Yesterday our morning dog walk was in the city centre. The plan to be there early was thwarted by Olympic scheduling. We were obliged to make a slow start to the day to watch a local diver, Tom Daley, take part in his fifth Olympic games. He is only 30. While he toiled in Paris on a 10 metre diving board we made a leisurely start to the day with an extra coffee.
He won silver and all was well. In consequence it was very hot by the time we got to the cities over-heated concrete heart. ( Pride and the weather) The dogs and I clung to the sharp, cool shadows created by tall buildings. Following the shadows took me to the local market. An area of independent small businesses and the most multicultural and diverse area of Devon and Cornwall. Every time I go there I think I should go more often. Yesterday I found a favourite relocated junk/house clearance shop which made me very happy. It was closed Monday and Tuesday which protected me from myself. But the windows are always a joy. The paraphernalia of other peoples lives is so much more interesting than a carefully created Interiors shop. I discovered a new to me artist. Someones collection of framed images dumped in a corner. Of course I googled Gil, in the U.S these prints are collectibles.
Gil Elvgren
There were 4 framed prints of his work in the window. It is hard to imagine a home where these would have been the acceptable focal points of a sitting room in 2024.
Much more contemporary was some nearby graffiti. 3 of 9 multicoloured Lighthouses stencilled on a wall.
In some ways the two sorts of art depict the changing face of Plymouth in the 30 years of Tom Daley’s life.
Cheesy Pin-up imagery in a city where men were men, to rainbow coloured Lighthouses.
Just like the junk shop. Plymouth is a bit more open, closed some days for certain, but more open than it used to be.
Do lazy days make you feel rested or unproductive?
Another prompt from Jetpack that fires enthusiasm into my soul. Lazy days are the opposite of unproductive and being lazy is one of the most deliberate experiences to allow myself. I find lazy days to be some of the most productive, in terms of creative and useful thinking.
I probably had a lazy day yesterday, no actual commitments but a mental list of tasks that could be achieved with ease and some firm future plans put in place.
There is a car park right in the centre of the city which has broken payment machines. Two hours of free parking at least was the chance to walk the dogs somewhere different. They would be exhausted if I walked them there. Then demand a coffee break. I can’t imagine where they learned that habit. By driving them I could avoid coffee, which might still provoke a whimsical digestive system. I could window shop and visit a market while they were enthusiastically sniffing the urban realm. Everyone was happy.
Lazy days make little things really significant. I popped in to see a friend and her fruit bowl looked simply gorgeous with a cute little gourd posing on some plums.
On a busy day I might not have noticed.
Then a long, lazy walk as the moon popped up, no shops this time just the bay and the squeals of after-work swimmers.
Psychogeography and Pirates. Monday found us mingling with Pirates at a childrens book day and wandering with other peoples memories in a park. The success of a book day/ meet the author event is easily measured in our house. We have our own, newly designed Pirate Flag in the kitchen and as a family we are encouraged to greet one another with a single word salutation delivered in the gruffest of voices.
” Hearties”
We spent the morning with Childrens Author Claire Helen Walsh. The location, next to the sea at Stonehouse Lawn Tennis Club was the perfect setting for her two chosen books that took Piracy to new levels of surreal.
We played tennis with biscuits to test their relative aerodynamic qualities and then built a rocket.
Planks were walked and survival was rewarded with eye glasses and dubloons. Unicorns, dragons and aliens arrived and our glorious sequined, pink Jolly Roger Flag was designed and created and now hangs in the kitchen.
Later in the day we went to Devonport Park where the adventures of the mind continued in an adventure playground full of cargo nets and timber. The timber, of course, would have previously been ‘Shivered’
Devonport Park is hugely popular but has only recently become a regular location for us. But historically Hannahs grandparents met there, the park was known as a place for chance encounters of the old fashioned sort. For Hannah it was always a family favourite location. The many memorial plaques found in the flower beds record the many other people whose lives and loves were touched by the peace and tranquility of the park. I suspect the cargo nets and timbers will call us back more often now.
Surely the sign of a good book event, we are still living in the imaginative world of Surreal Pirates who briefly took over a tennis club.
The day turned out to have two longer than planned walks and one of the scheduled activities fell off the days achievement list. This lovely feather greeted me after I had had a hair cut. Despite the drizzle we walked a local circuit and were rewarded with the beautiful scent of woodsmoke held close to the ground by morning mist.
Then after the second primping session of the day, a manicure,there were no busses to take me back into the City so I walked in and found some locally themed Street Art.
I had planned to meet some family members in The Box Gallery and Museum but the closest I got was to see The Box depicted in the Street Art.
I missed all the fun of the gallery.
But we met up just in time to explore Sainsbury with all the excitement of a four year old. Not a moment of the day wasted.
A slow Sunday was had yesterday with no massive plans beyond getting all the tree sap washed off our campervan and righting a blogging wrong of the last month.
On the 28th May we accidentally went to a Cafe that a friend had wanted to visit with us. A link to that day’s blog is above. He was not impressed that we had gone without him, we corrected that error on Sunday.
The coffee and the food is wonderful.
Motorbikes that are displayed on the carpet are still intriguing. And Kevin, who was on a legitimate break from work, with his work phone casually dropped on the floor, was ready to talk for England.
Despite excellent company ( 3 women) he was fueled up and ready to natter, so we were forgiven for our earlier visit without him
The rest of our day passed with dog walks and Newspaper reading.There is a new mural being painted on a local pub.
And a neighbour is struggling to make a colour choice for their render.
Peonies bloomed under slightly cloudy skies.
And somewhat amazingly our first ice cream of the summer was eaten.
Yesterday we started a day of dull chores with a free gift of coffee. Just enough for four double espresso. Our gift came from Monmouth Coffee in Borough Market.
And before that it came from Bolivia.
We needed something pretty perky to make a day of chores magical.
As it turns out Finca Floribondio did not do a bad job at all. Our first Industrial Estate of the day, yes, it was ‘that’ kind of a day, turned out to be not what you might expect at all. Commercial Road in Plymouth was an Industrial Estate long before such things were invented. We go there to get our car and van tyres fixed or replaced. That was job number one of the day. Me and the dogs walked while Hannah took the van. The magic or dreamlike powers of Floripondio gave me a great view and water for the dogs to play in.
View of the Citadel from Teats Hill slipway.
Some time had passed since the first dose of coffee so we made a plan to rendezvous at a coffee shop in a Motorbike Dealers. Once again the magic of Floripondo made things a little dreamlike.
A motorbike showroom where bikes are allowed on carpet!
Window view to prove we were in an Industrial Estate.
Now with full disclosure I must say I know nothing about motorbikes beyond an artistic love of sprockets.
Motorbike cafes have a dress code which we only just fitted by accidentally wearing dark colours. Leather is de rigour. Fabulously engineered leather to keep its wearers safe in case of incidental or accidental damage. Human skin and tarmac or gravel at high speed is not a good combination, neither is collision good for bones or internal organs. Motorbike leathers are phenomenal. However they can make their wearers look like a cross between a storm trooper and a lizard/insect. As we enjoyed our coffee and a bacon sarnie every one of these beautiful lizard insects stopped to pay homage to this beautiful object.
Now the coffee at this cafe was also wonderful but without the hallucinogenic properties of Finca Floripondio we were returned to normal humans who had chores to do in utterly banal and dull industrial estates. The magic of a freeby wiped out by normal life.
The magic only returned when we started researching actually buying some Finca Floripondio beans.
The first hit on Google was a surprise and took us straight back to one of our favourite Hong Kong coffee shops. Internet cookies are powerful things, no calories though!
However nothing could tempt us to pay HKD 468 for 200g of beans even as a holiday treat.
Our coffee treat will come from London, when we deserve it.
A monumental early morning, my first time with Rusty Reg on his own. Look II by Antony Gormley is usually surrounded by people rod fishing. They don’t really appreciate people wanting to take pictures and I don’t really appreciate taking pictures with bits of fishing rod altering the silhouette of a fine piece of sculpture.
This morning, no fishing, some early morning sunshine and a lot of lovely rust.
Not all of it of the monumental kind.
Just behind Look II there is a commemative plaque, slightly monumental, that celebrates the achievement of Francis Chichester.
And then, just a few steps away, was a monumental Seagull shit. So utterly monumental I had to put my coffee cup down to give a sense of proportion.
I am so very glad I side stepped that. Monumentally glad.
Back in the ( time) zone. A day of homecoming chores. Getting our composite door serviced and a new handle fitted. Prescriptions collected and electricians contacted. Honestly the Tim Horton coffee was an unplanned Canadian throwback. As it happens, Hugo and Lola, who will never visit Canada, rather like a small portion of traditional ‘timbits’
In other throwbacks of the day I visited the trusty Abebooks, secondhand book store to catch up on two book purchases which travelling with only hand luggage had made conpletely impossible during our travels. First up the Chicago Diner Cook Book.
And secondly the book published to accompany the Nick Cave exhibition that we went to at the Museum of Contemporary Art, Chicago.
Our Toronto catch up purchases were supplied by John Lewis who sell the brand Atheleta, even better all items were in the sale. So now we have compression leggings which would have stopped our feet getting plump and puffy on our flights. Back to normal now.
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.
Desire Paths have always fascinated me. Reading a recent blog from Spitalfields Life, nudged me into writing this blog today.
When I was a student at Barts Hospital my chosen Desire Path took 5 minutes off my journey to Moorgate Station. It was an ancient right of way. For nearly a thousand years medics and butchers have shared adjacent plots in the City of London.
My short cut, or desire path, took me from the hospital boundary through slaughter yards, with bloodied water running into open drains. My desire path was almost certainly created by butchers, through history, making their way to and from one of the City gates. Moor Gate, so named because it led out to marshy ground known as Moor Fields. The to and fro on my little cut way was not just medical folk and butchers trying to make a quick access or escape, but, by passing so close to active slaughter yards the route may only have been tolerable for those with minds and stomachs already hardened to the sight snd smells of blood and gore. Butchers sometimes used the path as walking wounded, a quick way in to seek medical attention when sharp knives and cleavers have cut through living human flesh. A cleaver cutting through a femoral artery is a mucky and life or limb threatening event. Butchers, before the days of Health and Safety, often had bits missing, and the butchers of Smithfield were very regular and grateful customers when Barts had a fully functioning A and E. Anyway, I digress this blog is about a coastal desire path with much less to talk about. When I returned to work at Barts in 2013 I was hugely sad, but not entirely surprised, that I could no longer follow my short cut to Moorgate.
A desire path (often referred to as a desire line in transportation planning), also known as a game trail, social trail, fishermen trail, herd path, cow path, elephant path, goat track, pig trail, use trail and bootleg trail, is an unplanned small trail created as a consequence of mechanical erosion caused by human or animal traffic. The path usually represents the shortest or the most easily navigated route between an origin and destination, and the width and severity of its surface erosion are often indicators of the traffic level it receives.Desire paths typically emerge as convenient shortcuts where more deliberately constructed paths take a longer or more circuitous route, have gaps, or are non-existent. Once someone has already treaded out a path through the natural vegetation, subsequent traffics tend to follow that visibly existing route (as it is more convenient than carving out a new path by oneself), and the repeated trampling will further erode away both the remaining groundcover and the soil quality that allows easy revegetation.*
The desire path I walk on most days has none of the history of the Barts desire path. It cuts off only seconds of an already brief walk to the beach . It is the area in sunlight in this picture, the actual, brick path runs close to the wall of Stonehouse Tennis Club. But such is pondering that I only realised today that the South West Coastal Path, that both this Desire, and official, brick path lead to, must be made up entirely of historic desire paths that have been linked together. Unexpected enlightenment on a Wednesday
Today I am a rubbish photographer and have managed to cut off the vital words on this plaque. South West Coastal Path are the words I needed but managed not to include in this image.
One of my recent paintings combined with typewriting sums this whole blog up really. Todays in particular but pretty much in general too.
theoldmortuary.design 