March 22nd, 2007

Portrait as a Renaissance artist-enginee


Some days, the internet tells me that I am a particular color or animal or fairy. Today, papersky told me that I am the Kentish village of Ivychurch.

She's obviously right:
  • It's in an isolated position in its daily life, located in the middle of Romney Marsh.

  • Its roots are medieval, and it's very fond of a good thirteenth-century church - its own, say.

  • It's quirky. The churchyard has an unusual feature: a hudd, or a shelter to keep the parson dry while reading at a funeral.

  • Its name is Old English in origins; mine isn't, but is often mistake for being a name of Celtic derivation. (According to the BBC's Kent Places dictionary, "Its first recorded form was Iuecirce in the eleventh century – looking back to Old English ifig ‘ivy’ and cirice ‘church’.")

  • Food and socialization are important to it. The village has one pub, a sixteenth-century one, called The Bell.

  • It's interested in technological and controversial things: Ivychurch has been a location for GM crop trials in the past several years.

  • It wishes it could buy property more easily, but prices are high.

  • It has windmills in its future. The parish will be the site of a wind farm according to current plans.

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Update: My grandmother reminds me that I once spend New Years in a hotel called The Bell, in Thetford. A theme, clearly.