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Random Mine of the Day : Wheal Edward mine

Sitting here waiting for a near-endless upload to finish uploading, so let us have a Random Mine.

I went past this mine this morning.  You may have to click to embiggen to see that there are actually two chimneys there - the naked one on the right is clear, but I am fairly sure that the thing on the left that looks like a tall dark tree is also in fact a chimney, thoroughly shrouded in ivy.   There's an engine house in there somewhere among the trees as well, although I couldn't see it so it may well be impersonating an ivy-covered bush.
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Damnit, archaeologists

Twenty thousand words of careful knitting to make the Dumnonian bits of Eagle of the Ninth add up neatly to the existing proven archaeology, but they had to keep digging.


But at least this is first century.  As long as they don't find anything second century, I can assume it was all abandoned.  *crosses fingers* 

The new leaves are golden too

I am very taken with the colour and texture of young oak leaves in the sun just now.   Before they become green, they are golden yellow and blush red at the tips.
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And here is a reminder that Rosie is not *always* awful and she does have a recall sometimes, because here she is, off lead and recalling.
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The roe deer had become muchly entangled in a bit of old electric fencing, which had wrapped into a mighty tangle around its horns. I fetched Maggie, the owner of the field, and she lent me some wire cutters and stood on the remains of the electric fence to try to prevent the deer thrashing around too much while I cut the fence off the deer.   The deer was not happy about this procedure, and thrashed wildly and made a terrifying roaring noise, but in the end, we got the fence off, and the deer ran away, so I'm guessing it was more or less OK.    It had a couple of visible wounds, but nothing major.

 I got soaked, because it was hailing and the grass was wet.  And I had to haul the dogs off the deer when we found it.  Fortunately, Rosie is a bit scared of deer and Brythen has no idea how to hunt (seriously, he stood next to the struggling deer jumping up and down and yapping like a puppy: his best effort was to grab its ear), so I was able to haul them off relatively easily and attach them to a tree while I sorted the deer out.  I was worried, to start with, that they had driven it into the fence, as they both shot off when they first saw it, but given how enmeshed it was when I got there, which was only seconds after the dogs, I don't honestly think it was them, I think it must have been caught already.

Electric fencing is phenomenally tough stuff!  Both secateurs and wirecutters struggled with it.   The deer had cut itself, and the blood was over my hands, and somehow I cut my hands too although I'm not sure how I did it.   I hope roe deer don't carry any nasty diseases.  I've just rung my doctor in the hope that she will say 'no, roe deer are the most sterile of all animals'. Fingers crossed.

I should do some work now.  Perhaps when I've stopped quivering.


Death comes to Noviomagus Reginorum

I finally finished and posted my story in which both the main characters of Eagle of the Ninth are dead, and Cottia is extremely old and solves crimes in the Downs like a second-century Miss Marple with the aid of Servius Placidus's great grandson!

Sixty years after the Eagle of the Ninth, Cottia still lives on the farm in the Downs that she, Marcus and Esca set up together. Britain is in confusion after four years of civil war across the Empire. The great house of Placidus backed the wrong imperial claimant, and now young Servius Placidus, the last of a long line, is on the run from the newly-established Emperor Severus's revenge. Then one of Severus's men is found dead....

Read on Ao3 It's 18618 words. Nobody has sex.

Now with some lovely art by emisolde!
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Things Seen

An older woman, her face surrounded by a dramatic grey curly bush of wild hair, wearing a smart dark red velvet trouser suit with a tailored jacket,  stomping enthusiastically on top of a fiercely-smoking bonfire.

I hope she's not going to have to try to get the smoke out of the velvet later.   But it was such an odd thing to wear for the task, I am guessing there is some special significance to it.  Perhaps she will take off the velvet suit, once all the other things are burned, and ritually burn that too.


Fangorn at Wellinghall

Fangorn at Wellinghall
A Wellinghall painting that I painted for wellinghall.  This ended up a bit darker and more menacing than I intended.  Pp observed, he definitely looks like Fangorn here, not Treebeard.  I'm pleased with the light and colours, although the stream is a bit wobbly. 


"The time has come," the Walrus said, "To talk of many things: Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax-- Of cabbages--and kings--
I've stolen this clever update format from alitheapipkin

One longer walk and one short one today in bright sun under blue skies, plus I filled the garden bin with clippings, which always gives me a feeling of having achieved.

Rather guiltily that I meant to try to do a couple of hours or so of work this weekend, but have not. And also that I should have phoned my mother, but I have not done that either. Possibly should rename this section 'vague guilts' as it appears my thoughts are not very profound.

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The first episode of 'Childhood's End'. Good ending!

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Painting = Magic!

I was just reading this interesting blog about possible origins of the place name Teversham, and came across this quote from Eilert Ekwall:

Old English tīefran ['to paint'] corresponds to German zauburn, Dutch tooveren 'to practice sorcery', and Old English tēafor 'red pigment' to Old High German zoubar, Old Frisian tāver, Old Norse taufr, 'sorcery'.

I had come across the idea that pagan Saxon magic involved singing before, but this was the first time I'd come across the idea of sorcerous Saxon painting.  

I was reminded of the magical painting in Over Sea, Under Stone: "He has painted his spells!"    Now I want to use this idea in a story.

Evening walk photopost...

Gorgeous weather...
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