Here we are at the scrag end of November. A month of 30 short days and long nights. November starts with All Saints Day on the first. I have a huge curiosity about Saints, the lesser ones in particular. Some of them don’t really check out as particularly saintly and the crazy names and biographies are entertaining.
Horned Bovine on DartmoorNo mention of Lovers
My own particular Saint,Cornelly or Cornelius was a Roman Christian Martyr whose death was either caused by hardship or beheading. There are two ways of looking at this. Being beheaded is a hardship and extreme hardship might make a person lose their head.
What is certain in the uncertain world of saints is that head and body were parted in some way and his head found its way to Kornelmunster in Germany.
The lives of Saints are, at best, s somewhat far fetched. Cornelius is considered to be the Patron Saint of Horned Cattle but no reason is given. But there is rock solid evidence ( she says with tongue firmly in cheek) that he is the Patron Saint of Lovers. St Valentine might disagree.
Two star-crossed lovers, who suffered parental disapproval were in the chapel of Cornelius in Neuss, Germany. The carved stone sculpture of St. Cornelius bent at the waist towards them signifying his approval.
I love a saintly rabbit hole.
November transitions from All Saints Day(1st) to Saint Andrews Day(30th) He is rather too mainstream to interest me. I treasure obscurity.
Mackeral from a Fishmonger
November from All Saints, represented by St Cornelly to St Andrew. Short Days/Long Nights. Onward to December.
Overnight I pondered how to finish the ongoing painting. My observation of yesterday’s blog, that bright sunshine on water made me select similar colours for my photographs to those that I was painting with. Using the ripples above I wanted to turn my fantasy moon flowers into a flood plain with some digital tweaking. I use a load of photo editing apps and never really know what will work and jump from one to another to get the effect I think I need. The thought of turning my painting into a floodplain came from the news during the week that Storm Bert did not treat many areas as gently as he did us.
Moonflowers and Daffodils
Two things have come from my digital tweaking, combining photos from yesterday walk. The floodplain I was hoping for and an interesting image of a boat .
Floodplain and DaffodilsBoat with steps.
In other, less colourful news, I have made mushroom soup today. It tastes fab but is the colour of sludge. How do commercial soup makers create a mushroom soup that is a gorgeous pale cream but still bursts with flavour?
I know I couldn’t stop at 3 pet peeves and more would seem rather ranty. So I will just offer one peeve. And there is a sting in it for me.
I think this saying would also cover micromanaging which is also unforgivable.
I like to think just a withering look quells any egg sucking educators. But the truth of the matter is that no matter how much I dislike micromanagement and any other unsolicited advice. I actually have no idea how to suck an egg. All eggs in close proximity to me will remain resolutely unsucked.
But try to teach me how to suck eggs and you will be rewarded with at least a withering look. And believe me if my thought bubbles could actually be read you would realise I am not quite the person I present as.
Storm Bert, is not living up to his rather jovial name. His 24 hours of big seas, gusting winds, heavy rain and some structural damage have been more dispiriting than disruptive.
The Bert Gold Standard, including his cockney accent which never bothered the British says the actor.
“I still get kidded about it. But it didn’t seem to harm anybody’s enjoyment of the movie. But I do get kidded about it. The people who don’t kid me are the British. They never mentioned it — and they’re the ones who should be making fun of me and don’t.”
Anyway Dismal Bert, has inspired a painting/drawing I will crack on with him later next week.
I feel the urge to drench this blog with colour, we filled our day with it by going to a local craft festival and nattering with vivid, colourful artists.
The Studio walls were painted with an Oat colour.
And I carried on with my Autumn challenge, set by a friend when I was disparaging about another artist. I still stand by my comments, the challenge has become curiously enjoyable.
Not the bigger picture.
And finally Bert doing his worst yesterday at Tranquility Bay. Not so tranquil.
I am firmly a both kind of person in the visual sense, the two combined are very special. I am a gazer at Mountains, I have no need and not the right knees for ‘ conquering’ mountains. Unless they are fairly small versions.
I was in Arcadia, a mountainous region of Greece, recently. A wonderful place to walk and enjoy mountain air and village life. Only days before I was on an unspoilt beach on Spetses Island.
Spetses
Both locations got a full 100% satisfaction grading from me. Both offered huge fresh figs and good coffee. No need to choose one over the other. Both are fabulous especially if figs and coffee are involved.
If you could meet a historical figure, who would it be and why?
I have met so many people in my life, a few who have or will become historical figures.
Just as you should not judge a book by its cover. Historical figures may not be as fascinating as history depicts them. Just like all humans historical figures can be a mixed bag.
Honestly I can’t reliably make a decision. Obviously this is a personal opinion.
Were I to randomly meet a historical figure that would be just fine and rather fascinating. A chance to interact as equals, perhaps on a long train or aircraft journey. Somewhere that we are unable to escape one another until our book or a podcast lets us off the hook.
I suppose what I fear is not only managing my expectations but also the historical figures’ perceptions of me.
Would they give me, a non historical figure, just 30 seconds of small talk and move on when someone of more interest, to them, appears on the horizon.
As a family I have walked this area all my life. My parents were great supporters of the Festival Hall and the Southbank Centre.
Even until fairly recent times it was possible to find free or very cheap parking spaces close to the South Bank of the River Thames.
Tate Modern a Contemporary Art Gallery occupies Bankside Power station. The point at which my walking commute took me over the river towards St Pauls Cathedral and Barts Hospital behind it.
My childhood walk was not as glam or easy as the South Bank currently is. Much of the area was still quite industrial and there were many bomb sites following the Second world war.
My favourite house location in all of London are rare 17th century survivors of redevelopment and Hitler.
When Hugo was young we trained him to walk off the lead along the South Bank. The Globe Theatre was a favourite spot for a wee.
Unusually he did not wee here yesterday, but still chose a location with a similar theme.
The South Bank has also seen us on numerous riotous work nights out. Not for us the dark nights around Christmas. A mid-Summer pub crawl started at The Founders Arms not far from Waterloo Station at about 7pm and ended at The Globe Tavern about 12 hours later. There were many detours and adventures on the way. The Globe was chosen as it operated Market hours and was open to refresh the market porters of the wholesale market. Open at 6:30 in the morning.
Interesting blog below. I suspect this is the work of a blogger who did the same blogging course as me .I must check.
The problem with a walk that I have done almost all of my life but with some big gaps of not walking it, is that my points of interest are entirely personal, not even particularly blog worthy I realise.
I will do better next time.
Below curvascious concrete at Tate Modern.
And a smelly reminiscence.
The old fragrance of a Power Station can be caught in the air here, a vestigia of a past life.
Quite by accident my birthday became a bit of a Royal event.
To start with I celebrated by having a bath, I am not sure I remember when I last had a bath . I was reminded by a friend that Queen Victoria only bathed once a year, regardless of whether she needed it or not.
Then my breakfast destination of Marias Cafe in Borough Market had a picture of King Charles having a cup of tea with Camilla at Marias. The cheek of it, I already share my birthday with the King , our breakfast destination was always a little more exclusive and a little rougher round the edges than normal Royal destonations.
We hit Borough market early and enjoyed it without huge numbers of people. If offered the opportunity to do anything in London I doubt many people would choose to replicate their morning and evening commute from their last job. However, my commute was so interesting, but like all commuters, I couldn’t give it the time it deserved. Praising myself when I completed the journey in record time.
We took four hours and 10,000 steps to cover the same route that I habitually did in about twenty minutes especially on the inward journey to work. We were curious wanderers, and our curious wander will fill two blogs not one.
For starters please read this link for the market history.
1000, years of history written by a much more competent narrator than me.
My relationship with Borough Market began as it rose like a Phoenix from a sad decline in the 1970’s and 80’s.
In the eighties I was living in Brighton on the South Coast and my commute into London by train,for courses, delivered me to London Bridge Station. I was used to passing a wholesale fruit and veg market as I walked to and from nearby London Teaching Hospitals.
In the late 90’s I started to study Fine Art and noticed that the previously down-at-heel market had a bright new buzz about it as I walked past on my trips to galleries and art institutions. And so began my tourist years. Joyful weekend visits to a bustling market filled with food and humans. My relationship with the market may have stayed at the frantic weekend tourist level were it not for an unplanned career change while I was living in London and the market was just a twenty minute train ride away.
I would happily have worked until retirement at University College, London, but fate had other ideas. My department was moved to a huge Cardiac Department at Barts Hospital in the City of London. My commute swapped from Central London, not far from Oxford Street and Marylebone, to the City. London Bridge once again became my station of choice, and I experienced the market’s quieter moments from six in the morning until midnight as I commuted for changing shift patterns and on-call commitments. The reason we decided to go early yesterday, we had the dogs with us and the crowds at busier times would not be good for them.
It is only in writing this blog that I have created a chronological understanding of my 40 year relationship with this fabulous place. I will be back at Christmas at full on tourist season, either way it is a very special place.
The coolest thing I ever found was knowledge and love of our capital city, London. My parents who lived 50 miles away always made sure I visited several times a year. Times were different but I was encouraged to confidently travel there alone and navigate public transport from about the age of 15.
What’s the coolest thing you’ve ever found (and kept)?
November was always a favourite time to visit and as I write I am sitting in a hotel room in my former home town of Crystal Palace overlooking the city where I lived and worked for 12 years.
The dogs have already done one of their favourite walks in Dulwich Village where we lived when we first moved to London.
Next one up is a circuit of Crystal Palace Triangle. Another home town we loved living in.
Tomorrow Borough Market for breakfast. But to finish an arty farty image from our London flat. It feels a little odd not to be there, but the new owners might not need two women and two dogs being all nostalgic in their home.
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