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thegayteen:

Medicine should never have been privatized in the first place. The concept of profiting off of human desperation and the need for life-saving medicine is, philosophically, intrinsically, and morally wrong both as a fundamental concept and in practice. The fact that Martin Shkreli was ever able to buy an AIDS drug and increase its price 5000% is indicative of a problem even bigger than a truly evil, despicable, and selfish human being; it is indicative of the problem of the current system of for-profit pharmaceuticals with obviously inadequate price regulation.

So I’ve chased all across Bristol (telephonically, and via web, and occasionally in person), and then a while back had the random chance meeting with the guy at Fred Baker cycles who said he could repair my BSA three speed hub.

Then, yesterday, part of it unscrewed itself. Apparently, you can just screw it back in, but since the bike could do with some general loving, I decided after last night’s night shift, to haul myself from the pit of bed-land and make my way to Fred Baker*. Their phone was engaged and engaged and engaged, and then about 1/3rd of the way there I managed to reach them.

…and discovered both the mechanics that knew about archaic things like BSA hubs have left, and been replaced. The shop’s been sold…

…I can’t say I was in a happy mood as I drove back. Indeed ‘grumpy’ is the word that springs (unbidden) to mind.

Having grumped home I tried to find the shop that they said one of them had gone to (but which ‘might not be open yet’). Eventually I tried Bool’s Bicycles… who referred me to ‘Roll for the Soul’. A Bicycle workshop and Café at which I occasionally eat – because they do an insanely good veggie burger. Oh so good. So, so, so very good.

It turns out that Ryan there is an expert in BSA hubs…and keeps spares for them in stock. And can look at the poor object next week. I might, actually, have my bike back with a full compliment of gears by next week! That is insanity. I’ve put up with her not working for years and the place I ate lunch at could have fixed her.

Poot.

* I was contemplating selling the bike last night, but gradually came to realise I’d really be very sad if I did, because it’s such a delightful object.

shadesofmauve:

It’s another beautiful day, and I’d really rather be working my yarden.

Yesterday’s attempt at yarden work was a little overwhelming, just ‘cause I’ve let it go so long, but I realized that I can use my new border idea to sort of pace myself. Install border -> weed/deadhead/tend THAT area –> progress to next area. It cuts the giant yarden up into small satisfying pieces where I can see what I’ve accomplished.

I really need to A) ‘do’ the chimbley first, whatever that means, and then B) borrow a chopsaw. A chopsaw is the best tool for both the studio trim and cutting the old fence boards (I used the circular saw yesterday, but chopsaw is safer and faster). Usually I’d borrow my dad’s awesome one but he’s doing a bunch of work on his own place right now and he needs it. There are three neighbors who may have saws they’re willing to lend; I just need to work it out with one of ’em.

And I probably shouldn’t borrow anyone’s tools until I’m done with the chimbley. Non chimbley items are distractions that are far more fun than chimbleys.

But it’s so much more fun to start new fun things than finish tedious uninteresting jobs… And following my advice you totally won’t end up 4 years down the line scrabbling to finish a billion small uninteresting jobs. No. Not at all.

shadesofmauve:

pyoorkate:

shadesofmauve:

Roses are weird. They’re associated with all sorts of emotional concepts and events; they’re as over bred as show-dogs; they often require a lot of work to get them looking good and they require almost no work to keep them alive. Having a really scraggly but surviving rose in your yard is dead easy. I pulled several out of the deep shade when I bought my house – they’re now in mom’s yard, where there’s a lot more sun, and doing much better.

Getting antique roses is kind of like going back before working and show dog lines diverged; you get less ‘perfect’ flowers, but usually (not always) a lot more aroma and vigor. And occasionally a lot more size. Modern roses are not being bred for their ability to eat small houses. Old roses on the other hand…

My mom took six cuttings from a Cecil Bruner at my aunt’s old place in Eugene, Oregon, around twenty years ago. She planted the healthiest in their yard, where it grew… and grew… and grew. It tended to attack people on the sidewalk. This bush was the size of their SUV. She took a cutting off that and put it in the front yard, where it was scraggly and slow growing for about five years, until it hit something – water or a decomposing squirrel or a bit or radioactive superrose juice out of a comic book – and exploded.

My folks needed to move the original when they re-landscaped, so mom cut it back to four bare canes. Dad took a trailer load of rose to yard waste. They dug it up with a tractor.

Three years later it’s as big as the SUV again, but no longer in a place where it attacks small children on the sidewalk. The smell is almost spicy, an entirely different rose smell than we’re used to, and an entirely beautiful one (I actually have a little vial of attar of rose, rose mixed with sandalwood, that is the closest I’ve smelled to a replica).

In my own yard, I’ve only go two remaining roses. The elderly lady who owned the house decades ago LOVED them, but she planted when there was a lot more sun. Now all the trees are mature, they mostly die at my place, so the rose that smells like raspberries is now thriving at mom’s instead. The hold-out, which is growing like mad with only morning sun, climbing up through the rhododendron and trying to get into my house, is a lovely dark pinky red rose you can see all over the Pacific Northwest called Dr. Huey.

No one ever plants Dr. Huey. They plant fancy schmancy roses that give you perfect florist worthy flowers, and when those fancy schmancy roses fail to thrive and new little happy shoots come up from the bottom, the frankenstein plant is revealed: the root stock is Dr. Huey.

Dr. Huey will happily grow to 12 feet tall, and all the rose blogs recommend getting rid of him. He frequently loses all his leaves to black spot, but he doesn’t die. The Good Doctor perseveres. I’m pretty sure the Dr. can’t die.

I love Dr. Huey.

So if you look at roses, and you want something that will cut beautifully for your flower arrangements, look for new ones! If you want a plant that might eat small buildings, look for an antique. :P

We have a couple of heritage roses here, because my mum adores heritage roses and gave us some. They are gorgeous when they’re in flower; the aroma they give is so much more rich than modern hybrids, but as with yours, one of ours is almost leaf free most of the year. It’s got terrible blackspot, but I don’t care because the smell is delicious :)

I’m really hoping the people buying our house love the garden, because it’d be heartbreaking to hear that they’d ripped it all out and gravelled it, or some such awful fate.

Also, because we’ve got a plant called Katherine Dykes back there, which we bought entirely because of the name, and which struggled in Slough but has flourished in Bristol :)

OMG that plant name makes me so happy, lol! As you already know, I’m hoping Katherine Dykes flourishes in the US, too. :P

The people who buy your house damn well better appreciate your garden. It looks AMAZING, from all the pics you’ve shared!

It’s Embassy Day today…. So I’m really hoping that Katherine Dykes gets to the US…! Although as Kathryn put it, today we look like /wholesome/ dykes today… With button down shirts on ‘n all…