#1351 theoldmortuary ponders.

I am not sure where this blog is heading it involves Quinces and pockets, Rupert the Bear with a scintilla of handbags.

Before I set off on a meandering blog, here are my timeline notes.

Cooking Quinces

My paternal grandmother cooked Quinces.

She dressed like Rupert the Bears mother.

She always wore over garments with lots of pockets, just like Mrs Bear.

Read the link below for an understanding of women and pockets. And the garment of my grandmother and Rupert’s mother.

https://www.bbc.co.uk/culture/article/20250909-how-womens-pockets-became-so-controversial?fbclid=IwVERTSANawOZleHRuA2FlbQIxMAABHsam-SYak48p-nVY59P9nH8fRIb0RD1yfoYPOkieRYnfsM31SQh_PCDxHEI3_aem_Q-iuuMw_Y0fe4Abf4q_qgw&sfnsn=scwspmo

When anyone asks what my favourite or most influential book is I ponder long and hard. It fluctuates, at the moment it is The Count of Monte Cristo.

But in researching the Grandmother Rupert link I realise my most influential books are the Rupert Annuals which I received almost every year for twenty years.

1960

Goodness knows when I last opened this book. But I know every page like the back of my hand. Out of curiosity I sniffed it, out of nowhere, if you ignore my lachrymal glands, small pricking tears appeared in my eyes. Maybe it was the dust…

Mrs Bear appears often  wearing a long pinny or a light over-garment with pockets.

I am very much a pocket woman. Since hitting semi-retirement I have relied on pockets rather than a day to day handbag.  That has only changed in the last couple of months now I am obliged to carry an Epipen on any outing that might involve food or drink.

I think pockets were my genetic or literary gift from my grandmother/Mrs Bear. A dress or skirt is not a garment for me without pockets. If there are no pockets in a mass produced garment I don’t buy them or I add them. Pockets should be cotton or a natural fabric. Cotton bags from shops work well.

Dress with Aesop pockets.

Less so now that leggings come with pockets. It is easy to hide leggings under longish dresses and skirts.

Whilst cooking quinces or indeed anything I have apron pockets so large that I could carry a litter of squirming puppies.

Maybe more Rupert musings in a future blog and certainly more Quince.

Day 2 of Quince cooking beckons.

#1350 theoldmortuary ponders.

What principles define how you live?

Hmmm,

I am mostly very law abiding.

Rules and protocols require a little more consideration and questioning.

Wisdom and my moral compass fill in the gaps. Kindness, good listening and reflection are also good gap fillers.

And the aesthetics of everything colours life, sometimes with little effort and other times with a good deal of thought and experimentation.

Saints are not my cup of tea, so failure on all these principles happens and thank goodness for that. Saints are soooo tedious.

I believe net curtains are the work of the Devil. Especially above ground level. Make them plain and call them Voile. Nobody’s windows need to look like fancy underwear. Another lesser known principal but useful all the same.

#1349 theoldmortuary ponders.

What did I know about Dawlish before yesterday.

There is a warren of static caravan parks. Acre upon acre of box dwellings with net curtains that occlude distant views of the sea.

On a stormy day waves break over the trains.

I have been through Dawlish hundreds of times , usually on a non stopping train.

Yesterday I was on a stopping train and I got off. Yesterday getting off the train I met some of the famous Black Swans.

Enjoyed a rhubarb and custard ice cream.

And was on a pristine beach less than 5 minutes after leaving the station.

Dawlish is a really pretty place. I imagine it might be hell on earth in the summer months. The amusement arcades are certainly a version of that. Monstrous plastic ‘Family Entertainment ‘ spaces eager to take money under bright lights and loud music.

More fool me allowing my prejudice against seaside tat and net curtains stop me from visiting somewhere less than an hour from home.

Travel does broaden the mind even if it doesn’t involve a lot of miles.

A lovely loo too.

#1348 theoldmortuary ponders

Friday Morning Bob © Kim Bobber

Friday morning bob, high tide, no sun and it was a chilly one. But we had a good time with great nattering. I have been on foot all week due to missing the due date for my cars MOT. Today was the day and the car passed, not with glowing references. A return visit to the garage next week will sort my brakes out and I can get two new tyres this weekend.  Being on foot in Stonehouse there is always the risk of fascinating conversations and my week without wheels has been a cornucopia of great chat. But my productivity has suffered at home. The lists are not quite as short as they should be at 5pm on a Friday. More jolly bobbers to end a blog which is largely about real world chattering.

Bobbers swimming out to the buoy ©Kim Bobber
Bobbers at the Buoy © Kim Bobber

You can tell the sea is getting colder, our post-bobbing conversations are getting a little funkier. Today’s topic is the quality of knicker gussets. Unsurprisingly, there is no good news on the gusset front; manufacturing corners are often cut, and profit-boosting measures do not always result in a comfortable gusset.

Thankfully my other Stonehouse conversations do not feature knickers at all. Have a good weekend.

.

#1346 theoldmortuary ponders.

What was the hardest personal goal you’ve set for yourself?

I could never identify the hardest personal goal that I set myself because the minute I achieve goals they hold no significance or value to them. Imposter syndrome I suspect or some derivative form of self-deprecation.  The most useful goal was certainly to learn to comfortably swim in the cold sea near my home. Not because it is a hugely valuable skill but for some fairly unfathomable reason it gives me an extra kick up the pants to get on with things and procrastinate less.

A valuable life lesson with an obscure  start in life.

#1345 theoldmortuary ponders

Autumn colours have started to put in an appearance. Late this year. Because of strange weather, leaves have just turned brown and dropped or been blown off.

My first gloriously red leaf arrived on the 3rd of October a whole week later than last year.

Other more personal signs of Autumn arrived only two days ago. My skin and hair suddenly announced that my summer regime of moisturising  and curl protection were not enough for autumns shorter, colder days. Thicker and richer potions are required from now on.

We also set out on a definite post summer trip yesterday. Totnes is a favourite town to visit but it is a hugely popular tourist destination. In Summer the narrow, old streets are full to the brim with people exploring the fascinating shops, cafes and intriguing ambiance of a town that has a unique personality. Not so much of a problem for us, but the dogs resent the busyness when all they want to do is sniff and amble very slowly. Autumn has a quieter vibe that the dogs are happier with.

For a while in the late 80’s and 90’s I worked in Totnes. Having recently moved from Brighton it felt more like home than my actual new home. Visiting always makes my heart and soul feel nourished in lots of ways.

Yesterday in the spirit of drinking coffee in one of the worlds funkiest towns we sat on the funkiest window seats. Swings looking out on the world.

Not far away, another shop was ‘smudging’  the area.  Autumn felt very real and welcome in such an atmosphere.

It is hard not to feel that unusual forces are in control in Totnes. The place has a good proportion of independent businesses, some stay loyal to the locations that I have known for years, while others flit about, changing location and appearance like mythical shape shifters of the buildings world.

I feel our trip to Totnes has properly kick-started autumn/ fall. No more longing for a summer day, just full acceptance of mellower moments.

And finally…

Street Art, Totnes style.

#1344 theoldmortuary ponders

Available retail space.

My morning dog walk with a 3 year old took me past this available retail space, as we were hunting down a toilet.My giddy imagination immediately yearned for an over-stocked corner shop. The sort of corner shop that stands vividly with a warm welcome in residential areas all over Britain and provides mouse traps, condoms and loaves of bread with the musical soundtrack of the owners ethnic origins. Since returning to the West Country I have yet to find a corner shop that welcomes me in, from 6 in the morning until midnight  with a cornucopia of random and yet essential goods, some of which I have never heard of before. The joy of getting the last train home and being able to buy a can of soup and some baclava for supper, in a shop that is warm, exotic smelling and welcoming is hard to quantify. But I didn’t realise how joyous it was until I no longer had it. I doubt this pretty space will ever fulfil my fantasies but there is no harm in dreaming.

Sharp shadows in my fantasy shop.

#1343 theoldmortuary ponders.

Here is my first portrait of the storm season. Storm Amy.

Storm Amy gave great calm before the storm vibes. Which is when I started sketching her out. The calm patch lasted so long I inadvertently finished the quick sketch. She looked nothing like a storm*.

When Storm Amy crashed to our shores she was wild and gusty but ultimately much kinder to our coastline and river front than we anticipated.

When she coincided with high tide overnight  there was an hour or two of the sounds of a disaster movie. Gusts and booms, crashing waves and a frightened fox screaming in the back lane.

But Amy had already identified herself in these parts as a benign storm, troubling only dustbins  and foxes.

Digitally I double exposed calm Amy with my reference image of a woman in thoughtful repose.

It gave Amy enough grit to make me comfortable with her.  I needed to create a soundscape of the back lane to add some unexpected crash and bang.

The soundscape of our back lane is a weaved collage of an old watercolour sketch. Assembled before having a touch of fox added at the last minute.

Storm Amy, a little underwhelming in these parts

#1342 theoldmortuary ponders.

What’s a topic or issue about which you’ve changed your mind?

I am not a huge small talk person. Some people are adept at such things and have one or two key topics to discuss with strangers. When people discover that I dabble with paint and have exhibited a bit, they often ask who my favourite artist is. The truth is that I have a carousel of favourites.

I am not the greatest fan of Salvador Dali but one of his paintings is forever on my carousel of favourites.

So much going on, and that light emerging from the cliff is something I try to emulate often. Just a little peep of unexpected brightness.

Mark Rothko also spins perpetually on my Carousel.

Right now, as I write this, I am eagerly planning a trip to see The Vanity of Small Difference by Grayson Perry. A man who, like me grew up in Essex and observed class and possessions with interest. Same place and we are the same age.

It is 13 years since I last saw his brilliant tapestries. This week I suspect that he, will once again, be my favourite artist when I am fresh from seeing them again.

Does all this switch back of favourites make me fickle? I am the same about everything that I have an interest in. Certainty is, for me, always enlivened by uncertainty and new information.