I'm off to Brittany today.
I am not taking the laptop: I'm trying to prove to myself that I'm not addicted and I can live without it grafted to my hip. (I can, only because I've got my trusty Blackberry...)
I'm going to read, write, socialise with family, eat too much bread and cheese and drink too much wine.
Back next week.
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Friday, July 25, 2008
Taste of my childhood.
My parents live next door to a big field that used to be a cherry orchard in my youth. Every summer a family of travellers (I am fairly sure they were the same family each year though my memory may fail me) would purchase the rights to the fruit. The whole extended family would move down and live in caravans, in time for the fruit to begin ripening.
Of course selling the cherries was the aim, but that wasn’t all there was to the job. As the cherries began to ripen so the birds had to be kept away from eating the fruit and they used several methods for this. One was to have several weasely dogs that ran around the orchard yapping; another was scarecrows and the last device was what I knew as ‘cherry bangers.’ Quite simply this was what sounded like a cross between a shotgun firing and a very loud clap. I’ve no idea how these were set off but they went off all day, every day. Visitors would remonstrate but we hardly heard them any more.
By way of compensation for being next door to what they worried was a nuisance, a large bucket full of cherries would be passed regularly over the hedge for us to consume.
They were lovely people. On the day of my maternal grandmother’s funeral they closed up shop for the day, out of respect. My mother was so touched.
They put a sign on the gate, saying ‘No cheeries today.’
Of course selling the cherries was the aim, but that wasn’t all there was to the job. As the cherries began to ripen so the birds had to be kept away from eating the fruit and they used several methods for this. One was to have several weasely dogs that ran around the orchard yapping; another was scarecrows and the last device was what I knew as ‘cherry bangers.’ Quite simply this was what sounded like a cross between a shotgun firing and a very loud clap. I’ve no idea how these were set off but they went off all day, every day. Visitors would remonstrate but we hardly heard them any more.
By way of compensation for being next door to what they worried was a nuisance, a large bucket full of cherries would be passed regularly over the hedge for us to consume.
They were lovely people. On the day of my maternal grandmother’s funeral they closed up shop for the day, out of respect. My mother was so touched.
They put a sign on the gate, saying ‘No cheeries today.’
Thursday, July 24, 2008
I must NOT buy any more books
Whenever people say 'I must not buy any more books' I think: 'Why?' I've always felt no harm would come if I went on buying books. I mean, I read them and as long as I'm able to pay for them... it's okay, isn't it? Until now, when I am wondering how I am going to take my purchases home. I brought five books with me from Bangkok and now . I have acquired many books in the three weeks that I've been here. All of them are essential, obviously.
Anyway, there's been a photograph your bookshelf meme thing going around and mine is interesting (possibly only to me) because it consists of what I brought with me and what I've purchased while here. A little snapshot, then, of what I HAVE to travel with and what I must ACQUIRE.
Five books were brought from Bangkok with me.
And then I have purchased:
research books for WIP
non-fiction books of interest
charity shop bargains
two for Husband
two more ‘how to’ manuals
One to read before my writing course in September with the Literary Consultancy because Kate Mosse is a tutor there.
Anyway, there's been a photograph your bookshelf meme thing going around and mine is interesting (possibly only to me) because it consists of what I brought with me and what I've purchased while here. A little snapshot, then, of what I HAVE to travel with and what I must ACQUIRE.
Five books were brought from Bangkok with me.
And then I have purchased:
research books for WIP
non-fiction books of interest
charity shop bargains
two for Husband
two more ‘how to’ manuals
One to read before my writing course in September with the Literary Consultancy because Kate Mosse is a tutor there.
Not in Provence
As a kind of follow up to the hopping story a couple of weeks ago, I thought it would be interesting to show what’s been happening in some of the fields in Kent in recent years.
I had heard that lavender was being grown here, but it was kind of theoretical only; I’d never actually seen any until coming down to Kent on the train from London, I passed by an amazing vision. Three or four consecutive fields, stretched out and undulating away from the railway track, were Lavender fields in full bloom. Several of us on the train exclaimed out loud at the shock of seeing such an image from the train. I jotted down in my notebook the name of the station that we went through next so that I could look up where it was with a view to driving out to take some pictures.
Lavender, with all its old lady connotations, has always been one of my favourite smells. Not only has it a divine aroma, but it’s also soporific, and ever since my children were tiny I would drop it on their duvet or pillow to help them sleep.
Husband and I drove out to Castle Farm the day after we got home from Manchester and I talked all the way about where I envisaged us living when we moved back from Thailand. Poor Husband, he had no idea where my fantasy planning had taken me and he had an awful lot of catching up to do.
Every time I look at these pictures I can smell a wonderful whiff of lavender: divine.
I had heard that lavender was being grown here, but it was kind of theoretical only; I’d never actually seen any until coming down to Kent on the train from London, I passed by an amazing vision. Three or four consecutive fields, stretched out and undulating away from the railway track, were Lavender fields in full bloom. Several of us on the train exclaimed out loud at the shock of seeing such an image from the train. I jotted down in my notebook the name of the station that we went through next so that I could look up where it was with a view to driving out to take some pictures.
Lavender, with all its old lady connotations, has always been one of my favourite smells. Not only has it a divine aroma, but it’s also soporific, and ever since my children were tiny I would drop it on their duvet or pillow to help them sleep.
Husband and I drove out to Castle Farm the day after we got home from Manchester and I talked all the way about where I envisaged us living when we moved back from Thailand. Poor Husband, he had no idea where my fantasy planning had taken me and he had an awful lot of catching up to do.
Every time I look at these pictures I can smell a wonderful whiff of lavender: divine.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Manchester: in a nutshell
Oh we had such a lovely time in Manchester. Turning up before our friends were home from work, we let ourselves in and it was just like arriving home. These guys are our ‘chosen family’ – the people we choose to be related to – and leaving them has been just as hard as leaving real blood relatives. Although the children and I have been home each summer, and been to Manchester, Husband hasn’t been home since Christmas 2005. (Our chosen family came to visit us in Thailand during Christmas 2006 – which was wonderful – but all eight of us getting together in England was long overdue.)
As well as spending time with our chosen family, we spent time with these boys:
As well as spending time with our chosen family, we spent time with these boys:
On Sunday we split up: HPoP took all the children swimming, The Archivist, Husband and I went to Manchester’s Whitworth Art Gallery to see Anne Desmet’s exhibition, Urban Evolution, which included print images based on the decline and regeneration of Manchester’s Victoria Baths which was the winner of the BBC’s Restoration series in 2003. We also saw ‘Neverland: Rediscovering Child Art?’ which showed child art alongside famous artists trying to capture the spontaneity, naïveté and vibrancy of children’s art. (I’m not sure that they did.) Both of these were brilliant, but I particularly loved Anne Desmet’s work, and really wanted to buy one of the prints, but made do with two postcards.
Resistant to admitting that our weekend was over, on Monday, we went for lunch to the most gorgeous café, Cup, which the Archivist, was encouraging me to go to two months ago when I was in Manchester; coo, I wish I had. Lots of tea sets and cups to ogle, not to mention t-shirts and funky posters (oh how I wish I’d bought a ‘Make Us A Brew’ poster…) I bought this rather wonderful tin of tea which I’ll use as a caddy when I get back home to Bangkok.
And I scored this present from HPoP even though it wasn’t my birthday or Christmas or anything... but just because she's lovely.
Friday, July 18, 2008
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Undecided
I’ve been working ... before my friend arrives any moment now.
Tomorrow Husband flies in and we all go to Manchester.
I can’t decide whether to lug my pc up there with us. I may. I may not. That’s what makes me unable to decide.
My contact lenses still haven’t arrived. Instead of engraving them, they’ve made a whole new pair. I am still wearing my glasses. Sigh. I don’t like glasses.
Tomorrow Husband flies in and we all go to Manchester.
I can’t decide whether to lug my pc up there with us. I may. I may not. That’s what makes me unable to decide.
My contact lenses still haven’t arrived. Instead of engraving them, they’ve made a whole new pair. I am still wearing my glasses. Sigh. I don’t like glasses.
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