When I decided to mark Advent by celebrating serendipity I had no idea that Serendipity would appear at my feet on a morning dog walk. Just where a dog shadow is projected on the pavement you can see a metal insert. This is one of many Sherlock Holmes quotes that run along this street. For a few years Conan Doyle lived on this street and ran his G.P practice here. These quotations are a gentle homage to the author and his most famous character.
I have walked this way hundreds of times and never before have I seen this particular quotation.
It is serendipitously apt because this blog is almost entirely created upon the observation of trifles. And yet I have failed to observe this quote until today. Doubly serendipitously I used to catch my bus home from University College in London opposite 221 b Baker Street the literary address of Sherlock Holmes.
Yesterday, as usual, the plates in my internal dialogue were spinning.
Is there chatter inside your head? Or is it relatively quiet there? There has recently been a conversation in the media, that I have been aware of, about how busy human heads are. Some people have a chatty internal monologue that narrates their life, while others have a quiet, serene inner landscape. The folks with the internal monologue simply cannot imagine not having one — and vice versa.
My head is a busy, busy space. Now I no longer work for an organisation, it is randomly busy constantly.
I have synesthesia. My thinking and doing processes are not quite the same as other people.
Learning new and difficult skills gently eases the vivid fairground that my internal monologue resembles. Conforming to standard thinking for the benefit of learning, set by others quiets my mind. It was hard as a small person to adhere to the thinking processes of external forces but by the age of ten I had pretty much learned that life was a lot easier that way.
Life as a semi-retired person whose only work is Life, Art and using my transferable skills,does not involve some of the things I struggle with most. Struggling was actually good for me.
I have never quite managed to quit the Fairground for the things on the list below. I pretended to with limited success. I may have fooled others but I knew I was just pretending.
1. Advanced Maths.
2. The Harvard referencing system
3. Foreign languages
4. Colour by numbers paintings.
5. Following instructions.
There are many other things that I struggle with but deferring to my synesthesia, inexplicably, helps me seem competent.
This means that these days my head is much more Fairground than Zen Garden. Because it can be. Leaving my fully creative head at the age of tenish was an entirely pragmatic and practical way to proceed into adulthood. Easing my way back, more fully into my creative head at 60 has been an absolute pleasure. I know that I can function outside the Fairground but the Fairground is a more fertile place for me. Life has given me the tools I need to slip into the Zen Garden. I am grateful to have the choice.
P.S Going into an actual Fairground scares the pants off me. Way, way too stimulating. Entering a Zen space however is absolute pleasure. My internal monologue and real life sit happily at odds with one another.
This blog was inspired by a conversation I had in a choir last night and a conversation when I was mature student studying art.
“Isn’t it great to be yourself again when you work less” ✓
” Synesthesia ? You must love Kandinsy” X
White Zig Zags. Kandinsky. Peggy Guggenheim Collection. Venice.
Below is a link that gives some insight into how synesthesia affected Kandinsy.
I realise that it really is great to be able to think more like myself now I work less. But because I understand my own Fairground better with age it doesn’t necessarily help me to decode Kandinsky and his Fairground. He may not have had a fairground!
Will someone ever write a learned article about me mentally singing Gaudette and painting a Christmas bauble that looks like a blackberry.
I think not! Link below to the definitive Gaudette
This top image is contrary. Yesterday bad weather and serendipity took us to Tavistock market. A place of colour and bustle, but also these beautiful white meringues.
I had found a Belle Epoque mirror on a second-hand site for a very small amount of money. An early morning drive to Tavistock would give us the chance to collect it and walk the dogs on Dartmoor.
The weather had other ideas, and by the time we hit the moors on our way to Tavistock we were in the worst sort of rainstorm. The dogs still needed walking but as luck would have it Tavistock has an ancient covered market.
Somewhere we could browse and people watch, and the dogs could stretch their legs and enjoy the mixed smells of market life. I am a sucker for the market vibe. I love the juxtaposition of colours, smells and people. Throw Christmas into the mix and things could not get more fancy.
Tavistock is a market town that is traditional in every sense. Country people come into the town to stock up stuff that sustains them in their rural, and often isolated homes out in the wildness of the moor. Tavistock is a town where people wear country clothing because they need to, not because it is a fashion trend. Deerstalkers, the iconic hat of Sherlock Holmes are worn as a matter of course. This is the land of The Hound of the Baskervilles.
Tavistock market is the location of Butchers Hall, the roof is one of my favourite complicated photos.
As we are drawing towards the end of 2023, I thought I would just thtow in some other market pictures of the past year.
Only the middle one was taken at Tavistock y.esterday. The top one was in Bangkok and the last one was Hong Kong. All featuring food but I also have hats and slippers to share.
Hats in Tavistock.
And slippers in Venice.
For the serendipitous and fascinating love of markets.
What is something others do that sparks your admiration?
I spend my entire life in admiration for the skills of others. Even skills that I would never wish to have. This picture is a case in point. How do people become App designers and what skills does it require. My life is enriched massively by Apps and yet I know nothing about that career choice.
App design could not be further from my skillset and yet with the use of Apps on my phone I have managed to create a ponder out of this one picture. Just by googling and exploring my google picture file more fully than I usually do.
We came upon this ornate back gate, in Venice on one of our meanderings. I wasn’t sure how to weave it into a blog or if I would ever use it. But it enchants me so I googled the name over the gate and a blog emerged. This blog is all delicious serendipity.
In a gorgeous twist of serendipity Claude Monet had been here before us, in 1908.
The front entrance of Ramo De Ca Dario
Like me Claude was a little reluctant to visit Venice.
I don’t know what Claude’s reluctance was, mine was caused by a particularly smelly visit many years ago. The visit had shattered my illusions but I am so glad I returned and just like Claude I am already planning another visit. Which takes me back to App appreciation. My phone can tell me exactly where and when I took this photo.
It can also show me all the photos that I took nearby.
This just blows me away, I can be incredibly lazy. My phone tells me there is an App update. I usually diligently do a download and think no more about it but App uploads are not just about better functionality. Sometimes really useful new features appear. The little black dots mark out the photos I took on one particular day and the route of my 20,000 steps. This is such a useful tool for planning future visits. So much more to see…
Just as I was beginning to despair of the ever shortening days made shorter by bad weather, the sun came up. Not only that, my long dog walk of the day took in quite a bit of rust.
So sunshine and rust immediately altered my frame of mind.
My absolute favourite colour combination occurred on a resting gig.
Rust and the colours of Greece
Unfortunately the public toilets were not open on my arrival. A little disappointing if I am honest.
But as luck would have it I still have a thirty year old Radar key which gives access to disability toilets so I never quite got to the rather desperate tone of this message. So I was able to deploy another message on a block.
I have no idea what the point of these boulder messages are, quick research has garnered no explanation. But here is one that expresses my need to get out of the car and actually walk the dogs.
Using all the ones bathed in sunlight is a small blogging victory.
Sunrise, a flat tide and good weather is one of my favourite things to photograph. It starts the day well. I pulled this one out of my archive. The last few days have been dull and very wet. Thank goodness for sequins and festive-season appropriate clothes.
If the weather outside is Frightful
But my sequins are delightful
I will glow, I will glow, I will glow.
I discovered lurex when I was about 5 and performing in a ballet school performance. Wearing twinkly fabric became a secret passion. I am drawn to anything with a bit of twink or metallic embellishments. The clothes of the disco era made my life complete. If I had an ounce of entertaining talent the world of show business would be my twinkling oyster.
Failing that being a host or bar staff at a glamorous gay club would be the perfect career choice. Every day is a sequin day. Drag Queen, for obvious reasons, is an unobtainable goal. I am already a woman, no strapping required.
As things stand in the real world December is my month to shine.
I have a tiny twinkling capsule wardrobe. Four items that can add pizzazz to the day plus a vintage fake tiger fur jacket.
December gives me a pass to sparkle on a daily basis. Doing every day things wearing a little bit of twinkle lifts the spirits . Dog walk in a sequin skirt, obviously I am just walking the dogs before a lunch date. Cryptic black T-shirt how normcore is that?
Maybe this is the point to remember Shane McGowan of The Pogues.
Fairytale of New York
It was Christmas Eve, babe In the drunk tank An old man said to me, “Won’t see another one” And then he sang a song “The Rare Old Mountain Dew” I turned my face away And dreamed about you Got on a lucky one Came in 18 to one I’ve got a feeling This year’s for me and you So happy Christmas I love you, baby I can see a better time When all our dreams come true They’ve got cars big as bars, they’ve got rivers of gold But the wind goes right through you, it’s no place for the old When you first took my hand on a cold Christmas Eve You promised me Broadway was waiting for me You were handsome You were pretty, Queen of New York City When the band finished playing They howled out for more Sinatra was swinging, all the drunks they were singing We kissed on a corner then danced through the night The boys of the NYPD choir Were singing “Galway Bay” And the bells were ringing out For Christmas day You’re a bum, you’re a punk You’re an old slut on junk Lying there almost dead on a drip in that bed You scumbag, you maggot You cheap lousy faggot Happy Christmas your arse I pray God it’s our last The boys of the NYPD choir Still singing “Galway Bay” And the bells were ringing out For Christmas day I could have been someone Well, so could anyone You took my dreams from me When I first found you I kept them with me, babe I put them with my own Can’t make it all alone I’ve built my dreams around you The boys of the NYPD choir Still singing “Galway Bay” And the bells are ringing out For Christmas day
Not all contemporary Christmas music is money-making goop. Link below.
I know a blog has gone down well when at some point in the day someone quotes it back to me. Also my stats go up, but that is less pleasurable than meeting someone who wants to talk about the blog.
It was news to me that I have been spelling ‘pizzazz’ wrong all my life.
Maybe I can blame my rural North East Essex youth where people still spoke with a soft accent rather than the better known Estuary English which is now synonymous with Essex.
There was no i in our pizzazz when I was growing up and for all of my life until yesterday. There was a rabbit hole of discovery on line that briefly swallowed me up. You can click on the link or not
I think I have always enjoyed words that include zeds.
Reliably first on the front row of a Querty keyboard.
Deliciously somnolent when written or typed repetitively. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
The funny thing is that I must always have ignored spell check and pressed on with my own abbreviated version as the Whatsapp message at the top of the blog shows.
I was at school with a boy who had a zed in all of his names, Juliusz Bezjak Szpytma, I was very envious.
Imagine my excitement when I discovered that the devices used to light gas hobs had piezoelectric cells!
Enough, time to draw this blog to an end before I pass its Zenith.
Word of the Year 2023 After more than 32,000 votes, and a team of language experts, Oxford’s Word of the Year 2023 is… rizz.
What does it take to command attention without even trying. A whole lot of charisma, or the shortened form, ‘rizz’.
Pertaining to someone’s ability to attract another person through style, charm, or attractiveness, this term is from the middle part of the word ‘charisma’, which is an unusual word formation pattern. Other examples include ‘fridge’ (refrigerator) and ‘flu’ (influenza).
In our bobbing world of wacky conversations we certainly discuss the theory of rizz we just didn’t know there was a twinkly new word for it. The word ‘allure’ was used.
15 of us have been cold water swimming, ‘bobbing’ for nearly 3 years. In that time we have gathered irregular non-bobbers who come to watch from the sidelines. There are benches where family and friends can sit and take in the sea air.
Allure or rizz as it can be called is an entirely unintentional characteristic. I’ve had it all my life, this is not a boast just a statement. From conversations after swimming you either have it or you don’t. As you can see from the top photo. I am an entirely normal human being , not glam in any way. You would pass me in the street both now and thirty years ago, as in the portrait. What neither the portrait or photo show is the message writ large on my forehead that says ” Talk to me”
Rizz, is both a blessing and a curse. Strangers can be fascinating but sometimes there just isn’t the time or space in my schedule for a deep and meaningful with someone I don’t know.
One bobbers mum came to watch us one day last summer. She has rizz and she knows how to use it. ( I don’t use it because I am at heart an introvert, it uses me.) When we got out of the water she was deep in conversation with a man . By a gorgeous blogging piece of serendipity they were both from Oxford. He was originally from Plymouth but after a long career in glamour photography had settled in Oxford. How on earth did he alight next to a woman, also from Oxford to enjoy a 30 minute conversation in the sun. Marie has Rizz, it exudes out of her like honey from a hive.
Rizz is genetic. Marie’s daughter, a bobber has it. A few weeks ago I was talking to a stranger. ( Of course I was!) We alighted on a person we both knew in common. ” Magnetic smile” were the exact words used. Marie’s daughter emitting her rizz!
So there we are, a whole blog about a word I hadn’t heard of until two days ago.
Now about the portrait, and there are two more by other artists, also done because of rizz. When I was a mature Fine Art student I was approached to have my portrait painted as part of someone else’s course work because I had an interesting face. For interesting I think we can swap the word rizz. Curiously not one of the three portraits have the words ‘ talk to me’ across my forehead. I absolutely know those words are there because why else would an introvert get so involved in extrovert things.
Tranquility Bay was not too tranquil at the surface yesterday , but what goes on beneath? The National Marine Aquarium, in Plymouth is featured in a T.V programme. Our watery neighbours serendipitously revealed on television.
There is a tank dedicated to the waters of Plymouth Sound so it is possible to see who else is in the water when we bob.
We never see Starfish unless a deceased one washes up on the beach but we do see and occasionally feel the remnants of jelly fish.
There is something peaceful about these bobbing neighbours of ours. They quietly go about their day while the bobbers excitedly swim about just above their watery realm. We tend to imagine bigger more troublesome things. The trouble is, of course, more in our imagination than in reality. We invade their world noisily and with a lot of splashing, quietly observed by sea creatures going about their lives with far less fuss.
Serendipity comes in all shapes and forms. This question landed just as I had done the morning dog walk.
A beautiful creamy morning in December. Such a fab illustration for a blog with this question at its heart.
I am neither a night or a morning person. Greedily I love both. Once I passed the age of 30 it was obvious that I could no longer have both with the ease of youth but I can still happily enjoy the night until it bleeds into the morning. 2 or 3 am can be vivid in a way rarely found in their pm counterparts. The jolting, head nods of the early afternoon are one of my worst pieces of behaviour. They have plagued me all my life. How dreadful is that?
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