Mel: Great shot. Obviously I’m still the photographer in the family!! But kudos where due!
yes, thats true… also the ‘writer of the family’, plus you can ‘pick out any tune by ear on the piano’… was it Ray who said that?Renaissance Woman! we other siblings are but stunted, over awed, saplings in your shade!
…. actually i feel a little like Gordon da Vinci… little known younger brother of the maestroLeonardo magnanimously allowed him to white wash the wall and put up the shelf on which the mona lisa stood
the shelf, needless to say was wonky, no spirit levels in those days, some say that is why la Giaconda has a skewhiff smile?
hmm if we were the spice girls, i’d inevitably be sporty? as i’m ‘not bad at badminton’ and was captain of waynefletes chess club
urbane. (kurt urbane? nevermind) paste up, plenty of ganesha graffiti around town, the elephant schnozzed remover of obstacles… a face fit for the zeitgeist i’ve been missing the urban environment, fun under most circumstances..
praha was often at its best, meandering home across karlov most, suprised at dawn, nights of bleary extravagance
freewheelin’ around town on my bike, custard sunshine, today… the place curiously half empty, lacking herds, hordes and throng… bikes down kensington gardens! the first lockdown had the feel of zombie apocalypse, now after this long winter, more the ennui of enuff cycled in from saltdean along the undercliff, astonishing the vocal range of the ocean … swoosh, gurgle, seethe, plop, splosh… sumptuous sunset light on the way home …… burbling ever on, a curious week of aunts funeral, work, sea swim and howell road zoom reunion… 36 years, crikey!
Finn… Lago di Garda April 2002 aw rummaging through old photos, always loved this one of Finn forlorn, a cold rainy day, on holiday in italy of course, his expression sums up how many of us are feeling through this socially bereft, thin gruel of a winter, well me anyway! yet nostalgia a more curious beast… remember… the sun has set behind the looming hills, sky coaxes, then summons colours from the water, turquoise and tangerine all is serene, a gentle, benign lapping, as a coast dweller i am so used to the qualms of restless water Finn and I are down on the waters edge, showing him how to skim stones owl hoots, rhymes and doggerel, building snow men… and stone skipping… a beauty to share fun things with our kids… reminds us, of course, of those who lovingly first taught us the beach is littered with a myriad of plate smithereens! all blue willow pattern fragments, as tho there had been a frenzied exstasis of crockery smashing! that, or this the site of an old pottery factory? picking some of the larger fragments, their soft heft, the way they sit, cocked, between finger and palm… surface, blue ink tattooed, super smooth, with a frazzle puzzled glaze too beautiful to hurl? but we are mightier, more marvelous, by that which we throw away flat stones. flat lake. perfect. skip… skip… skip… skip… kersplosh mind follows this stone weave, away, gentle, softening to this, the distance of memory
crikey, only a year ago, yet with all the yawn of lockdown glumness and isolation, feels like several lifetimes i look so fresh faced and youthful!… well in contrast to gandhi anyway… better hair too, yeah ping pong ball head… there not be many folk i can say that to! on my way to the giddy throng, the hubbub hullabaloo of sunset in the great shiva fire temple tiruvannamalai, tamil nadu, i first learnt to pronounce the city by practising with tiramisu and timbuctu (too) on this day i had loitered amongst the serenity of the Sri Ramana ashram… then followed the trail barefoot (no shoes holy mountain!) to his meditation cave perched part way up Arunachala… when i got to the temple, no entry in shorts, so had the giggle of buying pyjama troosers in an indian department store, 10 amused staff at my beck and call… masala dosa with basha and some absurdly ornate ornamental goldfish then finally to the inner sanctum… not much tops the thrill of a southern indian temple city! today tho, a jaunt up the cliffs, all is mild and muchly waterlogged… birds starting to sing… they believe in the spring?
imbolc/st bridgets blessings…. the first quiver of spring in keeping with the season, i was trying to take a snap of yellow daffodils against a yellow wall, with a glass of lurid effervescent vitamins in the foreground (why?) yet clearly the springs quiver-riness was too much for me and i must have shooken at an inappropriate moment… the elementals are strong in this one wheel of the seasons is turning, a beautiful thing x
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Cheers, I thought it was quite enchanting… Always appreciate the notion of fortuitous mistakes, digital culture encourages the ‘not perfect, chuck it away’ ethos.. Whereas I, ha, tend to side with the wonky misfits
dreadlock combover! hair follicle elegance at its finest wind battered, drizzle drenched, pedaled to seaford head and moseyed up for a view of the seven sisters, tho much was murk heaney and hughes! its their fault… as i slipped and floundered along through the mud, across the golf course, was busy cursing those restless shades… all that insistence on the elemental, on NATURE.. too much for any impressionable teenager listening to audio books through lockdown, 2 of the bargain bucket cheapies were of them reading their own works… such resonant, profound voices. a joy
‘They seek him here. They seek him there. Those Frenchies seek him everywhere. Is he in Heaven? Or is he in Hell? That damned, elusive, pimpernel.’ this year, as usual, i shall mostly be losing myself into the mystic
Ping Pong! Sport of Kings! a game of kaleidoscopic genius and waft spin nifty pzzazz!… went with new christams pressie paddles (…and offspring!) for a game in seaford i’m a black belt! there was a puddle bog down my end, where’s Walter Raleigh when ya need him? but nowt can cramp my style, it did tho make for a few arm windmilling stuck in the mud comedic lunges my top spin overhead pummel smash is a pulsating thing o’beauty… a rare thing of beauty, only works once in ten attempts, but, boy, bedazzle good when it comes off… kersplatt! phooo weee! braggadoccio*… lets face it apart from chess, juggling, tiddlywinks, petanque… none of which will feature in the olympics… i’m not good at many sports, so best applaud myself for what talent i posess. stepping aside, momentarily, from the brouhaha of words… spent way too much time on my own this year, obvious reasons, gratitude for any fun and connection if there are any new years resolutions to be had, best we are all supportive, patient and kind to each other xx crikey, this drear lockdown winter is a longwinded slog, obvs if boredom and glumness is all i’ve got to complain about, then things are going very well inertia, i tend to oscillate twixt a comfortable soporific sloth and a lacklustre, docile apathy… almost, but not quite the same thing… tho, yes, interspersed with the occasional yelp pang of dismal loneliness… rubbish still new year, same old me… i’m going to take up a new hobby! body popping! esperanto! hula hooping! didgeridoo! wearing silk cravats! writing left handed! the peruvian nose flute! speaking only in iambic pentameter and limericks! all of the above? nope cannae be bothered, back to bed, wake me up when tis spring *braggadocio, oh, i’d always assumed it was italian, and that the docio bit was some smoothe sweet talking to oofset the preening arrogance, but nope apparently ‘of pseudo italian coinage, from spensers faerie queen (1594)’…dictionaries are brill