Misty nights have so much more charm than misty mornings, currently. There is a cloak of greige over everything this morning. It started to creep in last night making our evening walk softer and more mysterious.
At the book club meeting yesterday a friend said she felt suffocated by the current weather. This morning it is easy to sympathise with that statement. January really is a hard month to love.
There was a break in the greige yesterday. I am ashamed to say I missed it, a fellow ‘bobber’ grabbed this photograph yesterday morning at Trematon.
Is the 10th of January 2022 a little late to conclude the reading and viewing plans of the 2021 Festive season?
Even the 10th of January is pushing the truth a bit as my piles of to-be- read books are nicely replenished by the festive season. Just a nice number to revel in rather than overwhelm me.
This book gave me this particular deadline as it is the Bookworms Book Group read and the meeting is today. For completeness I also watched the BBC 4 part dramatisation. Link below.
I enjoyed both, David Nichols writes books that have emotional depth even if some of his characters lack it, deliberately. The BBC drama had the added benefit of giving me 10 minutes when I could enjoy the acting talents of my lovely next door neighbour, Keith,who had, unknown to me, a small part in episode 3.
I say ‘unknown to me’ as if I insist on knowing where my neighbour has his small parts. This is not the case!
Us gave me light relief after an ill advised Christmas read. My favourite historical period to read is what is known in English speaking worlds as The Jazz Age or Roaring Twenties or in French Années Folles.
My book of choice was-
On Christmas Eve I commented that I was unsure where the book was going. By Christmas Day I was all to aware that the destination was Jersey in World War 2. Even more of a surprise and grimly shocking was that I was actually reading a Biography. It is not that the book wasn’t well written or that I am not glad to have read it but maybe not my usual subject matter for the Yuletide!
This time last year our Christmas decorations had been packed away extra carefully in preparation for a house move. Not a single one was broken. The job this year is much easier. They are just stored away in shoe boxes and then kept in a large Sandalwood Chest which in itself a tough old thing that survived the Indian Uprising of 1857-59. A series of mutinies and rebellions against the British East India Company that functioned as a sovereign power on behalf of the British Crown. The uprising is more properly known as the First War of Independence. 900, 000 people, mostly Indians lost their lives in a series of violent and cruel events where civilians were the largest group of victims. Truly dreadful things were done to innocent people. All of the usual cruel and demeaning acts of war and domination plus a torture that is readily relatable to everyone who cooks. A paste of mashed chillies and peppers was applied to the eyes, genitals and rectums of victims.
Our Sandalwood box arrived in Britain after the Partition of India in 1947 and has lived with me since the death of my parents. It has lived a peaceful life for the last 30 years protecting Christmas decorations.
A somewhat grim meandering for a ponder about Christmas decorations , but not without reason.
With a nod to history, our Christmas tree always has a few peacoocks, an unintended but direct nod to the Victorian domination and rule of India. Only the tail is visible in the picture above. This may just be family folklore but it does make some sense.
It would have been rather dull to remove our Christmas tree without some form of celebration. The tree has been part of our lives for a month and has provided light for the darkest of days and a focal point for our festive gatherings. Mince pies and Baileys was the perfect accompaniment to a prickly end of the Festive Season.
A photograph never lies. Digital photography is certainly a big liar and analogue photography was not so squeaky clean either. Check out dead child Victorian photography to see how photographers altered the truth.
No deliberate deception is intended by my window picture but one quick glance might suggest now is a good time for the early morning elimination walk for the dogs. It is not a good time, the rain is blowing sideways and no amount of the ‘ right’ clothing is going to make any walk this morning a pleasure. Maybe the dogs are cleverer than I think, they got me up at 5 this morning for a quick comfort break in the back yard.
None of this is actually the point of this blog. This house is surrounded on three sides by the sea. The fish in our window are swimming in the only direction that would take them to dry land. Having only just realised this I feel compelled to turn them around. Having done that I now wonder if they were always fleeing predators.
Not every ‘bob’ renders a blogworthy photo. Todays sea temperature was 10 degrees and despite it looking like a murky, bumpy ride, it was a pretty good swim. The currents though were something else. A moments inattention and one current swept us off towards the rocks. The swim back then took us into another current which pulled us quickly in the opposite direction. This area is not called Devils Point for nothing. Fortunately we are all more than one year experienced at swimming from Tranquility Bay and know well enough the tricksy currents and the need to carefully look out for one another.
My pre swimming energy came from a festive breakfast cereal.
We didn’t manage to eat any of them during the festive season. I’m not sure I particularly need to buy them again except that they provide the most glorious whiff of nostalgia if you plunge your nose into the packet before pouring them into a cereal bowl. I am hugely nose orientated. For inexplicable festive reasons we also have a mulled wine spice air freshener for the loo. No sane person on the planet needs their bathroom to smell like a bar in December, it just needs not to smell of poo. I am a festive smell marketing directors favourite shopper…
In other news I remember that pre-Christmas I wittered on about a sewing project but couldnt reveal too much as the item created was a gift. May I introduce you to Madame Cholet. A Womble of Wimbledon Common who gathers the left over embellishments from a man who brings huge joy to some of the streets of London.
Should you be wildy interested in Wombles the link above gives you the Madame Cholet official biography.
My Madame Cholet was created from completely recycled fabrics. Her eyes are the only new thing about her. I bought an original and second hand sewing pattern from EBay.
The fabrics came from my own stash. The stash of a friend and fellow artist, Tess.
The whole project was inspired by a man who brings so much joy to the London streets that he cycles on. Wombles are keen recyclers and as this amazing man, who has turned tragedy into joy, cycled past me I wondered what the wombles would make of any bits that might blow off his bike or costumes. ( I suspect he is a master craftsman and bits do not really drop off) You can find him on Instagram.
Is there a point to this blog I hear myself and many other people thinking. I’m writing it as I warm up, it could end up as complete nonsense, which is exactly what we talk as we thaw out.
There is. This meandering blog comes from a very dull January day from an entirely average person who has never excelled at anything.
Writing a daily blog is about stitching any old stuff together to tell a story.
Making a womble out of mine and other peoples cast offs is more or less the same.
Swimming in cold water really is no big deal.
Most of us are ordinary,there really is no need to be special to achieve things.
Anyone can turn nothing into something. We all just need a tiny scrap of inspiration.
My morning walk, at dawn, was a chilly experience. I was wrapped up snuggly but the wintery wind nibbled, coldly, at my fingers and ears. From this picture you can see that there were already hardy types out swimming. I was so grateful to be warm inside layers of winter clothing. My mind was elsewhere as I also knew that I had plans to be swimming at sunset. Nothing seems quite so contrary as knowing that a well and appropriately dressed walk is pretty cold and yet there are plans afoot to take a swim later in the day
My first day back at the museum, post Christmas, was the usual lovely mix of talking to visitors and catching up with colleagues. With all afternoon breaks covered and a last loooooooong conversation with a visitor it was time to rush home for a quick dog walk and a slow enrobement of my winter swimming wet suit. My legs and feet, tired from a day of many steps in museum galleries just wanted a cup of tea and ten minutes on the sofa. Instead they were forced into constraining neoprene and forced to walk again, this time to the beach.
There were only three bobbers available for the sunset swim. We were the lucky ones, the sea was as calm as a mill pond and the light was quite magical. The tide was coming in, everything conspired towards a very succesful bob. While swimming we didn’t particularly notice the water temperature of 11 degrees and had longer in the water than we would usually do at this time of year. Getting out was a bit of a shock, our feet were all a bit useless at walking on dry land and the dressing process was hampered by fingers that felt like ice cold silky sausages. No words can describe just how good it feels once our clothes are back on and we have warm drinks to hand. Looking out over the bay, as we nattered, made a January evening look gorgeous.
Lola is struggling with the concept of the festive season being over. Her first full day of normality was mostly spent as I de-rigged 3/4 of the Christmas decorations, snuggled in a blanket. The tree remains and it is the red lights from the tree that give her the warm glow to her face. Our local council is not offering a Christmas tree collection service this year. Without a front garden the tree must stay up and indoors until we can wrestle it into an old quilt cover and take it to the local tip. It is a completely different beast from the slender,fragrant and sheathed tree we brought home in mid December. Remarkably it is not yet dropping its needles but I know the minute we start its decommission we will be ankle deep in spiky needles. To be honest I have little truck with the bad luck concept of leaving a tree up beyond 12th Night, and a great deal of truck, maybe the M2 after Brexit, with the concept of keeping this dark time of year illuminated with twinkling lights. So for now snuggling in a cosy blanket illuminated by small red lights is still a thing in our house.
The tree has also gained its own festive coloured bag of Tea Bags. Thank you, again,Brenda Bennett. We may now have enough tea to see us through to the unpredictable end of this pandemic and possibly to next Christmas!
The first sunrise picture of 2022. The temperature has plummeted and even the coastal pigeon is feeling the chill.
Over Christmas I read a fabulous paragraph that has engaged my pondering head enormously.
A fact is information minus emotion. An opinion is information plus experience. Ignorance is an opinion lacking information, and stupidity is an opinion that ignores a fact.
The first pure ponder of 2022, it’s enough to make a pigeon stare.
As the days of the festive season give way to January, I was anticipating a return to Sunday normality. Some time alone with a newspaper is one of the regular joys of the weekend. What I had not factored in was two dogs who have had two full weeks of an endless supply of cuddles from a bigger variety of people in the house. Regardless of our level of business or relaxation there has always been someone willing to give them on-demand cuddles, tickles, snacks, access to the yard or bracing walks. Just two of us is suddenly not quite enough for their wish fulfilment. The picture above looks either posed or a lucky moment with a handy camera phone. It was neither, just an absolute certainty. During my twenty minutes of attempting to read the paper this happened more than ten times. He needed nothing, but what he wanted was the undivided attention of the only human available. As soon as I took this picture I gave up reading the newspaper. As soon as I gave up reading the newspaper, he went to sleep on it. As soon as he went to sleep we took him on a walk. I’m not sure which of us is the victor. Only one person did a victory dance
This empty table is the beginning of the end of our festive season. A family birthday breakfast. 2020 and 2021 gave us a lot of empty tables where proper gatherings should have taken place. Celebrations not celebrated, sadnesses not marked and just general gatherings in normal life that we have all failed to achieve with Covid restrictions and actual Covid infections. Only this week we were unable to be with our friend Prof Steve who got an honour in the Queens New Year Honours.
Here he is wistfully looking out to sea, dreaming of being a Dame. The Queen of course does not gift dreams. She gave him a solid respectable C.B.E for outstanding work in the NHS. I’m sure 2022 will eventually reward him with a Kitchen Disco featuring 90’s Anthems, our usual method of celebrating most things when we are together.
This morning our table quickly filled with family and friends, lets hope 2022 really does give us more fun times and full tables. We are more than ready!
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