#1315 theoldmortuary ponders.

Thank goodness for a photo archive. We are off for our annual end of the summer weekend in the campervan. The good weather however has not come with us. Just one good photo from our evening walk.

One good photo.

Photos aside we had a great long coastal walk exploring all the old  tiny bungalow and chalet lanes where pre and post war dwellings are being turned into minimalist architects holiday aspirations. In accordance with the end of the season. All cafes closed at 4pm. We set off at 4:30 and by 7:30 when we returned we were wearily in need of a cup of tea and a wee.Triumphant though because we had managed to stay one foot ahead of ominous rain clouds that hovered just across the bay.

2023

Nobody needs to see those rain clouds so the same bay from 2023 will bring much better quality joy. Although the National Trust does use a photo that I could have taken today to advertise the area.

Possibly the most prolonged and windiest nights of our camping  career brought the rain, eventually, to our sliding, campervan door. Today may be a book day.

#1314 theoldmortuary ponders.

Friday was a day of tasks. A good day to share this quote from Michael Rosen.

Today this blog could be cunning and I could be like a conjurer or magician and hide stuff.

Life admin would be my hidden stuff. The tedium of filling up the shampoo, conditioner and body wash in the shower. Only to discover that the big bottles in the bathroom store cupboard were squeakily close to being empty themselves. Or driving to the ugliest industrial estate on the planet to collect some newly framed pictures and then heading out to the tip to recycle the many defunct small electricals that have gathered in a corner of shame in our garage. Loading and unloading the dishwasher and the washing machine and all the jizz and jazz of normal life

Where could I hide all this tedium, under my conjurers hat or my wizards sleeve?

I could hide it behind the two hours of absolute pleasure of the day.

Bobbing with the bobbers in Tranquility Bay.

Or singing with a new short term choir. Singing The London Songs.

Singing The London Songs is rather fabulous, for the first time in my life the composer and musical director wants people to sound like they are from London. Oh the joy of releasing my glottal stops and dropping my H’s. Just to please someone else’s creative vision. My parents, in their quiet corner of an Essex churchyard, would be furious if a gathering of ashes could express themselves.

#1313 theoldmortuary ponders.

The Naked Gardener. When we bought this house 4 years ago it had been done up to sell. The bathroom was an homage to greyness and masculinity and definitely frolicking. The shower is a huge glass box and the bath is a light flashing jacuzzi that takes an hour to fill. We always knew we needed to soften the whole thing. We need not have worried, all our house plants pretended to be light starved, over watered and generally unhappy in most other rooms. The bathroom was an obvious plant convalescent room. Some still failed but others thrived.

For most of the summer, it has been obvious that thriving was certainly going on at the cost of light levels in the room. Plans were made, while showering, for a September day of houseplant care. Two hours of leaf culling and some reorganisation went to plan.

This morning it is hard to believe how much perkier everyone is.

Without us being fully aware this plant has had a baby. The baby is actually an adolescent. And so a bigger job of moving the adolescent out of the shared pot is required.

More plant planning while showering. Which is about as frolicksome as this bathroom gets. Unless there are three people under 6 in the bath which is actually very frolicksome.

Mid-century stereo cabinet reinvented as a bathroom storage unit.

#1312 theoldmortuary ponders.

Mountain Lake by Salvadore Dali @ The Box

A Surreal day yesterday, taking a 2.5 year old to Forbidden Territories at a local art gallery.

She was the perfect companion because all 2.5 year olds live a surreal life most of the time.

She is very well used to being asked what is going on in the pictures in her books. So chatting about Surrealist Landscapes was entirely within her skill range.

My surreal moment was needing to describe the normal use of a telephone to her.

@ Tate Modern

Her only experience of a land line phone is an old Fisher Price toy, not without its own surreal elements in my opinion. I can’t say it was ever my favourite thing my children played with.

She loved the colours of the gallery walls and liked to lean against them so she could ‘ be art’.

Sometime later this week we will take an adult trip to the exhibition, fabulous I am sure but maybe it will not be so much fun.

#1311 theoldmortuary ponders.

First day of official Nana/Nona Daycare with just the Nana half of the care team. After a summer of unofficial play dates and cousins from Hong Kong we are busy sorting out new stuff fir the care of one small person. A new car seat should have been the big excitement but the box it came in was way more exciting.

In fact the day was shared fun wise between a cardboard box at home and a shiny new wheelbarrow at the Tennis Club.

Meal times are enlivened by a new game, developed to encourage conversation skills.

Never mind the under sixes improving conversation and listening skills. I know quite a few adults who could use this game to perk up their great disability of being boring, holding court or being way too fond of the sound of their own voice and opinions.

Says the woman who writes a blog that, more or less, only expresses her own doings and ponderings.

#1310 theoldmortuary ponders

The Tidal Pool, Firestone Bay.

My walking and swimming destination of the day. A day when the summer,which ended just one day ago, has been declared the best on record.

In between my idyllic swim this morning and the afternoon dog walk. Rain fell briefly, in fat, heavy, blobs. Followed by fabulous sunshine. Meteorological Autumn has started in a frisky mood. My raincoat is officially out!

#1309 theoldmortuary ponders.

September the first. A Monday. I like months and years that start on a Monday, I find them curiously comforting. The first day of September and our weekend absolutely underlined that the scrag end of the scrag end of summer is upon us. Four seasons in one weekend. Always the wrong clothes and we camped out twice. Once deliberately in the van and once accidentally in our spare room.

Spare room camping was not dissimilar to staying in an airbnb. Just one that is quirkily decorated with our own ‘stuff’ and is the one room that still has a chandelier.

Spare room camping was caused by us completely forgetting to make the bed ready for colder weather and watching too much of a T.V drama. There was no inner spark that made either of us want to retrieve a quilt from the roof-space storage at 11 pm.

Our spare room sits snugly in the centre of the house. The window faces west to a different portion of the sea. Not that you can see the sea but you can hear it, and with a high tide at 11:30 we could hear waves crashing on rocks. Mini-break perfection in our own home.

Apparently more perfection is heading our way. An Indian Summer.

My Dad was always an optimistic  man but especially optimistic about Indian Summers.

I too love the idea of an Indian Summer.

It wasn’t until I looked up this definition that I realised that my whole life is now an Indian Summer. Although I challenge the word late, preferring later. I could be wrong of course. If I R.I.P tomorrow I am exceedingly late but if I have 30 or more years to go then later is certainly more correct.

Since I prefer the later approach I will make very sure to avoid the ‘ Killing Frost’ Wikipedia mentions. Surely a good enough reason to get the warmer quilt down from the roof storage.

#1308 theoldmortuary ponders

Lola is celebrating a full recovery from her cruciate ligament injury in the Spring. She has been on a regime of very limited exercise and plenty of rest. A lifestyle that suited her life goals perfectly. We have avoided beautiful,  wide-open beaches all summer because the temptation to be too giddy was  annoying for Hugo and Lola who took a very dim view of walking on the lead in places where extravagant dog behaviour is the norm. The only time Lola engages in joyful exercise willingly.

Talk to the paws because the ears are not listening.

Hugo set about recovering stray seaweed at the tides edge, while Lola allowed us some very rare moments of being photogenic and compliant.

Just twelve hours later their playground was the location of our Basking Shark, breakfast experience. Almost unbelievable really.

Once home and with a reliable signal Dr Google tells me that Trevone is a ‘hotspot’ for seeing basking sharks.

#1307 theoldmortuary ponders.

Interview someone — a friend, another blogger, your mother, the mailman — and write a post based on their responses.

Good Morning Basking Shark, of all the creatures I might have imagined eating breakfast with you were not on my list. As the second largest shark in the world I was completely unaware that my chosen breakfast spot, Trevone Bay was also yours. 

For me a bacon bap.

For you the attraction is Shrimp, Lavae, Zooplancton, Copepods and fish eggs.

For two hours we watched as you basked in the bay. We watched as families belly-boarded, oblivious to you just 100 yards from  their happy squeals.

Follow the boys head up to see the sharks dorsal fin.

What a privilege. The shark however was unavailable for comment. Not wishing to speak with his mouth full.

#1306 theoldmortuary ponders.

I had an accidental art day yesterday. Starting with a surprise print sale. I was already a bit guilty that my creative output had dropped to zero for a month or so and I had to admit that and felt like I was slacking somewhat, while visiting other artists in their studios this week.

The unexpected sale of a print made me get out a watercolour doodle from early July.

Woman with drapes.

I worked onto it with a biro and an ink pencil with no great plans beyond doing some digital tweakery along the way. Maybe it is the slow approach of autumn but my woman with drapes emerged as a woman perching on a pumpkin.

The original drapes had been inspired by Cyril Power, a Modernist artist. Best known for his posters. His use of curves in straight places has always fascinated me.

Which took me to digital tweakery yesterday.

Two photographs superimposed.

Which then led to a full Cyril Power moment

My Cyril Power moment.

And that should really have been the end of it. But the pumpkin was unplanned, so I wondered if I could tweak a bit more and move my serene woman into somewhere with more serenity than a pumpkin patch. A bit more tweaking and by adding a still reflective pool,  the original serenity and calm are restored. The pumpkin is gone.

And now when I visit other artists in their studios I can say I am working on a study of serenity. That makes me feel super serene , and I can still see Cyril Power in this image. Just calmer and less frenetic.