theoldmortuary has been a blog for about five years. It has evolved into an almost daily event. Pondering on the things that are inspired by my daily life. Often mundane, sometimes repetitive I swerve from hyperlocal activity to big and small thoughts without blinking an eye. I am an artist and writer. My hometown is Plymouth in South West England, part of me will always be connected to London and another part loves to travel.
I love this quote from Vietnamese/American poet, Ocean Vuong.
We were taking a trip to an eponymously named Chicago Diner. Famed for its vegan and vegetarian cuisine. The church was at an intersection close by and it was such a boost. We had been caught in a huge downpour earlier in the day and perhaps not feeling as gorgeous as we might but this simple quote was a real perker upper. Just by being,we are gorgeous. Have a gorgeous Saturday. More on this tomorrow. We are moving cities and countries today.
Wordle reminded me of the irony of my travel plans. Long haul travel is one of my great undisturbed reading moments. Prior to this North American adventure I had a physical book planned and three on Kindle . My physical book is of the heavy duty variety.
The Kindles are more recreational. Crossing the Atlantic I made a good enough start on it. Then I watched a film, Belfast by Kenneth Branagh, leaving me three hours or so to doze or crack on with history. My fingers however had different plans and took me to the TV section of the entertainment screen. Heading for Chicago my eyes were immediately drawn to a series based in Chicago. Hmmm well, Chicago Meds is about as medically accurate as a childs play set, the actors are super easy on the eye and the storylines delightfully improbable. Livers were transplanted with barely a wash down between donor and recipient. Doctors pondered over how they could possibly have missed Coronary Artery disease on a chest X-ray. Confidential data was shared and improbable blood tests were performed with instant results that cured patients of racism. Three hours was not enough, I was hooked.
What I had hoped for was some location filming of iconic Chicago architecture. Each episode featured the same 10 seconds of the Loop. The overhead railway. I know this because I watched all of the five episodes available, American History got the brush off. I was seduced by attractive actors and something intangible. I laughed, hugely inappropriately, in moments of high drama and was completely hooked half way though episode one. As I write this I am hopping across the border to Canada, there is no in flight entertainment. Belatedly I am returning to American history just as I leave the country. With some intellectual integrity left I have to admit that the first thing I do when I get home is check the TV listings for Chicago Meds, some comedies are less amusing.
A funny thing happened on our way for a bob. I have never written a blog from a significantly distanced holiday before. I didn’t truly imagine I would become an instant travel writer but I thought there may be a slight change of flavour to my daily ponderings. Instead I find that the ponderings continue on in much the same way with different stimuli.
We are in Chicago because Hannah worked here 25 years ago and had never been back. Her time here formed part of a misspent youth with bars, friends and adventures but her working life was not a particularly happy one as an au pair to a wealthy Anglo/American family.
The men of the family, a husband and ex-husband were kind but the woman who was her de facto employer was quite a dreadful person.
The family and Hannah lived in a large apartment on Lakeshore Drive overlooking the beach, looking towards the Drake Hotel.
25 years on Hannah thought it would be a fine idea to book into the Drake Hotel and cleanse the memory of an unkind person from her memories of a spectacular location. I suppose that is the core of our travel plans here and within hours Chicago has put new memories in place, but as is the way with ponderings, not exactly as we planned.
Coming out of our room for a swim/bob in Lake Michigan we spotted some comfy sofas
They looked like the perfect spot for weary travelers to spend an evening reading books. The view was great even if the windows were a little mucky.
We wandered about a bit and were overwhelmed and surprised by the decor of the space and facilities that were available. It was only when we stumbled on an unmade bed that we realised we were not in a palatial lounge area .
The area next to our room was a massive suite, with double doors so huge that when they were left wide open they just looked like an area of paneled corridor. The mirror picture at the top of the blog was snapped as we left.
When we returned, after our bob, the door was firmly shut and our room was once again at the end of an unremarkable corridor. Just a label on the door suggesting why we thought the sofas looked especially comfy.
In other ponderings, the baby seagulls here are epic and unbothered by being close to humans.
Today we, @theoldmortuary are playing the Summer 2022 game of airport roulette. The wheel spun and awarded us with a cancelled flight and a rebooked one four hours later.
Apple juice and a plum feeling all arty at stupid ‘O’ Clock when we started this endeavour. Now we are hiding out in the comfy seats of an airport cinema long before any films will be shown. This will be a fine way to while away the extra hours as long as no-one decides to show any films. All being well tomorrows blog should be a feast of Jazz Age Architecture and bobbers bobbing in Lake Michigan.
Today however we are in the Oceanic Terminal as Terminal 3 at Heathrow was formerly known. Opened on my 3rd Birthday I feel I have weathered the decades better but, of course, I have had nothing like the footfall and also not so many facelifts. None so far! I can’t comment on the architecture but the cinema is a quiet spot with comfy seats and that is all good. For a visual end piece I offer a rather dusty BOAC flight bag.
Surprises are lovely things and I have had or witnessed a few in the last few days. The first was a gift of speciality soughdough over the weekend. What a loaf, full of flavour, and full of flavour sensation and memories. Asian Street Food and Brixton market sprang to mind. Partnered with cured meats, smoked fish and cheese, all tasted wonderful paired with this bread but the real magic happened when the bread got old enough to enter the toast zone. Fusion fabulousness happened when Gochujang sourdough met Marmite with Truffle. Quite the Surprise!
Surprise 2 was a gift from a neighbour.
How unbelievably kind, pertinent because he knows how often I pass his house on my way to the sea for a bob. Pertinent also because we have both washed up on the shores of Stonehouse via a life in London where swimming at the ponds was once a part of life. And so, with this book,as so often happens, we are back to bobbing which has also been full of surprises in the last 24 hours.
There was a rather grumpy impatient swimmer who barged past the bobbers last night before throwing himself into the sea with no fuss or preparation.
Moments later another unusual event occured. A small wedding celebration on the beach.
The colours behind the happy couple lead to another surprise. After the bob I was thrilled to see Stage drapes, created from one of my seascapes, set up in my studio. Nothing could quite prepare me for seeing my watercolour, sumptuously replicated on a huge scale on draping silk.
I could have endlessly played with the flowing fabric but it has serious work to do and the next time I see this fabric it will be at a distance on a stage. With a mind full of flowing blues and greens I go off to make a cup of tea and just when my head and heart are full of lovely surprises one of my sunflowers decides to get into the surprise game. Behind her large beaming head she has grown a little sister, what a surprise!
We’ve had a fab weekend of doing lovely stuff, all ultra local and within walking or swimming distance of home.
I was reading a review of a travel programme over the weekend and realised that with a few alterations the sentence above more or less describes this blog. I’m aware that my thoughts and feelings are not always lovely but I do try to extract the positive out of anything that I put on the blog. My inner bitch kept firmly out of blogland.
The same newspaper also ran an interview with the actress Angela Griffiths and two of her answers could have come straight out of my own ponderings.
I do try to always be kind and although the word ‘nice’ has been devalued over the years, the sentiment is what I strive for. My personal mantra, though, when people try to take advantage is, I fear, delightfully passive aggressive.
” Don’t mistake my tolerance for indifference”
I rarely need to say it but have perfected a look which should leave the erring person to rethink their strategy towards me. I found it really refreshing to see my thoughts so eloquently expressed by someone else. A look I definately used during one those awful annual appraisals that the NHS does so badly.
My line manager at the time said I used kindness and niceness to manipulate people for my own purposes.
Words failed me then , but really, what a twat!
The words Ultra-local and slow burn in the first newspaper cutting so accurately reflect this blog I felt another little grain of comfort. If BBC4 think that ultra local and slow burn is OK then all is well.
Here is a giddy thought, ultra local in the blog tends to mean what is ultra local to my geographical location, which for three years now has definitely been confined to England. Mostly confined to South West England with very rare forays to London and usually set in a ten square mile radius of my home. Later this week my ultra local is crossing the Atlantic. Travel may broaden the mind but you will be treated to the same old ponderings just stimulated by North American coffee shops, beaches and museums. No dog bottoms though, they and their bottoms will stay here. I’m sure there will be some dogs bottoms but no guarantees.
Which brings me to another pondering pondering and explains the two photographs in this blog. Our daily walks always take in a bit of The Royal William Yard and I often mention it in passing but have never actually blogged about it. After the transatlantic adventure I will give you a proper tour. This amazing image came up on an Estate Agents website. I thought it was good enough to share. The back of our house is even in this shot.
British summer fruits are a lifelong love. Only this week my favourite firework was chosen because it reminded me of rhubarb. But this summer the fruits that are part of my summer are a bit different. By moving only 7 miles the fruit glut that my friends and neighbours share, is all a bit more exotic. More fabulous figs arrived yesterday.
I believe I could eat fresh -off -the- tree figs all day. Internally that might not be such a good idea but if the supply was infinite I am certain I would be happy to attempt a fig challenge. Cherries too are available in big amounts.
Last night we made a Turkish dish that made cherries a savoury accomopniment. Tenderstem broccoli with cherries.
Cherries are another fruit I can eat to excess and I would never cook a fresh cherry because it would already have been eaten.
You may or may not be aware of the genre of art where slightly plump ladies lay back on luxurious pillows, seductively eating fruit. The juices moistening their lips and breasts as they give the viewer of the paintings a ‘come hither’ look. I believe the viewer has got this all wrong. That look actually says ” Touch my fruit and you’re dead”
We need to talk about Bobbing. Bobbing evolved during the Covid Crisis. The first nugget of a gathering took place on Cawsand Beach 2 years ago. A regular sea swim, maybe once a month, of four friends developed into several times a week swims throughout the year and now involves about 16 people. It is a very rare swim that gets us all in the water but sometimes the number gets to more than 10.
Friday’s swim turned into quite a gala with Hawaiian Leis, cakes, figs, dancing lessons and gathered seaweed.
None of it was planned and I am at a loss to quite explain the serendipity of it. Possibly a natural summer phenomenon of some people returning from holidays and others preparing to take their leave. In two years we have been through quite a bit of ‘ stuff’ together. 16 people thrown together by a pandemic have formed a bond of friendship that supports and celebrates lifes game of snakes and ladders. I read a book a little over two years ago that centred on a group of wild swimmers who found friendship in the chilly waters of a Scottish Loch. At the time I thought it was a charming but fanciful fiction. But here I am writing about such a thing in real life. Who would have predicted such a thing? Our bobbers are lovelier than fiction but maybe a little stranger. Our Whatsapp group messages can be practical with tides and weather updates or crazy with multiple streams of consciousness running parallel with one another or at times crossing wildly into the most obscure, unfiltered conversations.
Todays Whatsapp featured holiday pics. An empty field, a Cornish Cream Tea and a swim in Lake Garda. Bobbers getting about a bit.
Let sleeping dogs lie. For two evenings every year Plymouth Sound is alive with the sound , and sights, of fireworks.
We are very lucky that our dogs are not fussed by fireworks. Last night, the first night of the British Fireworks Competition, we set off with them to find a good vantage point close to home. We were lucky and found the ideal spot and saw the first display . Unfortunately our vantage spot was discovered by a young woman carrying a wine glass while wearing a strappy dress and rather a lot of entitlement. Her dog was off the lead and bothering everybody. She remonstrated with ‘Arlo’ who really was way too excited to listen and when she did eventually put him on the lead she couldn’t be bothered to hold the lead. A lethal combination in the dark on uneven high ground. Common sense made us retreat home, our well behaved dogs tucked under our arms. Leaving her to irritate everyone else.
This might have been a real irritation had we not discovered a streaming service broadcasting the whole competition. Our ears could hear all the bangs and clashes as they echoed around our house but we could get a front row seat to see all the fireworks via our lap top.
Tonight the weather was not so perfect and we had already done a really long dog walk, the temptation to enjoy the fireworks on the laptop was too tempting when coupled with tea and biscuits.
Once again the crashes and bangs filled our ears in reality. The streaming service filled our eyes with fireworks and I discovered that I could even get a half decent photo while enjoying a chocolate digestive.
So long George Shaw. I have loved every minute of my time in the two galleries holding the works of George Shaw at The Box in Plymouth.
The exhibition leaves the Box at the beginning of September, but I took my leave of the exhibition yesterday. It is with a heavy heart that I will never again have that first thing in the morning experience of smelling George’s Humbrol Enamel Paints, as the galleries are opened up. No more sessions of choosing one picture and really concentrating on it to enjoy every detail. All this wallowing in frequent visits to the same exhibitions is a new luxury for me. 50 or so years of visiting exhibitions once or twice, occasionally, more frequently was my previous experience. But now I work in a gallery/exhibition I spend many sessions submerged in exhibitions or galleries full of the work of artists or makers. This could be my shangri-la but I don’t get to choose. Sometimes I spend many hours in galleries that contain art or artifacts that I can find very little connection with. I suspect the sessions with work or a subject that I don’t much like are character building and often, over time, I find something to like or even love. But I will miss your work George Shaw. Thanks for sharing so much that was so deeply personal.
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