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.
10 years ago this was Hugo posing as a louche kind of barfly, making his dog chew look like a gangster smoking at a bar.
Here he is 10 years later posing straight after a trip to the groomers who cleaned him up after his street brawl and consequent facial surgery of last week.
A different sort of barfly this time, the sort that might explain away his lop sided face by a tale of street fighting.
Same sofa, same dog, 10 years of doggy experiences. Percentage wise, most of his life is spent on this sofa gently dozing, often with a favourite human. His dreams are far more vivid than his real life. Just the one bit of drama, last week, and as you can see he has put that behind him now. Unless of course you ever happen to meet him at a bar …
English was my favourite subject by a long way. I went to a very normal State school with an excellent English department. The staff there encouraged my natural love of creativity and communication using language.
In this week of a puzzling, to many, decision by nearly 51% of the American electorate to give Donald Trump a second crack at being U.S President, I was sent a copy of a letter by an old school friend. He is equally obsessed by English. Below is his letter to The Age, an Australian Newspaper.
In the Charles Dickens novel Martin Chuzzlewit, (1843), one of the characters asks,: “f I was called upon to paint the American Eagle, how should I do it?” His companion replies,” Paint it like an eagle, I suppose.”
“No that wouldn’t do for me. I should want to draw it like a bat for its short-sightedness,, like a bantam for its bragging, like an ostrich for its putting its head in the mud. And like a phoenix for its power of springing anew from the ashes of its faults and vices and soaring up into the sky.”
While the American electorate were acting like bats and ostriches, Donald Trump somehow managed to transform himself from a bantam into a phoenix. Except as everyone but the American people know, the phoenix isn’t real it’s a myth. Meanwhile the American Eagle’s future is more uncertain than ever.
David Pullen
Martin Chuzzlewitt, fictional character created by Charles Dickens could have made this observation yesterday. From abroad it feels like a cousin ( The U.S) has entered into a relationship that outsiders can see is not healthy.
I had read an enormous amount of the works of Arthur Conan Doyle before I was twenty.My book club has directed me, this month, to read the first novel to feature Sherlock Holmes. I am loving it, particularly because the life I have lived beyond twenty has exposed me to many of Conan Doyles real life locations. Where his fictitious detective operated. I used to regularly catch my bus home from work opposite 221B Baker Street and a different bus home took me on the Brixton Road. The first crime scene where Homes and Watson work together. When I was training at Barts Hospital I was familiar with the laboratories where Holmes and Watson first met in A Study in Scarlet. Wimpole and Harley Street were neighbouring streets to my workplace in Westmoreland Street. Holmes and Watson are frequently in these streets.
So I find myself in a strange place reading a book where, once upon a time, I was free to build my own imaginary locations as a twenty year old with little life experience. Re-reading it I have none of that freedom but with that understood I find the reading of the novel even richer in detail than I did before. Places I love are brought back to life, 150 years before I ever knew them.
In another curious coincidence I currently live very very close to the location of Arthur Conan Doyles G.P practice in Durnford Street in 1882. I know where the actual Baskervilles are buried. They were Conan Doyles patients, he used their name. Who knows if they even had a hound. My house was being built while he worked here. Funny to think that our quirky old lady was just a building site or ‘ New Build Home’ when Conan Doyle was wandering these streets.
Without a Book Club I doubt I would have re-entered the world of Sherlock Holmes, I am finding the experience rather interesting.
When we decided to replan and redecorate the room I use as a studio we knew exactly the colour we wanted for the chimney breast. The green of our local harbours in the winter.
Colour chart investigating led us to Hesper.
The name intrigued me and a little googling took me not to the sea but to a Mexican Palm Tree.
Now I am wondering if I could grow a Blue Hesper Palm in the yard. More googling, perhaps not.
Monday fakery, this picture did not make it into the autumn leaf blog yesterday. My Google Pixel phone generated it from one of my photos in the ‘stylised’ setting in picture editing. Stylised uses my favourite settings and gives me a picture I might create for myself. Mostly the image is an epic fail, in my opinion, but sometimes the result is gloriously accurate, as it has been for this picture.
If I suffered from ‘Monday Morning Malaise’ this is a picture that could encourage me to ‘ get a wiggle on’.
My long term career was a seven day a week job so Mondays were not quite as significant to me, but commuting into work in London using public transport it was easy to feel that ‘Monday’ feeling emanating, if not dripping from my fellow commuters. And from the 9-5ers who arrived at 9 on a Monday and worked alongside those of us who worked shifts and On-Call rotas. I was also spared the ‘Sunday Night Dread’. Although the ‘on-call’ dread was very real any day of the week.
Now, I live a self-directed week; my Monday mornings are a little more significant than they have ever been. Monday morning is like unpacking an Amazon parcel. I don’t quite remember what is planned this week. (I can never remember what I ordered) My first job is to check my diary and I am good to go. This picture rather joyfully sums up the optimism of most of my Mondays. I realise I am lucky.
We did autumnal things yesterday in less-than-ideal autumnal settings. Hugo is restricted to 10 to 15 minute walks for the next 4 weeks, also the light levels and dampness underfoot meant that the colours and crunch of fallen autumn leaves were missing from our park walk. My photographs were disappointing. I have about ten years of autumn photographs stored on my phone so I picked a couple of favourites to brighten this blog. Nobody loves a dull brown leaf.Our walks yesterday were at the pace of a poorly dog and a two year old. We had time to observe the leaf drop at a granular level. We were also hunting for acorns to be stored in a small person’s pocket. The squirrels in this particular park have been very efficient so our small person was disappointed. She turned her attention to Hugo who was attempting his first post surgery poo. I’m sure he would have preferred less scrutiny, but she was only trying to be helpful, and thoughtfully offered him a demo in case he had forgotten his technique.
You can see what I mean about the dullness of yesterday’s leaf fall. The demo must have helped, Hugo was able to be a successful eliminator moments later.
Luckily to counter the brownness of Devonport Park, I can share a picture of beach huts in November near Swanage in Dorset. Autumn colors in a different format
Beach Huts, Knoll Beach, November 2021
Doing our favourite walks at an even slower pace than normal and for much shorter times for the next 4 weeks is going to be a challenge for us all. My 12 year archive of random photographs may be plundered more often, the blogs may get even more repetitive. Let’s see what happens.
The sun sets on the first of November an infinitely better day than 31st October. As an update, Hugo is recovering well from his trauma. Far braver than us, he boldly walked the streets of our local area with never a backward glance. We were on high alert. Despite his injuries he had responsibilities. Overnight care of one of his small people.
She in turn is offering him quiet time watching Trolls with her.
The sun rises on November. October said farewell with a violent attack on our little family, by an enormous black dog, unleashed and intent on knocking over an adult in order to make a feast of poor Hugo. Over in seconds it left him with a broken jaw, a squeezed and infected eye and multiple piercing injuries. The dog was able to take his whole head into its mouth. The owner knew serious harm had been done and still chose to walk away. The care of the vet, police and our community has lifted us from the despair of this brutal attack to a place where we feel comfortably nurtured. As I write this Hugo rests in a sunbeam, his jaw wired up and his wounds cleaned. Events like this show the dark side of one random human’s nature. But as we woke up in November we realised that for many many reasons we are extraordinarily lucky to live in a community that cares and makes that care obvious by acts of kindness. November has started as a bright and beautiful month. Long may it continue on this setting.
Long ago Hugo, when he was a puppy, was a model for neckerchiefs for a local, coastal clothing brand. After this event he is not quite the attractive chap he once was. He has a good side and a very bad side. For the time being he is only available for bookings in profile.
There is not a tiny part of me that thinks the trashy celebration of Halloween is worthy of my time. But here I am , on a day when I have precious little time sharing two Halloween images that have tickled me.
What’s something you believe everyone should know.
Spending time doing unexpected tasks can be enjoyable.
This morning I did not expect to be making knitted bunting. But an experiment at 8am worked out rather well. I picked out autumnal colours from some donated knitted triangles that had been given to a tennis club I help to run. At 11am myself and a friend were sat overlooking the sea,sewing bunting that could be used in the clubhouse during the late autumn. By midday we had had great quality nattering and had produced 3 strings of colourful bunting. Neither of us had planned to do this but the fruits of our unexpected task looks rather lovely in situ.
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