Circus, Leeches, and the Legal Fiction of the 2nd Baron Stamp

Hello again! As my recovery progresses, I am dipping a toe back into the waters of blogging. Or perhaps that should be dipping seven tiny toes, as I present you with a bit of this and a bit of that, culled from what I have been reading and doing of late.

A decorative mosaic cross hangs on a textured off-white wall above a white mantleshelf over terracotta tiling. On the shelf is a large brown glass jar with a flower arrangement. Long branchy arms swoop out to left and right, with spires of lavender and rosemary rising in the centre.

Speaking of culling, here’s something you can do with your prunings (beside compost them, chip them into mulch, or pile them up for critter habitat). The bulk of the above arrangement is from a branch of maukoro I recently had to remove. Its Latin name is Carmichaelia odorata – though I haven’t noticed any odours yet – and its English name is New Zealand broom, though it’s no relation to the European broom. Rosemary and lavender prunings add a bit of colour, foliage variety, and vertical interest.

Interesting Times

When one hears of legal fiction, one tends to think of John Grisham – but it turns out that the legal system is also capable of producing fictions, albeit not quite so gripping and bestsellery. For example, in English law, if two people in a family die and you can’t tell who died first, the legal fiction holds that the older died first, thus clarifying lines of inheritance.

This legal fiction is the cause of the record for shortest peerage: Wilfred Stamp, the 2nd Baron Stamp, died in the Blitz alongside his father, the 1st Baron Stamp. Since his father was, obviously, the elder, he was deemed to have died before Wilfred, and thus Wilfred technically became the 2nd Baron Stamp. However, as Wilfred had three daughters but no sons, the barony passed to his younger brother Trevor, who would have inherited it even if Wilfred had died first. The only differences were that Trevor became the 3rd Baron Stamp, not the 2nd, and had to pay two lots of death duties.

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A Year In Recovery

What do you do when the number of people in your household not dealing with a debilitating chronic illness drops to zero? If you’re anything like me, the answer is Read A Book. The book in this case was The Fatigue Book by Lydia Rolley, who not only worked for many years in an NHS fatigue clinic, but had previously recovered from CFS herself, i.e. She Knows What She’s Talking About.

We decided to launch a Recovery Plan based on her advice. The key principles are simple – flatten out the rollercoaster of energy highs and lows by setting a baseline of activity which you can do on good days and bad without wearing yourself out. Not unlike Goldilocks, you’re looking for not too much and not too little. As your energy improves, you can gradually increase the baseline.

A sheet of paper on a wooden surface has uncial lettering in brown ink which reads "All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us. G."

But first we had to have our house mostly replumbed and rewired. (Long story; take my advice and be highly suspicious of any hissing noises in or near your walls.) In mid-May last year, we were finally able to begin resting. Which was absolute bliss, as long as you didn’t look too closely – or in some cases at all – at all the things which had to be set aside until baselines improved. (Set aside in the metaphorical sense. One cannot, alas, actually set aside an unvacuumed carpet, nor a thickly dustcoated windowsill.)

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Ten First Flowers

I had a garden dream: an overflowing mass of flowering abundance, red and orange and yellow at one end of the front garden; blue and purple and white at the other.

But as the saying goes, the only place where success comes before work is the dictionary. At the end of autumn (i.e. May) I summoned my energies, such as they were, and built two garden beds in the front garden.

The results, it must be said, are not entirely what I had hoped for. For one thing, a heavy layer of cardboard and a few inches of garden mix were not enough to put off the weeds, which have grown back in profusion: creeping buttercup, convolvulus, dock…

But some plants did manage to make their presence felt despite the weeds. I therefore present you with the ten best blooms from late winter to early summer.

In the early days of expanses of bare soil relieved mostly by weeds it was a comfort to have the freesias (a thoughtful gift) spring up and give the impression this was actually a garden.

A cheerful cluster of small six-petalled yellow blooms rises above green foliage.
Freesia (Golden Giant? Golden Melody?)
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