Earlier this week the dogs had a true post pandemic moment. Of course they probably have no concept of the pandemic but they must be aware that the past two years they have spent far more quality time with us. This week they went to the vets and a mummy was actually allowed to accompany them into the consulting room. Such is the skill of animal nurses and vets that they almost certainly have no thoughts on attending the vets without us. But for the humans @theoldmortuary visits to the vets have been additionally traumatic as we have had to wait in the car park as they have endured, and not always silently, their various treatments and procedures. Our veteran 24 year old cat took the single ticket, one way trip to the surgery last summer and Hugo has had a very intimate area probed. His howls of indignity filled the car park and set off supportive howls from all the dogs in the car park. Lola in particular took the howling to operatic levels of sound and drama. So as they snuggle on the rug I imagine they are looking at me with gratitude.
But in reality I think they would like me to move on and leave them in peace.
Candy coloured houses. The clear blue sky of yesterday lunchtime gave me this gorgeous photo. These homes are on the beginning and end of my dog walks. The dogs pay no attention to the colours of the houses but are very particular about sniffing all the canine messages that are left on the low walls to the front gardens. Sunshine has really lifted this week out of the rigours of January. The Christmas selection tins of chocolates are beginning to look completely ravaged which is another sign of the seasons moving on in an encouraging way. I think I am unusual in loving the fruit creams, so for me a ravaged tin is one that only holds anything that isn’t a fruit cream. Either way sunshine and ravaged sweet tins are fine markers of the Northern Hemisphere turning towards springtime!
Very close to sunrise and Spearmint, the seal keeps a watchful eye on a paddleboarder. She escorts him out of the water but decides not to clamber up the slope that he uses to exit the water. Instead she decides to swim off to a nearby swimming beach.
Just moments later with the sunrise properly established she finds a beach with several swimmers. All the swimmers know not to be in the water with her and step away from their proposed swims.
Spearmint takes a few moments to bask in the rising sun.
And have a bit of a morning face wash with her flippers.
The swimmers all managed to sneak into the water on the far side of the beach and swam as she settled down for a sleep.
Its been a long two months without much sun. Sunrise and a seal is a lovely way to start the day.
Funny to start an early morning blog with a sunset but this one is a pointer to the next day, which is today.
Yesterday was a day of dreadful mists and traditional West Country Greige.Until this gloriously over the top sunset arrived, better late than never! The whole day had been an impenetratable colour and sensation of meh. My actual day was hardly any more enlightened with dull, domestic tasks and my relaxed moments filled with a book I had no wish to read. Over Christmas a small pile of lovely new books has appeared. I have yet to start any of them due to other reading commitments. In the greatest piece of bad luck, this months book group book is by a new- to- me author that I have a tiny bit of history with. I will name no names but the author is a well known T.V. presenter whose books, apparently, are both breathtaking and on many lists of bestsellers. Prior to Christmas,and probably against my better judgement I downloaded one of her literary mistresspieces. Having read one chapter I returned it, the prose being not quite to my taste. Flimsy would be my best description. Imagine my horror when the book club book for January was by the same author. I decided to adopt the cold water swimming approach and just get straight into it. I dedicated all of my reading time over two days plus some extra to get it done so that I could start on my Christmas pile.
Was my one chapter and out behaviour the correct approach? Mostly yes, but the plot of the book club,book choice, was really quite clever and deserved much better, deeper writing than the celebrity author had bothered with. Surprising really as she is not a foolish woman and has a wide breadth of life experiences. The editor also had an off day, some of the inaccuracies were absolute howlers that had me reading them several times to try and make some sense of them. There was no sense to them!
So, bad weather and bad book was yesterday and so far I have no idea what today will bring, but my, very cold, early morning walk shows promise.
The dawn sky was as good as last nights sunset. There is a millionaire parked up in the Sound.
Luxury Yacht just off Drakes Island.
I think I might have chosen somewhere a little warmer to park my $250 million super yacht in January. Presumably the owner of both the Dallas Cowboys and this boat has his reasons.
More heart warming than a Super Yacht was this bouquet of flowers on a bench. The bench is dedicated to someone, now deceased, who loved this area.
The dew that had formed at dawn created a poignant reminder of the tears we all have for the people and moments that we have lost forever.
And an even more powerful reminder to push on through the greige days because the sun always returns, eventually.
Misty nights have so much more charm than misty mornings, currently. There is a cloak of greige over everything this morning. It started to creep in last night making our evening walk softer and more mysterious.
At the book club meeting yesterday a friend said she felt suffocated by the current weather. This morning it is easy to sympathise with that statement. January really is a hard month to love.
There was a break in the greige yesterday. I am ashamed to say I missed it, a fellow ‘bobber’ grabbed this photograph yesterday morning at Trematon.
Is the 10th of January 2022 a little late to conclude the reading and viewing plans of the 2021 Festive season?
Even the 10th of January is pushing the truth a bit as my piles of to-be- read books are nicely replenished by the festive season. Just a nice number to revel in rather than overwhelm me.
This book gave me this particular deadline as it is the Bookworms Book Group read and the meeting is today. For completeness I also watched the BBC 4 part dramatisation. Link below.
I enjoyed both, David Nichols writes books that have emotional depth even if some of his characters lack it, deliberately. The BBC drama had the added benefit of giving me 10 minutes when I could enjoy the acting talents of my lovely next door neighbour, Keith,who had, unknown to me, a small part in episode 3.
I say ‘unknown to me’ as if I insist on knowing where my neighbour has his small parts. This is not the case!
Us gave me light relief after an ill advised Christmas read. My favourite historical period to read is what is known in English speaking worlds as The Jazz Age or Roaring Twenties or in French Années Folles.
My book of choice was-
On Christmas Eve I commented that I was unsure where the book was going. By Christmas Day I was all to aware that the destination was Jersey in World War 2. Even more of a surprise and grimly shocking was that I was actually reading a Biography. It is not that the book wasn’t well written or that I am not glad to have read it but maybe not my usual subject matter for the Yuletide!
This time last year our Christmas decorations had been packed away extra carefully in preparation for a house move. Not a single one was broken. The job this year is much easier. They are just stored away in shoe boxes and then kept in a large Sandalwood Chest which in itself a tough old thing that survived the Indian Uprising of 1857-59. A series of mutinies and rebellions against the British East India Company that functioned as a sovereign power on behalf of the British Crown. The uprising is more properly known as the First War of Independence. 900, 000 people, mostly Indians lost their lives in a series of violent and cruel events where civilians were the largest group of victims. Truly dreadful things were done to innocent people. All of the usual cruel and demeaning acts of war and domination plus a torture that is readily relatable to everyone who cooks. A paste of mashed chillies and peppers was applied to the eyes, genitals and rectums of victims.
Our Sandalwood box arrived in Britain after the Partition of India in 1947 and has lived with me since the death of my parents. It has lived a peaceful life for the last 30 years protecting Christmas decorations.
A somewhat grim meandering for a ponder about Christmas decorations , but not without reason.
With a nod to history, our Christmas tree always has a few peacoocks, an unintended but direct nod to the Victorian domination and rule of India. Only the tail is visible in the picture above. This may just be family folklore but it does make some sense.
It would have been rather dull to remove our Christmas tree without some form of celebration. The tree has been part of our lives for a month and has provided light for the darkest of days and a focal point for our festive gatherings. Mince pies and Baileys was the perfect accompaniment to a prickly end of the Festive Season.
A photograph never lies. Digital photography is certainly a big liar and analogue photography was not so squeaky clean either. Check out dead child Victorian photography to see how photographers altered the truth.
No deliberate deception is intended by my window picture but one quick glance might suggest now is a good time for the early morning elimination walk for the dogs. It is not a good time, the rain is blowing sideways and no amount of the ‘ right’ clothing is going to make any walk this morning a pleasure. Maybe the dogs are cleverer than I think, they got me up at 5 this morning for a quick comfort break in the back yard.
None of this is actually the point of this blog. This house is surrounded on three sides by the sea. The fish in our window are swimming in the only direction that would take them to dry land. Having only just realised this I feel compelled to turn them around. Having done that I now wonder if they were always fleeing predators.
Not every ‘bob’ renders a blogworthy photo. Todays sea temperature was 10 degrees and despite it looking like a murky, bumpy ride, it was a pretty good swim. The currents though were something else. A moments inattention and one current swept us off towards the rocks. The swim back then took us into another current which pulled us quickly in the opposite direction. This area is not called Devils Point for nothing. Fortunately we are all more than one year experienced at swimming from Tranquility Bay and know well enough the tricksy currents and the need to carefully look out for one another.
My pre swimming energy came from a festive breakfast cereal.
We didn’t manage to eat any of them during the festive season. I’m not sure I particularly need to buy them again except that they provide the most glorious whiff of nostalgia if you plunge your nose into the packet before pouring them into a cereal bowl. I am hugely nose orientated. For inexplicable festive reasons we also have a mulled wine spice air freshener for the loo. No sane person on the planet needs their bathroom to smell like a bar in December, it just needs not to smell of poo. I am a festive smell marketing directors favourite shopper…
In other news I remember that pre-Christmas I wittered on about a sewing project but couldnt reveal too much as the item created was a gift. May I introduce you to Madame Cholet. A Womble of Wimbledon Common who gathers the left over embellishments from a man who brings huge joy to some of the streets of London.
Should you be wildy interested in Wombles the link above gives you the Madame Cholet official biography.
My Madame Cholet was created from completely recycled fabrics. Her eyes are the only new thing about her. I bought an original and second hand sewing pattern from EBay.
The fabrics came from my own stash. The stash of a friend and fellow artist, Tess.
The whole project was inspired by a man who brings so much joy to the London streets that he cycles on. Wombles are keen recyclers and as this amazing man, who has turned tragedy into joy, cycled past me I wondered what the wombles would make of any bits that might blow off his bike or costumes. ( I suspect he is a master craftsman and bits do not really drop off) You can find him on Instagram.
Is there a point to this blog I hear myself and many other people thinking. I’m writing it as I warm up, it could end up as complete nonsense, which is exactly what we talk as we thaw out.
There is. This meandering blog comes from a very dull January day from an entirely average person who has never excelled at anything.
Writing a daily blog is about stitching any old stuff together to tell a story.
Making a womble out of mine and other peoples cast offs is more or less the same.
Swimming in cold water really is no big deal.
Most of us are ordinary,there really is no need to be special to achieve things.
Anyone can turn nothing into something. We all just need a tiny scrap of inspiration.
My morning walk, at dawn, was a chilly experience. I was wrapped up snuggly but the wintery wind nibbled, coldly, at my fingers and ears. From this picture you can see that there were already hardy types out swimming. I was so grateful to be warm inside layers of winter clothing. My mind was elsewhere as I also knew that I had plans to be swimming at sunset. Nothing seems quite so contrary as knowing that a well and appropriately dressed walk is pretty cold and yet there are plans afoot to take a swim later in the day
My first day back at the museum, post Christmas, was the usual lovely mix of talking to visitors and catching up with colleagues. With all afternoon breaks covered and a last loooooooong conversation with a visitor it was time to rush home for a quick dog walk and a slow enrobement of my winter swimming wet suit. My legs and feet, tired from a day of many steps in museum galleries just wanted a cup of tea and ten minutes on the sofa. Instead they were forced into constraining neoprene and forced to walk again, this time to the beach.
There were only three bobbers available for the sunset swim. We were the lucky ones, the sea was as calm as a mill pond and the light was quite magical. The tide was coming in, everything conspired towards a very succesful bob. While swimming we didn’t particularly notice the water temperature of 11 degrees and had longer in the water than we would usually do at this time of year. Getting out was a bit of a shock, our feet were all a bit useless at walking on dry land and the dressing process was hampered by fingers that felt like ice cold silky sausages. No words can describe just how good it feels once our clothes are back on and we have warm drinks to hand. Looking out over the bay, as we nattered, made a January evening look gorgeous.
theoldmortuary.design 