master is largely farcical in nature, delighting in a sequence of extended routines. It was evidently designed to showcase the comedy talents of James Nokes (Monsieur) and Edward Angel (Don Diego), but there's plenty of opportunities for the other actors too; think of the maid Prue's attempts to stir an insensible Monsieur (Act IV), or Flirt's punitively comprehensive mistress-contract (Act V).
Calderón's play is entertaining but is not very hilarious, a rather high-toned romantic drama in which violence threatens but honour is finally preserved, jealousy dispelled and love triumphant. Though it's titled El maestro de danzar, the dancing-master situation only occupies part of Act II.
Wycherley picks on this small part of Calderón's play and magnifies it into a screwball comedy, an extended caper on the edge of detection.
Among his more important transformations: Calderón's Enrique and Leonor are devoted and secretly engaged lovers. Wycherley's Hippolita and Gerrard, on the other hand, have literally just met. Hippolita has just 24 hours to find a way of not marrying her idiotic cousin "Monsieur", who's so obsessed with French manners and dress that he even speaks in a fake French accent. She thinks the best way is to get married to someone else, but she doesn't know anyone else, so she dangles a carrot to lure the unknown Mr Gerrard to the house. There is instant mutual attraction, but they don't know anything about each other and aren't fully committed. At this juncture having to improvise being dancing-master and pupil is no easy matter, and one of Wycherley's most blissful ideas is to make Gerrard particularly bad at it. He's handsome, gentlemanly, ready enough for swordplay or breaking windows, but he cannot dance, sing or play, and is not even much good at lying; Hippolita has to do all the work. It's a thoroughly feeble performance, but happily he's up against two of the world's worst interrogators.
Don Diego. None but thee, ladron! and thou diest for't. [Fight.
Mrs. Caution. Oh! oh! oh!—help! help! help!
Hippolita. O—what, will you kill my poor dancing-master? [Kneels. Don Diego. A dancing-master! he's a fencing-master rather, I think. But is he your dancing-master? umph— Gerrard. So much wit and innocency were never together before. [Aside. Don Diego. Is he a dancing-master? [Pausing. Mrs. Caution. Is he a dancing-master? He does not look like a dancing-master. Hippolita. Pish!—you don't know a dancing-master: you have not seen one these threescore years, I warrant. Mrs. Caution. No matter: but he does not look like a dancing-master.
Don Diego. Nay, nay, dancing-masters look like gentlemen enough, sister: but he's no dancing-master, by drawing a sword so briskly. Those tripping outsides of gentlemen are like gentlemen enough in everything but in drawing a sword; and since he is a gentleman, he shall die by mine. [They fight again. Hippolita. Oh! hold! hold!
Mrs. Caution. Hold! hold!—Pray, brother, let's talk with him a little first; I warrant you I shall trap him; and if he confesses, you may kill him; but those that confess, they say, ought to be hanged—Let's see— Gerrard. Poor Hippolita! I wish I had not had this occasion of admiring thy wit; I have increased my love, whilst I have lost my hopes; the common fate of poor lovers. [Aside. Mrs. Caution. Come, you are guilty, by that hanging down of your head. Speak: are you a dancing-master? Speak, speak; a dancing-master? Gerrard. Yes, forsooth, I am a dancing-master; ay, ay— Don Diego. How does it appear? Hippolita. Why, there is his fiddle, there upon the table, father. Mrs. Caution. No, busybody, but it is not:—that is my nephew's fiddle. Hippolita. Why, he lent it to my cousin: I tell you it is his. Mrs. Caution. Nay, it may be, indeed; he might lend it to him for aught I know. Don Diego. Ay, ay: but ask him, sister, if he be a dancing-master, where.
Mrs. Caution. Pray, brother, let me alone with him, I know what to ask him, sure. Don Diego. What, will you be wiser than I? nay, then stand away. Come, if you are a dancing-master, where's your school? Donde? donde? Mrs. Caution. Why, he'll say, may be, he has ne'er a one. Don Diego. Who asked you, nimble chaps? So you have put an excuse in his head.
Gerrard. Indeed, sir, 'tis no excuse: I have no school. Mrs. Caution. Well; but who sent you? how came you hither? Gerrard. There I am puzzled indeed. [Aside.
Mrs. Caution. How came you hither, I say? how— Gerrard. Why, how, how should I come hither? Don Diego. Ay, how should he come hither? Upon his legs. Mrs. Caution. So, so! now you have put an excuse in his head too, that you have, so you have; but stay— Don Diego. Nay, with your favour, mistress, I'll ask him now. Mrs. Caution. Y'facks, but you shan't! I'll ask him, and ask you no favour, that I will. Don Diego. Y'fackins, but you shan't ask him! if you go there too, look you, you prattle-box you, I'll ask him. Mrs. Caution. I will ask him, I say!—come! Don Diego. Where? Mrs. Caution. What! Don Diego. Mine's a shrewd question. Mrs. Caution. Mine's as shrewd as yours. Don Diego. Nay, then, we shall have it.—Come, answer me; where's your lodging? come, come, sir. Mrs. Caution. A shrewd question, indeed! at the Surgeons'-arms, I warrant you; for 'tis spring-time, you know. Don Diego. Must you make lies for him? Mrs. Caution. But come, sir; what's your name?—answer me to that; come. Don Diego. His name! why, 'tis an easy matter to tell you a false name, I hope. Mrs. Caution. So! must you teach him to cheat us? Don Diego. Why did you say my questions were not shrewd questions, then? Mrs. Caution. And why would you not let me ask him the question, then? ....
(From Act II Scene 2.)
Full online text of The Gentleman Dancing-Master (in W.C. Ward's 1888 edition of Wycherley's plays):
The father in both plays is called Don Diego, but it makes a great deal of difference that Calderón's Don Diego is presented as a fairly typical Spanish father of the time, unemphatically protective of his daughter's honour, whereas Wycherley's "Don Diego" isn't Spanish at all, but just an Englishman who's nuts about all things Spanish and goes to ridiculous lengths to behave like a Spaniard; his extreme haughtiness, readiness to take offence and virtual imprisonment of his daughter are all poses.
Both plays end with their Don Diegos resigning themselves (without very much struggle) to their daughters' choices. In Calderón it's because the young man is serious nobility; in Wycherley it's because it's too late, the couple already got married. Wycherley's Don Diego tries to pretend that he knew what was going on the whole time. It's a lie, but it expresses a deeper truth. In this play where not only the actors but all the main characters know they are performing, we find ourselves basking in a world that's detached from real consequences. We always suspected (didn't we?) that Don Diego and even Mrs Caution were at some level quite amenable to this so-called dancing-master. The more ramshackle Hippolita's contrivance appears, the more it seems to be hanging by a thread, the more we feel assured that everything is going to work out just fine.
[Image source: http://www.guskaikkonen.com/more-direction2.html . From a 2005 production by the Pearl Theatre Company, New York, directed by Gus Kaikkonnen. Hippolita was played by Marsha Stephanie Blake, Monsieur by Sean McNall.]
Sir Malcolm Arnold's The Dancing Master (Op. 34) is a one-act opera based on Wycherley's play, composed in 1951-1952. The libretto was by Joe Mendoza. It was intended for television but was rejected as being too racy. There was a concert performance in 1962, a semi-staged performance in 2012, and fully-staged performances in 2015 and 2021.
Here's the thrilling Berlioz-like introduction, in a performance by the BBC Concert Orchestra conducted by John Andrews:
*
Useful on the Spanish background:
Nora Rodríguez Loro, "Calderón and Wycherley’s Dancing-Masters", in English and American Studies in Spain: New Developments and Trends (Universidad de Alcalá, 2015), pp. 136-143 [PDF].
Daniel Fernández Rodríguez, "Tradición y reescritura : 'El maestro de danzar', de Lope a Calderón", Dicenda : Cuaderno de filología hispánica vol 36 (2018), pp 191-207. [PDF]
As yet there's no adequate online text of Calderón's El maestro de danzar. You can read a scanned version, with difficulty, here:
Crowhurst in East Sussex is a straggling, inarticulate sort of village but it's also a kind of land unto itself. It wouldn't be too much of an exaggeration to say that the whole unvisited region bounded by the main roads linking Battle, Bexhill and St Leonards is in a broad sense "Crowhurst country". (A bit like "the Brightling country", the empty quarter west of Battle and Robertsbridge, named after a village whose actual existence, on Google Maps, comes as something of a surprise.)
Here are some plants I saw on a family walk, mainly through arable fields. I was with Annika, Jay, Nick, Tash, Mir, Barry, Finn and Sigrid. We walked from Crowhurst Park to the Plough, where Mum and Dad joined us and we had an excellent lunch.
"Crowhurst country".
Hairy Buttercup (Ranunculus sardous). Crowhurst, 27 June 2024.
As we walked along I started noticing this little buttercup here and there on the path. It turned out to be Ranunculus sardous (Hairy Buttercup), an uncommon species with a very south-easterly distribution in the British Isles. Distribution-wise it's basically a Mediterranean plant.
Reflexed sepals, hairy all over. Not found in Sweden.
Hairy Buttercup (Ranunculus sardous). Crowhurst, 27 June 2024.
Reflexed sepals of Hairy Buttercup (Ranunculus sardous). Crowhurst, 27 June 2024.
Hairy stems, buds and leaves of Hairy Buttercup (Ranunculus sardous). Crowhurst, 27 June 2024.
Marsh Cudweed (Gnaphalium uliginosum). Crowhurst, 27 June 2024.
The Hairy Buttercup was growing alongside Marsh Cudweed (Gnaphalium uliginosum, Sw: Sumpnoppa), so I guess it's normally pretty damp on this path, though happily not on the day we were there.
Ranunculus sardous and Gnaphalium uliginosum. Crowhurst, 27 June 2024.
A mystery plant. One of those casuals on arable land that I usually ignore, especially when there's only one of them and it looks like it might be of garden origin.
Anyway, the thread-like leaves suggest a robust mayweed chamomile Anthemis kind of thing, but the crowded rays are more suggestive of a Shasta Daisy (Leucanthemum). Rhodanthemum hosmariense from the Atlas Mountains came up on Google Lens -- but no, just no.
Four-seeded pod of Smooth Tare (Vicia tetrasperma). Crowhurst, 27 June 2024.
Smooth Tare (Vicia tetrasperma aka Ervum tetraspermum). I couldn't manage to take a clear photo of the little flowers, but I was more successful with this pod, showing why the species is called "tetrasperma".
British Isles: throughout England and the lowland parts of Wales, more scattered in Scotland and Ireland.
The Swedish name is Sparvvicker ("Sparrow Vetch"). Common in southern and central Sweden, occasional further north.
The English name naturally recalls the Parable of the Tares:
Another parable put he forth unto them, saying, The kingdom of heaven is likened unto a man which sowed good seed in his field:
But while men slept, his enemy came and sowed tares among the wheat, and went his way.
But when the blade was sprung up, and brought forth fruit, then appeared the tares also. ....
(Matthew 13:24-26)
The point of the parable depends on the tares being difficult to detect when young. Evidently these biblical tares were a grass contaminant of wheat fields. Probably darnel (Lolium temulentum), whose sowing in crop fields was a crime in Roman law. Flour containing even a small amount of darnel was worthless, because darnel is apt to be infected by a fungus that renders it toxic.
Why little vetches like this one came to be called "tares" I don't know. They do like arable fields, but I've never read that they're considered a serious pest.
Common Spotted Orchid (Dactylorhiza fuchsii). Crowhurst, 27 June 2024.
Passing through a small wood at this point.... Annika found this pretty orchid.
Swedish name: Skogsnycklar.
Bittersweet (Solanum dulcamara). Crowhurst, 27 June 2024.
Bittersweet aka Woody Nightshade (Solanum dulcamara).... a snaking vine descending from quite high in the canopy.
Swedish name: Besksöta. It grows as far north as Medelpad.
Goat's-rue (Galega officinalis). Crowhurst, 27 June 2024.
Goat's-rue (Galega officinalis) beside the path, snapped as we were filing through a tunnel walkway under the railway line.
A traditional medicinal herb, with components that reduce blood sugar. Study of those components led to the development of metformin, a mainstream treatment for type 2 diabetes.
Native to southern Europe, introduced in the British Isles and Sweden.
Swedish name: Getruta. Like the English name it's a translation of the pre-Linnaean Latin name Ruta capraria.
Scented Mayweed/ German Chamomile (Matricaria recutita).Crowhurst, 27 June 2024.
Anyway, speaking of chamomile.....
A huge and fragrant expanse of Scented Mayweed (Matricaria recutita), also known as German Chamomile.
Though this is not the species that older books call Chamomile, it is the one that's now most often used for chamomile tea.
It's all very confusing, and recent name changes don't help. For my own benefit, here's a list of the main chamomile/mayweed species.
(All have feathery dissected leaves, unlike e.g. Oxeye Daisy.)
1. Matricaria recutita also known as Matricaria chamomilla. English: Scented Mayweed, German Chamomile. Swedish: Kamomill, Sötblomster ("Sweet Flower"). Fragrant annual. Locally common in England and Wales; common in southern and central Sweden. Prefers sandy soils, so I never see it around Frome. It's used to make chamomile tea.
2. Chamaemelum nobile, formerly Anthemis nobilis.English: Chamomile, Roman Chamomile. Swedish: Romersk kamomill. Fragrant perennial. A similar but more prostrate, creeping plant of dry sandy commons. In Britain it's frequent but decreasing; I think it's only a garden escape in Sweden. This is the species you need if you want to make a chamomile lawn. It's also used to make chamomile tea. Valued in traditional medicine since the Middle Ages; it was "noble" because it was considered superior to 1 from the therapeutic point of view.
3. Tripleurospermum inodorum, until recently considered the same species as 4 and named T. maritimum ssp. inodorum. The older name Tripleurospermum perforatum still shows up sometimes. English: Scentless Mayweed. Swedish: Baldersbrå ("Balder's Brow"). Common annual in both the British Isles and Sweden. Scentless. Looks similar to 1 but the rays don't bend back so quickly.
4. Tripleurospermum maritimum, until recently considered the same species as 3 and named T. maritimum ssp. maritimum. English: Sea Mayweed. Swedish: Kustbaldersbrå. A coastal species, similar in appearance to 3 but with fleshier leaves and often red stems. Smells faintly of chamomile.
5. Anthemis cotula. English: Stinking Chamomile. Swedish: Kamomillkulla or Surkulla. Looks similar to 1 and 3, but smells unpleasant (fetid) and has scales on inner florets. Local on clay soils in S England; very rare in Sweden.
6. Matricaria discoidea, formerly matricarioides and suaveolens. English: Pineappleweed. Swedish: Gatkamomill ("Street Chamomile"). Introduction from N America. Very common annual in British Isles and Sweden, especially on paths and tracks. This one is unmistakable as it has no ray-florets. Smells of pineapple.
Scented Mayweed/ German Chamomile (Matricaria recutita).Crowhurst, 27 June 2024.
By now it was getting hot. Tash and Sigrid had adorned their hair with sprigs of campion and cinquefoil. We had passed the wooden crocodile and the wooden gorilla, seizing the usual photo opportunities. Barry went on ahead to collect Mum and Dad. Finn and I raced to get to the pub first. Drinks were soon flowing!
Our food order, with pictures by me, Sigrid and Tash.
Thanks to a lucky late cancellation we were at this unwontedly classy hotel on the bit of high ground where Palma Nova becomes Magaluf.
Breakfast on the terrace was fabulous.
The main challenge was our dependence on tea at all other times. There was no kettle in the room, so a lot of flask filling was required, both at breakfast and late at night. The bar staff were amenable.
I remembered that in the era when we went on lots of package holidays I used to bring a small travelling kettle. I thought about buying one, but the shops in these resorts are all about short stay. Everyone's just passing through. Bottles of water, beach towels, souvenirs, ice-creams, pharmacy, sun-glasses.... Not furniture or electrical goods.
It's a holiday camp, it's not for staying. Yet having been here so often it still felt like an alternative homeland. We looked idly for the hotels where we once stayed in Maj 1, 2 and 4 (Maj 3 was in Alcudia). We couldn't find them. In the intervening twenty years the hotel names had changed. This time we were in Cooks Club Calvia Beach, which the airport transfer ticket revealed was the old Honululu (information only relevant to minibus drivers). Sure enough, back of the iconically Cooks Club frontage, the clean lines of the restaurant terrace and the speedy glass lifts and the gunmetal gym, was evidence of the building's former existence: stolid stairwells of a less modern design, a less pacy set of lifts.
We were all modern; we the visitors, the music, the businesses... but the resorts also proclaimed the eternal verities of resort life: sun, sand, sea swimming, pedalos, ice-cream and postcards.
Dusty rain shower, a few minutes that impressively mottled all the parked cars and railings.
Norfolk Island Hibiscus (Lagunaria patersonia).
I've never clocked it before, but I imagine it's quite a popular introduction in Mediterranean resorts, both as a hedge component and as a small free-standing tree. Native to Norfolk Island and parts of the Queensland coast.
The other essential component of our tea dependence. We exhausted the stocks of the local Spar. Vive Soy makes a great point of all its soya being grown in Spain. And it made an excellent cup of tea.
It isn't organic like the soya drink we buy at home, but I'm still living under the impression, which I prefer not to disturb though it's possibly out of date, that EU soya is not GMO.
[This appears to still be true, in 2024. While the EU allows the import of GMO soy beans for food and feed, it does not allow cultivation within the EU itself. 90% of N and S American soybeans are GMO, according to what I've read.]
The names of Magaluf and Palma Nova are known all over Europe. But within the local organisation of Mallorca they are just a part of Ajuntament Calvià. Calvià is the small inland town that administers these massive thronging resorts as well as Santa Ponça and others.
Lots of ice-creams got eaten. Naturally, as we were in the Balearics (for the first time in nearly twenty years), I tried to eat my way through the extensive range of La Menorquina.
But later, unfolding the crushed wrapper in the airport, I was shocked to discover that my absolute favourite ice-cream of the week was made by Farggi. Whatever, it was heavenly.
But maybe I wasn't such a traitor, because it looks as if Farggi might be a premium brand of La Menorquina anyway.
(Laura didn't bother with this essentialist nonsense. She stuck to Magnum Classic throughout.)
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