November and December in Asia and Australia tricked my skin that winter had not arrived. Late January and the truth has started to hurt. Skin soothed by an early Southern Hemisphere Summer is now calling out for richer moisturiser and at the same time as rejecting it by breaking out under the pressure of heavier creams.Rain and constant storms and a small dog requiring a walk are not good friends with my face.
These hand blown baubles were reflecting the weak sun of a rainy day on the Mornington Peninsular, Victoria. They look like tiny apothecary jars. I wish my bathroom cabinet looked as pretty as I search for balm to nurture my sore skin. But they remind me of a moment not so long ago when rain did not wreak havoc with my complexion. Mornington has an extreme heatwave warning today. So absolutely no point wishing I was there right now, my skin would still be sore, but for different reasons. The baubles would be more vivid in harsh unforgiving sunlight.
I love a soundbite. A tiny little statement or sentence that sums something up.
Nostalgia is not a Strategy – Mark Carney at Davos yesterday.
Headline grabbing from the Canadian Prime Minister at Davos when most headlines are grabbed by the Pussy Grabber.
Far be it from me to disagree with a Prime Minster with integrity but how can anyone possibly strategise without nostalgia.
Strategies are built using current information and past experience.
People are usually only sentimental or wistful about things in the past that were successful, pleasurable or effective.
All things that would be admirable in a strategy.
You might wonder why my humble blog is pondering the lofty soundbites of a World Leader. Well, when Mr Carney was running the Bank of England our thighs briefly touched whilst sitting on the underground in London. In truth the only famous thigh I have ever briefly touched in a non professional situation.
I don’t imagine he remembers that moment so I will not be firing off a quick email to him to help him with his next speech.
But if you are reading this Mark.
It is impossible to Strategise effectively without Nostalgia.
My post-Christmas tidy up brought me some joy with the rediscovery of my old portable typewriter’s history.
My Olympus SM was manufactured in Germany in 1939 and sold to its first owner W.H Butterworth while he lived at 28, Chiltern Drive, Braddell Heights, Singapore. The original sales document is still in the ginger coloured carrying case, resting on my sofa.
I was in Singapore in November, had I remembered this fact I would almost certainly have taken myself off on a wild goose chase to see my typewriters first home.
Somewhere in this photo from the Marina Bay swimming pool is Braddell Heights. Very far distant but there nevertheless.
Why such a wild goose chase?
I quite like a wild goose chase. Sometimes a seemingly pointless task brings unexpected experiences. So I regret not chasing that particular goose but Singapore had other wildlife.
But we did not meet Otters in the Botanic Gardens, which was a dissapointment
So perhaps we should have chased the odd wild goose.
Blog #1378 wallowed in nostalgia and some dog extra sensory perception. I am comforted by nostalgia and a little sadness is easily softened by the reliving of many happy moments in the same place. But familiar places are never dull. Especially on a day when the sunshine quota was high.
Early visits to Fowey in the 70’s and 80’s, were to a seaside town still functioning as a place where normal people lived, and tourism and locals co-existed. Butchers, Bakers, a Fishmongers and Pharmacy all filled Fore Street The physical buildings remain more or less the same but their form and function have changed to service the hoardes of wealthy Airbnbers and luxury hotel visitors who flock to Cornwall every year.
As a visitor myself I am as much a part of the problem as anyone who has travelled further to enjoy the beauty and texture of the place.
In this old Fishing and Pirating Port , tourists have become the catch of the day and buccaneers treasure chest all rolled into one.
Shops and businesses change hands and function almost overnight. We have become loyal customers to specific buildings not so much the business operating within it.
Hot Chocolate @SaltSociety Fowey.
Three generations of family and friends have shared the joy of Fowey on day trips and weekend breaks. The Boom years of tourism. But what comes next.
The tin merchants of 4,000 years ago could not have imagined the Piracy of 400 years ago. Just as I struggle with the changes of 40 years of tourism. Casting forward 40, 400 or even 4,000 years what will be the niche business of Fowey?
Pondering the future during Twixtmas. Round and round , mind meandering at its best.
P.S A glorious shop window viewed from inside. Giant Quality Street Sweets.
This picture is a good representation of how my mind feels pondering all that future Fowey…
My feet, and the rest of me woke up at a normalish time 6:00 and needed a light on. Wind and rain outside, but not quite visible. Sunrise was at 6:24 today. Another sure sign that the ‘scrag end of summer’ is fully established in these parts. At this time of day I am accustomed to considering an early dog walk to avoid the heat of the day. Today the consideration is rain avoidance. Hurricane Erin is the cause of our disturbed weather, she is heading to our shores in a less powerful but still disruptive way.
Among my many youthful plans, being a weather forecaster was one potential career path, as was Agony Aunt. Both could easily be revived as interests in semi-retirement.I also wanted to be a window-dresser at Selfridges on Oxford Street, maybe less transferable to the dabbling level of interest that I currently operate on for the other two. One can casually offer advice to others and comment on the weather. Not always at the same time of course.But rearranging a shops window display is not something that can be dabbled at without both causing alarm and probably setting off an actual alarm.
It must have been at this time of year, a year ago that I considered getting a little App operated weather station for our yard. Maybe I should do something about that.
Semi-retirement is like that, so much to do, so little time to do it with all that other dabbling and procrastination going on… Not to mention the weather, because here it comes.
It is easy to pick up free magazines with lovely articles in the Summer months. These two fell into my hands yesterday. Primarily aimed at tourists they also give us up to date information on places that we visit often. Padstow is very location specific . Drift is more regional. Both good with a cup of coffee.
Drifting is what we did yesterday when we specifically visited Padstow. Yesterday Padstow was at Peak Padstow.
So with pasties in hand we made our way to a field overlooking the estuary. Just as visitors have done for centuries. So I made our family picnic photo look historic
My pastie was rhubarb and custard and I followed it with a gooseberry yogurt ice cream. Hardly traditional but it was a drifting kind of day and I drifted from more conventional flavours towards the joy of English Soft Fruits.
I realise now that I really value the word ‘drift’ and indeed the idea of drfting through a day. All from a magazine that I picked up on a whim.
Some days the tide and time come together to create the perfect swim. What I had not expected was for the perfect swim to set me up for the perfect uncomfortable encounter.
Some time ago myself and one of my dogs were attacked by a large local dog who had been allowed off its lead. We were both injured and traumatised, the owner of the dog left the scene of the attack without apology or any obvious concern. The incident was reported to the Police bur despite being initially supportive their interest dwindled to nothing. It has been in my mind for some time to confront this man if the chance arose. Which it did today after my perfect swim. I was somewhat surprised by my calm conversation with the individual. Since his behaviour and that of his dog on the night in question was indefensible, he had little to say and none of it of any value to me. But it feels good to know that I am no longer his silent unknown victim. He is now in no doubt of the harm he caused. A small victory but one that I am glad to have delivered eloquently.
Somewhat shaky when I got home though. Thank goodness for the perfect swim earlier.
The absolute silence in this reflective image of Sutton Harbour last night, does not in any way reflect the aural reality. The harbour had the rich sounds of the harbour through history. Tuesday evening dog walks around the harbour have the bell ringers of St Andrews Church as a regular and welcome soundscape. Seemingly performing perfectly, Tuesdays are their practice nights.
Coupled with the nearly still water in the harbour the acoustics were perfect last night. It was also the last day of the school summer term so families were filling the cafes, and their exhausted teachers were finding their way to the bars. The pavements filled with strange adult crocodiles of walkers. Large groups of colleagues making their way to their selected bar informally but formally, two by two. The only thing missing from the human crocodile were the luminous pink-tabarded attendants at either end.*
Live music spilt out from the bars across the harbour, and dancing girls made their, uncertain, way to a Salsa Bar. High heels and cobbles are tricksy at the best of time without the added uncertainty of a pre-class drink in the evening sunlight.
As seagulls circled, greedy for chips, the only thing missing from this moment , which could have been heard any time in the last 500 years, were the Fishermen and Sailors in any significant number. Fish are landed in Plymouth but the huge fish market is just a holding space for the fish auctions that are held on-line. I’m not sure what handsome young sailors en-masse do on Tuesday nights but they were not easily visible. Represented only by middle- class, older men, in two’s and fours. Pink trousered with those non-uniform, uniform caps they all wear to silently call one another from across a world crowded out by non-sailors.
The harbour hubbub and the people watching was just serendipitous concatenation at its unpredictable best last night.
A Golden Moment, I might say.
* I only realised the significance of the teacher element of last nights bar activity when I heard the crisp steps of a man walking from one bar to another. Who walks from one bar to another with recognisably crisp steps?
A man, or woman, who regularly crosses purposefully from one classroom to another. A warning sound of impending trouble that we all learn to recognise from age 5.
*Of course such a lovely evening was rich pickings on which to ponder.
A painting ponder was to sketch Sir Francis Drake and his wife Mary Newman in the contemporary attire of Summer 2025. She will be wearing a spotted flared dress for a night on the cobbles and he will be wearing the older casual sailor outfit with one significant difference. Those pink sailor trousers will be cropped to show off his shapely calves and feet in deck shoes with no socks.
Something that will require a lot more pondering is how to replace the phallic symbol of the hilt of his sword. I suspect an uncapped bottle of beer will have to do. Over-sized of course. No cold weather posing for Frank.
Sir Francis Drake on Plymouth Hoe ( a Spanish seagull has taken revenge on this day)
I love an empty seat in a welcoming space. Two empty seats are better, but not essential. This empty seat is in an old stable block that has been turned into a cafe. The stable block is about 300 years old. Horses are no longer an every day essential, but a cafe is the beating heart of contemporary culture. It is absolutely possible to imagine horses in these buildings until cars pushed them out of their bespoke buildings. What is impossible to imagine or consider is what will be the next in line when humans no longer need a cup of coffee and a place to sit down.
If I had the answer to this I would almost certainly be far too busy to live a normal life. Explaining the ‘something’ to most people would take a lot of time and effort.
Better to concentrate on the things that I don’t understand and give myself a little mental upgrade. Most of my contemporary understanding arrives accidentally at my door. I often wish I had understood something better years ago. But am always grateful that late enlightenment has arrived. Pondering helps.
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