What is your favorite place to go in your city?
In my city or any other I always like to regularly inhabit coffee shops. Particularly independent or very very small chain coffee shops. As I write this I am heading towards Italy, some would argue that I am heading to the worlds leading coffee nation. I am sure that soon enough I will have some good coffee stories to share.
What book are you reading right now?
A little extra ponder for the weekend. I am currently reading Mothers Boy by Patrick Gale.
Normally I might not answer this prompt but this particular book, author and subject are almost the foundation of my love of reading . The Mother’s Boy at the centre of this novel is the poet Charles Causley who wrote a poem called Timothy Winters.
At the heart of the poem is a disadvantaged boy living in post-war Britain. Someone whose opportunities the Welfare State was designed to improve. It was probably the first working class poem I had ever been exposed to.
I have stuck with Causley ever since. Then I moved near to Launceston where he lived and became familiar with the geography of his home town. This beautiful portrait of him was done by an artist I know.
I have read many factual books about Charles Causley but this fictional version, based on facts, of his life is so enjoyable. By an author who never puts a foot wrong, in my opinion. I am having a good weekend in my bookish moments
November is one of my favourite months. It feels like a pause or a moment of restfulness before the hurly burly of the festive season. The quality of light when the sun appears, makes normal things more luminous.
November is also my favourite month because my birthday appears in the middle of it. This week I discovered that the authors of two blogs that I follow also have their birthdays in the same week. And we are all virtually the same age. I consider these two women to be blog friends, mentors and inspiration. Their blogs can be found on the links below.
Real world friends with similar birthdays would probably gather on a comfy sofa and natter away amongst plump cushions.
Cushions in a Coffee Shop in St Agnes
We would talk about our friends, families, pets and life in general.
I would certainly moan about the two viruses that have dampened the spirit of November 2023 for me. Dampened but not damaged. Although by keeping away from people because I was a walking virus pool I have been a lot less social in my real world this November.
Old piece of timber washed up on a beach.
Friends, be they virtual or actual are one of the magic ingredients of life. They are invaluable wherever and however they manifest themselves. They help us make sense of the world.
Happy Birthdays November friends.
(All photographs taken using November light.)
All week I have been dodging bad weather and a virus. The weather mostly dodged me, I did not dodge the virus and as a consequence despite the morning swim being in beautiful weather and with the extra excitement of it being a birthday bob. I also dodged the bob and had a dry bob. Basically a bob without the need to take my clothes off and get wet. Dry bobs also give the chance to have a good old natter with Coach Andy and drink coffee from a thermos. A dodged bob is never a wasted bob when you can do all of the components except the cold, wet one.
An early morning trip to a bleak industrial estate on the edge of a damp and bleak Dartmoor had me running into my archives to find some quick colour sketches done on Dartmoor on brighter days. The top one was a crumpled crown from an amateur dramatic store on the far north west boundary of Dartmoor. My subject for today may also seem somewhat bleak so bright illustrations will lighten the mood. Rather sadly I have three friends who are experiencing the deep grief of the recent loss of a loved person. I found this interesting piece of prose that really reflects the grieving experience and life beyond it.
A real nugget of wisdom for bleak times. I have found three bleak paintings which represent Dartmoor as it is today and perhaps reflect something of the prose.
And then finally a little uplift of colour and the knowledge that colour does eventually flood back into a grieving heart. Pumpkins in the sun.
What part of your routine do you always try to skip if you can?
If something is successfully skipped from a routine, often enough, I would suggest that it is no longer in the routine. I routinely read the daily prompts from Jetpack, via my WordPress Blog platform. But I skip them more often than I respond. I don’t try to skip them. They are mostly of no interest and eminently skippable. Unless like this one I can give it a few moments of ponder. Before I pondered or blogged on a daily basis I already took random photographs The two I am sneaking into this blog were taken 5 years ago in Seoul. They have appeared in blogs before but they are actually 5 years old today, so an anniversary outing and a random ponder with nowhere to go is a useful combination.
A not so funny thing happened and then I had a birthday when two funny things happened. A few weeks ago, as a diligent clothes recycler, I had created a pile of clothes to go to the Charity/Op shop. All good stuff that I no longer needed. An improptu trip to a small local town gave me the chance to drop the bag of clothes and household items. There was a warm glow of a job well done as I skipped into the shop.
The warm feeling ebbed away over the ensuing weeks as my beloved Levi’s failed to put in an appearance from any clean washing piles. Somehow they had gone with other, much less loved garments to make money for charity. I shouldn’t feel bitter but I do.
Today I am 66 and guess what? A new pair of Levi 501’s popped out of birthday wrapping paper. This is the second time in my life that this has happened. Exactly 50 years ago the same thing was my 16th birthday gift. Those 501’s on that occasion came from a small shop called Len Smith in Sandpit Lane, Braintree. Those jeans lasted so long I know that these ones will outlive me if I can keep a hold of them. Another less traumatic thing this morning was some birthday money from my former mother-in-law. I wrote and phoned her to thank her after I had researched rambling roses to put on our yard wall. Her name is Brenda and I found a rose called Brenda which I will buy along with another called Rambling Rector to discourage our neighbours cats and chickens from taunting the dogs from a six foot high wall.
Not everyone can encourage their mother-in-law to scramble on a wall with a vicar to deter pests.
What is good about having a pet?
I have had pets all my life so I have no way to judge the merits of pet owning versus not. For me the game changer was becoming a dog owner. No longer able to allow my pets to just be. Dogs required more of me than any cat/ guinea pig/ rabbit or mouse. Dogs do not passively love in return for good food, a clean environment and affection. Dogs actively love. This was a shock to me 10 years ago when I became a first time dog owner. But the biggest benefit of dog owning is the regular and at times tedious walks that they require. I had 42 years of a career in medical imaging. A working life spent often in basements with blackout screens on windows. As a non dog owner I believed that I loved walking. Walking on weekends or days off is not the same as walking three times a day, often on more or less the same routes. I am very very lucky with my dog walking. For a long while the dogs were walked in the epic landscape of London, then for a while on a Cornish nature reserve and now on a peninsula of land surrounded on three sides by the sea. For the first time in my life, dog walking connected me to the changes of the seasons on my daily walks. I am acutely tuned in to the minor changes of my outdoor environment.
I still go for different walks on weekends as a treat, but the daily walks are the foundations of my life. They punctuate the day, make me weather and daylight aware. Sometimes they are the inspiration for this blog. I talk to strangers. I notice things…
Like many families mine was reshaped by World War 1 and World War 2. Armistice Day was always taken seriously by my family and Remembrance Sunday marked in some way. Not being church goers our observation was always more educational and thoughtful . No prayers or hymn singing unless we were caught off guard at War Memorials. I continue to observe but not be observant.
5 years ago when we lived at the actual Old Mortuary we decided to plant a small poppy field on an abandoned strip of land that ran down the side of the Chapel of Rest. It seemed like an interesting way to mark 100 years since the end of World War 1 and would provide an appropriate backdrop to the war memorial that was adjacent to our house. Poppies grow on battlefields because damaged churned up soil are the perfect location for field poppies to thrive. Our little strip of land was not a traditional battle field but had been the dumping ground for left over tarmac or rubble from road repairs. Nature had done its very best to reclaim the land with weeds and grasses.
We just added some topsoil and seed. The project was hugely successful.
We didn’t limit ourselves to field poppies. Oriental poppies also loved the scrappy piece of land.
Poppies make the most fascinating subjects for photography and painting.
Unrelated to our gardening poppies I discovered yesterday that other artists celebrate armistice by making poppy art in November. On a windswept trip to Exmouth I discovered this slightly irreverent but beautifully site specific knitting and crochet post box topper marking Armistice Day.
May your thoughts be with you
Yesterday was a day of contrasts. One minute congratulating ourselves on getting out in good weather and the next minute being drenched by sudden heavy downpours. Nothing in this picture suggests that our blissful evening walk was about to be interrupted by another drenching. But by the time we had walked the five minutes home we were sodden.
Our day was about tasks in different parts of the city. An early morning appointment at Mount Batten had all the promise of a bright sunrise but we had failed to notice that the wind was rather brisk. The planned dog walk after Mount Batten jobs were done was a very blustery affair. Despite having to drive for half an hour we were fairly close to home if we had had a speed boat.
The arrow more or less points to our usual swimming area. Viewed from a pier on a very cold and windy day the idea of swimming there seemed like utter madness, but we knew that friends of ours would be in the water as we looked across and that we had already been in at that exact spot two days ago. The mind plays funny tricks when we are wrapped up in warm coats and fully dressed. Swimming in November seems unimaginable. But when a swim is planned and we are already slightly chilly nothing seems more normal. And at 4pm intrepid bobbers were dipping just below the arrow. Things could not have looked more different.
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