This weekend is shaped very differently than planned. Train strikes forced us to cancel a trip to London. Not for us a festive visit to experience the sights, smells and textures of, what was once, our local market. We were supposed to meet some friends for a decade old tradition of breakfast at Borough Market. We have yet to re-establish our pre Christmas treat with them after the Covid years. But in the spirit of Advent + 2022 I can share a little story never before seen on ponderings.
Texture at Borough in the past
I was waiting alone, at Borough on one occasion, waiting for the other three festive marketers to join me. They were all a little late but as we all worked in the NHS that was nothing unusual.
A man approached me and asked if I was his Tinder date. I explained, politely that I wasn’t
15 minutes later we were both still there and he approached me again, asking if I was sure I was not his date. I assured him that I was not. He was shuffling and a bit agitated by then, his old and ill fitting ‘ date clothes’ making him look like an extra from a 1970’s Police drama.
Moments later he approached me a third time and came out with a sentence I have never forgotten. “Even if you are not here to meet me, you will do, do you want a coffee?”
Pondering has always seemed to me to be an intangible act. Private and personal and not obvious to others. Unless like me the ponderings are laid bare on paper or electronic media. Ezra’s branch of my particular family tree set forth from an insignificant corner of North East Essex for the New World just before 1620, predating the sailing of the Mayflower. Thus they missed the notoriety and celebrity of being popular histories ‘Pilgrim Fathers’
They migrated having produced a child a year, at least prior to migration and their fecundity continued unabated when they settled in Rhode Island and later The Bronx. All those babies and children while simultaneously making history!
Meanwhile my branch of the family made no history.
Late Night pondering, shared. Hopefully keeping the rust off my cerebellum. If simple pondering is enough to keep the rust away, or do I need to philosophize properly to keep things buff. Google is not much help.
And this my friends is why I should not drink three utterly delicious black coffees with caffeine in one day, all before noon. When my normal quota is usually one. Oh the giddiness of Christmas excess. Oh the insomnia. Oh Advent+2022.
P.S New family motto. Actually we were there already but didn’t make a sing and dance about it.
For someone born 60 miles inland, I have spent an extraordinary amount of time living on the coast. Yesterday I had a great day by the sea. In the morning I went to a post-Covid, reunion,social gathering of women in the majestic buildings of the Royal William Yard. Quite cheeky really as the word reunion did not apply to me. I had never met many of these people before. The cafe we met in has several massive sofas that can fairly comfortably sit ten people. I was not the only cheeky one. Lola and Hugo came with me because there is nothing they love more than a walk that terminates in a cafe. Lola is always a sociable soul, Hugo more reticent. By the time I left Lola had cuddled and been cuddled by everyone on the large sofa. I realise that makes non dog lovers recoil but there was no recoiling from her warm curly cuddles yesterday. Hugo noticed the attention she was getting and made slower progress along the row of laps. After a brief interlude of domestic admin* I was back for a small afternoon gathering of friends, mulled wine and rats.
We met in old Stonehouse pub that has recently reopened. A bar that also sells coffee and cake, a game changer for me. I am fairly certain I have never paired coffee cake with mulled wine before. It works. Hidden in the pub are four small rats. I plan to only ever find three, that way there is always a reason to return.
Did you say Quiche?Do you have any Coffee Cake?Yes, I am the Bass player, who’s asking?
* Who gives a crap about my domestic admin? There was a small order error when I ordered the festive toilet rolls. The error was quickly rectified, rather generously, by the company. Yesterday’s most pressing domestic admin task was to find homes for 100 toilet rolls.
42 rolls on each shelf.
Suddenly I have become the sort of person who over-caters for Christmas.
This painting made during the last truly cold spell in South West England, illustrates the strange phenomena that is unusual, bitter coldness in this small area of the Devon and Cornwall borders. This part of the country is much more used to wet winters. A huge shock to me when I first moved here over 30 years ago. I arrived in mid- November and the rain didn’t seem to stop until March. I had a very small child and no friends. For nearly a month I contented myself with sorting out a new house, driving to supermarkets and waiting for the rain to stop. When it didn’t stop I went out and bought properly waterproof clothing for the first time in my life. Unlike in Canada, the U.S and parts of Europe seriously wintery coats don’t get a lot of wear, so they stay around for many years, not a fashion item more like a winter friend.
House moves and changing needs mean that my actual “Old Friends” winter coats have made their way into other peoples lives by being donated to Charity shops. They have been replaced as needed by other peoples ” Old Friends” from the same or similar sources. One of them is certainly older than me. Worn only in darkest December and early January it is a Hollywood Starlet 3/4 length fake fur jacket bought on eBay for £15 about 15 years ago.
A more recent purchase is an extra long length tweed coat that called to me from a charity shop window two years ago. Essential for November to March. The shop was closed because of Covid restrictions so I had to play the long game to get it. My instincts were correct it is a fabulous garment, 100℅ wool it shrugs off all but the most persistent rain. It must also have had the most fabulous life before I met it. It was bought at Saks Fifth Avenue probably in the 60’s then very expertly remodeled in the 80’s. By the time I got it in 2020 it had been very little worn. Risking the £40 spent on it I decided to unpick the remodelling and take it back to it’s 60’s swing styling. The remodeling may have saved it, although it looked good it was almost impossible to wear as a highly styled garment because the tweed is so dense. None of the surplus fabric had been cut away which added to the discomfort but made my life so much easier when refurbishing. Quite the travelling coat from North American luxury store to and English Charity Shop found in the the Barbican, Plymouth. A reverse Mayflower journey.
My last winter coat is the newest to the collection. A barely used Barbour wax jacket from a Charity shop in Wimbledon. This one definitely is the most useful. I bought it in October this year and expect it will still be useful in April.
I am really not certain what set me off on this second hand clothing journey. Probably a love of style but not always fashion what I wanted wasn’t always available new, nor could I always afford it. What started on a whim has become a lifestyle choice for me and increasingly the ethical choice, the exact opposite of fast or throwaway fashion. When I am tired of these glorious coats they will find themselves back in a charity shop. Their unknown journeys will continue.
* Beast from the East – currently on loan but is For Sale 1.5 metres square. So quite a big beast.
This joyful scene of snowy hospitality from Monday makes me smile because I am not contemplating trying to get to work with slippery roads and an unreliable train service. In the spirit of Advent+2022 it also gives me the chance to share a photograph that has never made it into a previous ponder. This snowy view or even the same view without snow is immediately outside Gipsy Hill Station in London. Gipsy Hill Station is the home of a very famous London cat.
Fanny has her own Twitter account.
I follow Fanny on her Twitter page and was pleased to see she approves of this year’s Gipsy Hill Christmas Tree.
When I returned home to Gipsy Hill Station and Fanny was on duty I would get a warmer welcome from her than the aloof and reserved cat I shared my home with. In fact even after the aloof cat and I moved to the West Country I would still get a more joyful sense of recognition from Fanny when I returned to my London home than ever I got from my own black and white cat.
There are bonuses to being up early to take the van for a repair. Firstly this gorgeous frosted leaf and secondly an empty beach for the dogs to scamper on.
They were full of fizzing joy when they discovered they had a whole beach with no canine competition and all the humans intent on catching waves.
Even the frost got in on the making waves on some driftwood.
The winter waves have bought massive tree trunks onto Wembury Beach. Almost whole trees were just tossed onto the ground at the high tide line like the tiniest of sticks.
Wreaths are more than just decorations. If you’re driving through town during the Holiday Season, you may see a Christmas wreath on almost every front door. Most people don’t think of the rich history attached to these beautiful Christmas decorations.
The word wreath comes from the word “writhen” that was an old English word meaning “to writhe” or “to twist.” The art of hanging Christmas wreaths originated from the Romans who hung wreaths on their doors as a sign of victory and of their status in society. Women usually wore them as headdresses as a symbol of pride, and also donned them during special occasions such as weddings. Additionally, the victors of sporting events in ancient Greece were given laurel wreaths; This tradition still being used to this day during the Olympic games in which the medals are engraved with sprigs of laurel.
Christmas wreaths are made by twisting or bending evergreen branches into a large circle which are then decorated with pinecones and a red bow. The circle shape of the wreath is made to represent Christ’s eternal love, his strength, and the creation of new life. Evergreens are commonly used in the construction of the wreath due to their heartiness throughout harsh winters and that they denote strength as well as immortality. Christmas wreaths in the Catholic tradition had four candles – Three of purple, symbolizing penance, and expectation, and one of pink to represent the coming joy. The four Sundays preceding Christmas day are embodied by the four candles that were lit each Friday of Advent at dinner along with a prayer. Similarly to Catholic customs, traditional Pagan wreaths were also evergreen circles consisting of four candles. These candles represented the elements of Earth, wind, fire, and water. Their wreaths were typically used in rituals that would ensure the continuance of the circle of life.
Christmas wreaths are a beautiful decoration for your home or office that can really show off your true holiday cheer. Spread that holiday spirit and buy a Christmas wreath for yourself or someone you love!
– Gerry Wilson
So now you know. About Wreaths and also where to find the Wilsons of Wilson. Advent+22 just keeps giving. It Our first wreath is up but I need to see how it looks in daylight.
Full disclosure. I am not certain that all these images are new to the pondering but in the spirit of Advent+ 2022 but they do illustrate this pondering rather well. As yet I have not really done the festive decorating for 2022.
It has been a giddy weekend. I have attended 2/3 of all the parties that I have been to since the pandemic started. I am not counting the gatherings in my own house.
The first party of this weekend was a works do, my first ever as a volunteer employee. Being a volunteer is a funny old business. The British class system is often bubbling under the surface of institutions and organisations in this country. Upper, middle and lower as categories can be swapped out to almost anything in our mad British need to ‘ find our place’ or be ‘put in our place’ by some sort of bonkers hierarchy. The works do is always a great place to observe this Great British Idiosyncrasy.
My second party was also a first. The first as a neighbour in Stonehouse. There was no Great British Idiosyncrasy at work, just extended natterings with lovely people. Since living here I have learnt never, ever to leave the house just in time to hit a deadline. Every journey no matter how small needs a ten minute buffer in case you meet someone you know or even don’t know very well. I call this buffer the Stonehouse 10 minutes. I learnt last night that some people call it the Durnford 10, using the name of the main street into the Peninsular. Last night I met more people who will certainly slow me down in 2023 and extended my conversation range to at least 20 minutes with many others. Warmed by good food, good conversation and Prosseco I set off, after the party, to walk the dogs. I met no one and arrived back home 10 minutes early.
The Leviathon is not really grasping a tomato and this image is the random image for Advent + 2022, but were Leviathons real and enjoyed grasping tomatoes, then there would have been a queue of Leviathons making their way to our back yard this year. Taking the tomato plants down marked the end of 6 months of ripe, red tomatoes being produced outdoors in our yard. Before this year I had not ripened a single red tomato outdoors in any garden I have ever had. It has never been a bumper crop but steady production from the end of June until now. The plants were even putting out new flowers when I pulled them up.
These last few are nestling under some bananas in the hope that they will ripen. Failing that it will be fried green tomatoes on toast for Sunday breakfast. When I got up this morning I had forgotten that the tomatoes were under the bananas. In the dimpsy light before daybreak and without my glasses on the tomatoes looked like fat shiny piglets suckling under a giant yellow sow. Quite startling until focus and the kitchen light reminded me what I had set up yesterday .
I’ve had a bit of painterly block recently, since visiting Dublin to be completely specific. The weather in Dublin was wonderful, even though the evenings were dark we walked through the city enjoying the historical layers of architecture untroubled by German bombs. There are many secretive back lanes that service the busy bars and nightclubs that give Dublin it’s famed nightime economy. These back streets have seen 300 years or more of the grubby underbelly of Irish nightlife. These would have been the places of sexual liaisons in less permissive times, now the back streets are left to inebriated gents emptying their booze filled bladders and resting chefs, their faces eerily illuminated by their mobile phones as they take a few minutes off their feet. We stumbled on this nocturnal pairing so often that I felt impelled to draw a scene showing the characters isolated in their own activities. Timeless, almost and separated from a vivid, contemporary nightlife that was happening just out of sight. The live music is muffled by closed doors and windows. Illumination is incidental, and the smells of booze, urine and cooking blend to create a fragrance that is both intimate and universal.
Drawing anything quite so figurative is unusual unless I am in a drawing class, but I know that once an image sets itself in my head, nothing else can be done until it is out on paper or canvas. There can be no gloriously colourful abstracts until this dark and dirty image, drawn in charcoal, is finished to my satisfaction. That moment is finally here after a week of sneaking into the studio and scraping away with stubby, brittle sticks of charcoal. Frantic dashes to the bathroom to grab the hairspray needed to seal the details on each session’s layer before they smudge and blur. More leisurely trips to the bathroom to clean my face and fingers of the sooty smuts of obsessive creating.
All because twenty-first-century men, unintentionally captured my imagination in 17th-century back streets.
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