This bright yellow thing hung above the trees this morning trying to pretend it was summer. Nobody was fooled. We have too deep an ingrained cynicism to be fooled by the big yellow thing pretending it is hot when we all know it is warmer at the North Pole than here on some days when it shows. We still walk out in it, men in shorts trying to impress their girl and cleverer men in thick jackets like me!
The Bocking Windmill is one of the many in East Anglia, some which actually work, and may open during the year to visitors keen to climb about in them. I find them a wee bit boring myself but from the history point of view Mr Miller made a lot of money and was in an important position in his world. Each village required at least one mill of some sort or other as flour was the basic requirement for the daily bread and a local mill was important. On occasion this one opens to visitors, but rarely as far as I can see. My boss has the key and he controls the thing but not enough wish to visit to make it worth opening more. I doubt we will ever see flour coming from there. The one we saw long ago in Woodbridge worked well enough selling its own flour to all who had a desire to bake.
If I remember right these are 'Teezles.' These were, and probably still are, used by weavers and cloth people to 'fluff up' cloth. There were a few of them growing wild around this green area today, whether these grow in the far east where most of our cloth comes from now I know not so how do they 'fluff' their cloth I wonder? We could gather them and sell them on I suppose.
Now that September has arrived we will at last be free from people talking about cricket surely? The local clubs entrance looks a wee bit tired today, a bit like the local clubs players I suspect. I have no idea if they are any good, I don't read the local paper, and only when passing do I see men of varied physical shape throwing the ball around or standing talking to themselves in distant corners of the ground. They could be the second XI I suppose.