Londonia 3

Having listened to far too many podcasts on the future of us generally/AI/dwindling planetary resources/increasingly absurd geopolitics/wars, etc, I felt inspired to put index fingers to keyboard - actually middle fingers now I look down at my non-secretarial digits - and start the novel that had been lurking about in my mind for some months. Early days but I have the characters, the links to both previous Londonia tomes, and the settings coming to life as I write. Set in 2092 and featuring a young woman as the main protagonist I will now live with her and her associates for the coming months, and drop a few insights here to where I'm at.

                                                     Describing a scene to uninterested dog

New house, new woodpile

Ah, autumn - time of mist, last fruit-stealing opportunities, precious moments of sitting in the sun, investigation of jumper drawer - on the whole depressing - leading to small flurry of buying replacement jumpers from Vinted; hot water bottles, and wood collecting/sawing/sorting. 

                                                The autumnal Loire from our road

The first thing we did on moving to the new house was install a wood burner - not a pellet stove; hunting down preformed pellets in the wilderness when society is sliding downhill . . . not great. I know I overreact; one cannot when one spends a lot of time describing the lives of characters at the end of this century. Also, when the seller of said stove came to fit it the fact that he said, you've made the right decision! I sell both types of stove but I wouldn't touch the pellet variety - a future too unknown.

There's just something very reassuring and incredibly pleasurable about sitting in front of a real fire, knowing you have collected the wood to ignite it, and not gone in the car to get a sack of perfectly measured mini-sticks from the nearest DIY shop.

Our old and massive garden was a wood collecting nerd's paradise, containing as it did about twenty ancient ash trees, fruit trees, birch, oak, etc. Collecting wood was a mere pace from the front door. Here, I'm exploring. There are a few failing trees in our small back garden which we will cut back and harvest the wood, but that's a limited supply. A few weeks back I noticed a large sweet chestnut behind the wall of the nearest vineyard yesterday of whose outer limbs had been suffering the heat/dryness of this summer and clocked it as a potential source. This morning I investigated and was rewarded with a large bag of super dry wood, and some surprisingly fat chestnuts. The other thing about autumn - nuts. This area is great for walnuts and chestnuts. 

A recipe we invented yesterday - roasted (or boiled) and peeled sweet chestnuts, mushrooms, onions, garlic, all sautéed with a tad of white wine, and served with a morsel of organic steak ( excellent bio producer in the market) and potato slices garnished with butter, cut up carrot tops/celery leaves.

 

One day out of 365

Autumn has arrived but we are still in a time of clear skies and sunny sheltered spots to bask in. 

Imagining the clear blue of our nearest stretch of sea I suggested a day out away from DIY and in-tray stuff. Mark - and the dog - agreed so we set off yesterday morning for the drive to Bretignolles sur Mer, via a convoluted but interesting journey, trying to avoid the usual fairly dull route. Road trip, in fact, and as readers of this blog will know, one of my favourite activities - on a smallish scale, not route 66. 

First stop for the dog to do her 'besoins' (needs). A small village of stone houses and beautifully constructed walls of rock chunks as oppose to the big blocks of tuffeau stone - the local building material. This small unsung place had a surprise in the form of an elegant chateau complete with an approach of umbrella pines and cypress trees. 

Next stop - probably the most depressing small town I have ever visited. I can't recall its name, and maybe that's a good thing. I think it was the complete lack of trees, and the tannoyed music being played which made it feel like being in The Prisoner - without the architectural charm. However there was a loo and a bakery, with cheery people - in the bakery, not the loo.

Foot down and we reached the sea in time for lunch. We just sat staring at the blue expanse for a while before the idea that anything that was open would soon close encouraged us to investigate the options. None, except a crepe place but that was fine as it was on the beach. It's amazing how all seaside places shut down so promptly in October. All the fish restaurants closed, all the souvenir places boarded up, but since there was only us and a few other people exercising dogs, no great surprise. 

We paced the shores marvelling at our deep footprints in the unusual sand - rather like stepping through the crust on a creme brûlée into soft custardy substance beneath. The dog - not usually a beach fan, ran about in the wind, and we took far too many bits of film of her. That particular bit of coast has kms of terrible 1960s/70s/80s blocks, thrown up within their respective decades, all seemingly uninhabited apart from a scattering of apartments with tables and plants on their balconies. Further along, the coastline is wilder with indigenous forest, long stretches of ochre beaches and just the occasional coffee-selling shack.

 traces of Mark, me, and Bali

A bit of a detour to find a salt-seller - this area is renowned for its salt - but the old blue van was shut up for the winter season, so we bought a couple of bags from a garden centre instead and set off home with a small bakery stop halfway. Tip for anyone in France reading this; go into 'Ange' bakers at about 19:50 in the eve and they sell off loads of stuff at half price. We took a large veggie pizza for eight euros, resisted all the cakes they were trying - very pleasantly - to foist on us, and arrived back, tired but happy after a day that felt as if it had contained many more hours than the nine hours we had experienced. Often the case with one day breaks.

Freedom

I was listening to my favourite Youtube person this morning - excellent channel, beautifully named, The Functional Melancholic. His slow, thoughtful content covering philosophy, political madness, cosmic dread and staring into the void at 3am, all delivered under a great collection of hats and with subtle absurdist humour never fails to inspire, and always leaves me feeling that I have been reminded of what is important in life.

This morning's offering was on freedom, and was as ever thought-provoking and strangely uplifting - for me anyway. 

So my takeaway was a reminder on what real freedom is, and how often it is something quiet and unremarkable, such as choosing to not pick up the phone and scroll during a spare moment but to lose oneself in the narrative of a novel, or to gain real, lasting information from reading something informative - and fascinating about the natural world/philosophy/history/whatever . . . from a book. I remember stuff I take the time to ingest via a page, rather than a quick Google glance. 

Of course Google et al has many uses and is invaluable for: 'shit, a flat tyre - quick, Google Renault Kangoo info on spare tyres/jacks etc' - as we don't even know where the spare is on our car. Or, map apps are great for when you are utterly lost in the middle of Paris and late for a meeting, but consulting an actual paper map, realising where you are on the world's crust and then working out the desired route is another crucial aspect of freedom, and brain nurturing. 

Like my grandmother was fond of saying, a little bit of what you fancy does you good - if you can restrict the internet content to 'a little bit'. Have the freedom and practised mind to be able to use it when you want or need but also to have the skill - and it possibly is now a skill - to be able to say, ok, enough of that, and pick up the book/paintbrush/instrument/knitting needles/welding iron/bike helmet/join a friend for a walk, or a game of chess; cook something experimental that doesn't require ChatGPT to give you all the steps.

Oh, yes. A1. I'm aware that Google is hyper old fashioned now, but that's probably where I'll stop. 

Having access to info on absolutely everything from: when was custard first invented to why is our dog afraid of balloons? to why would anyone think that living on Mars was remotely possible or desirable? is really quite enough, thanks. 

My current utterly absorbing read. Fall into another world, nothing but the slight sound of paper pages turning, and your imagination decorating the author's scenes.

Moving in a good direction

After many, many years of people saying, 'Why don't get your books made into a film or TV, they'd be so good on screen!' and me replying, 'Well, yes, that would be amazing,' and thinking 'Yeah, right, easy!' it is now more of a distinct possibility. Londonia could be moving in that direction. Early days indeed but it's great to feel that it's more than just 'Well, yes, that would be amazing.' Just as finding an agent, and a publisher is not remotely easy; film/series is another enormous and complicated step, one we are currently learning about. 

In the meantime, Londonia is available from the publisher, Tartarus, or Amazon. The audiobook is on Audible, and we are starting to work on another of my novels - for which Mark is already collecting weird sounds, inspired by the book's varied themes.

                                                         Lady Thames, 2073. Londonia.

78 G

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vssuqGyaxrw&t=37s

Narration by the author -Kate A Hardy 

Soundscape by MarkLockett

After listening to a particularly worrying podcast about the declining rates of literature world-wide, notably the reading for pleasure element, due in large part to smart phones,  I remembered my short story Orwellian look at a possible near future, which at the time of writing had a strong element of tongue-in-cheek. But with increasingly dark events in the USA, well . . . it suddenly seemed oddly plausible, maybe not the half man/half vehicle character, but who's to say . . .

  

Birthday events

Nothing like going to see Black Midi play Wembley, or eating in a Michelin starred restaurant, rather more low key but no less enjoyable - by my reckoning anyway.

Tea and presents at 6:30, featuring very cool grey astrachan slippers - not often in one sentence - cool and slippers, but they are. 

Mini road trip/psychogeographical exercise - looking back at our house (on a hill) from an equally elevated section of forest that we see from our bedroom window; after which, sweet chestnut collecting/dog walk in said very lovely woodland. 

                                                    Our house - somewhere on that hill line.

                            

                                             very old sweet chestnut tree and less old husband

Lunch in a genuine 'le routier' truck stop restaurant - three/four courses, if you can fit cheese in too, for sixteen euros a head. It was recommended by our electrician, and he was right - super friendly service, copious food, too copious - the dog will be happy tomorrow lunchtime.

Back home for a post-lunch snooze, followed by a trip to the dump (whoopee) to take a car load of smashed up ceiling plaster; and a visit to Aspire, one of our amazing local recycling emporiums. Result, two winter coats of an excellent make, CDs inc a limited edition of The Pet Shop boys, grey wool trousers, and a complete 1970s Breton dining table and chairs, delivery of said furniture, all for around a hundred euros.

Hoxton and Jarvis would be proud of us - (main Londonia characters). 

Our lad sent me a hand made birthday card featuring his many mad facial expressions. Love it.

Loads of lovely birthday texts and phone calls. Thank you lovely friends and family. 

Now off to see a film. I might even have an ice cream. Or not. Lunchtime is very much still with me, plus the birthday cake Mark made.

-----------------------------------------------------

P.S: we did see the film (One battle after another), and I didn't sleep much after it. Incredible production by Paul Thomas Anderson - he of the brilliant, There will be Blood, and weirdy, creepy, hilarious, Magnolia.

I think Leonardo De C utterly excelled himself as the hyper wound up, booze-infested, bomber with a big heart. The whole cast were amazing, and some of the road shots were just . . . well, that's why I didn't sleep. Hyper adrenalin rush!

Portrait

If I'd tried to set this up properly it wouldn't have worked, but as a phone-snap taken in a friend's sitting room with just the right amount of 'Vermeer' sidelight it was a happy accident. I probably should have moved the basket of towels, perhaps added a few relevant-to-Mark books to the table, but sometimes no thought is better.

        Mark Lockett. Composer, pianist, audiobook producer, cake maker, and general polymath.

Jobs I couldn't do but like the idea of

I always loved climbing trees as a youngster, something that went on long after I should have been practising cool, experimenting with make-up etc. More recently I scaled our huge and ancient pear tree at the previous, previous house to prune it back, but I can't quite imagine doing that now - a few years on, due to having done far too much heavy work on the last house project. 

At our now-house, there is a beautiful pine tree which shades us in summer, provides bird-shelter and give us cones for fire lighting; however it is/was extremely tall and during gales would thrash and bend alarmingly, and as the house would be a direct hit I thought it was time to invite in a tree specialist. Also, our house insurance guy had shrugged at my mention of the tree even though we had bought extra insurance to cover any eventual tree-house-debacle. 'It is your responsibility to manage the tree, madame'. So . . . not exactly sure what the extra house insurance was for . . .   

The tree-guy arrived yesterday morning, and after moving his van in, and partaking of a coffee, he donned a harness and zipped up the tree as agile as a marmoset. We'd had a quick word about not lopping the top off as if Goliath had done a touch of strimming, and he'd said, 'of course, Madame, I will sculpt it so it looks natural', and he did, swinging in circles from the already sawn top section grasping the chain saw and lopping as he went. 

An hour later he was clearing up the branches, the birds had returned to scoff sunflower seeds and it was as if nothing had happened except the tree is now five meters shorter. 

 

Global, semi conscious, mutually assured suicide

Or, in my mind, the potential overuse of Artificial Intelligence, and more worryingly, Artificial General Intelligence. 

And not really global. Not everyone in every country is waving on this madness; very far from it. Where's the choice, the voting, the real information? Hey, would you like clean drinking water or would you rather the water was diverted into that town-sized silver building over there that you can probably see from the moon? Or, would you like to continue using heating? or shall we divert everything from this brand new nuclear plant into your local data centre?

And, not mutual. Just a race to see who can get to creating something unbearably powerful and unknown with no apparent off switch, where there will be more money. F*#$ everything else. AGI will of course sort it all out. Even how to construct water, as most of what we have left seems destined to end up cooling ever increasingly enormous data centers.

We might actually be living in a Douglas Adam's novel. But without the humour element.

Having listening to many lectures and podcasts by people (scientists /professors) who actually spend all their time researching and exploring these subjects I feel I know just about enough to feel extremely scared. They certainly are.

As one researcher put it, AGI could be undeniably useful if it had a narrow usage, for example, solely investigating and suggestion solutions for say a certain type of cancer - and within rigid guidelines and and following an actual brief. Well, he didn't say that word for word, but it's what I could extrapolate . . . rather than a full on massive free for all - everything from how to lose pounds unbelievably quickly without having to self-amputate a limb; how to convince people that you are highly intelligent without the trouble of learning anything (ah - that's already out there), make your own film of world leaders dancing with each others' entrails, or how to build a car from vegetable peelings - actually that last one would be rather useful. Etc.

Imagine if all this human ingenuity and energy could be put to solving the real problems that threaten to wipe out out our maligned species (and all our fellow species, although I suspect tics, hornets and cockroaches would continue to thrive, along with bunker-dwelling billionaires). Imagine the greening of cities, efficient water capture, affordable, ecological housing; new ways of growing real food for everyone; a kickstarted education system where kids learn real hands on skills, and learn to appreciate this world rather than a generated unreal one. Real learning rather than a quick cheat. Re-learning to share this planet with fellow humans, and re-learning how to appreciate the mega complex natural system that underlies absolutely everything about life on this extraordinary space-sphere.

I suspect, left to their own devices, which ever AGI becomes sentient first, they'll just think: Right. What an utter mess . . . let's find the Homo Sapiens off switch. World wide no-cure virus? or, oops, nuclear holocaust . . . just have a cup of tea first.

At the end of our road . . .

It's usually been a corner shop or a hill or a maize field or a busy intersection of road but this time it's a chateau that surveys the landscape of the Loire Valley. Every time I pass by its towering form I think about what it must have witnessed over the hundreds of years, currently mostly various wine/horse/night film festivals, less of the marauding, arrows and boiling oil of the distant past. And the future . . .? we'll be around a while to see - no intention of moving, again!

 

New departure, and celebratory road trip.

The lad has been living with us on and off for most of his life - pause of three years for art college, another couple of years for carpentry/leatherwork training, but basically he's been part of our lives from breakfast through to teatime, (tea/Dad's cake) to supper and through to 'goodnight' for most of twenty-seven years.  

So, it's time. He has a new life-chapter in Tours, living with his girlfriend, an uncertain future in some form of engineering, preferably with trains, or perhaps using one of the skills that he has already amassed. Uncertain but exciting. I know he'll be fine; he's not afraid to work in any job but is hopeful of finding something he would really like to do, that helps others in some way. It's not about making money for money's sake, and for that, amongst many other things, we are proud of him.

We haven't had time recently for a him and me road trip - see many previous older posts - but yesterday, work behind him, and me appreciative of a break from DIY, we set off in an easterly direction, following the meandering Loire.

Rules of road trip are stated somewhere a few posts back but basically, you get a bit lost, stop for snacks, go off on tangents and support the other person's wish to look at old abandoned train buildings or swim in a keep out stretch of water or wander along a tree-shadow lane going nowhere. Luckily we share a love of the insolite - slightly odd, a bit eerie sometimes, a tad melancholic, unsung by any guide books, etc. this trip had a bit of all of it, including an ancient coal mine and associated slag heaps.

Challones sur Loire seemed a fairly ordinary French town but with its beautiful waterside it was well worth a long amble around, and lunch of Fish and Chips - sadly the antitheses of my favourite chippy - the Fryer's Delight in Holborn: small fish, small chips, and scrap of salad rather than mushy peas. Tasty enough but not really enough for a still-growing lad. We made up for it later after buying absurdly lovely cakes in St Florent le Vieil and sitting in a bar with cups of tea. The other towns we passed through and explored were fairly unremarkable but St Florent is certainly worth a detour with its mix of faded grandeur, ancient, boarded up charcuteries/hair dressers et al; panoramic views of the Loire, and the truly magnificent abbey overseeing the town.

                                                          waiting for fish and chips

Abbey of St Florent

We walked along afore-mentioned tree-shadowy lanes, crossed stepping-stoned river tributaries, admired flower filled water meadows and then returned to the car to make the return journey - a good, road trip style one of heading vaguely westwards though little villages and sunflower fields until the 'cats ears' of Saumur Chateau and the nearby water towers were visible on the horizon - now our compass points of home.

Today, Ezra is off on a bike trip with Dad, an equally relationship-confirming trip out. Later we will help him pack, and will feel that weird mixture of melancholic sadness but joy that he is making his next move to somewhere he wants to be. He's only up the road in effect, in the next city, not off on a world tour/moving to Australia. And we'll see him often, those times to be as precious as yesterday's road trip.

Good luck, our lad. 

Mona Lisa revisited

 During a quest for old crockery to use at our Londonia book launch back in 2020, I discovered one of my top ten favourite charity shop finds - a Mona Lisa plate handprinted by someone who had obviously taken much time to emulate a favourite image, but, some elements were a little . . . odd, which of course made it so appealing. Said artist had also created a plate featuring the equally famous 'Arnolfini portrait' by Jan Van Eyck. Suppressing a whoop of delighted laughter I scooped them up, paid for them and the rest of the china and left to continue setting up the book launch.

After the event, I returned all the china and glasses etc to the Oxfam shop but kept the two plates, wrapping them with great care for my journey home. They then graced two kitchens and for a while a third and current kitchen until Madame Mona sadly met the tiled floor in many pieces after a nail gave way. We were both weirdly devastated, the plate being as unique as the great work itself. "No," I said, "There must be a way to save her!" Too many bits to piece back but I kept two pieces, found an old picture frame, added a load of grout when we were doing floor tiling and stuffed the bits into it. Mark shook his head at this weird grey mess and suggested the bin, but I could still imagine a future for the work of art.

More grout later, plus beads, ecclesiastical blue paint, bits of old postcards, gold paint ring/necklace etc and I think Leonardo would have been mildly impressed, or perhaps utterly horrified, or collapsed with laughter. 

Sea-fix

My getting in the river being curtailed due to low water level meant I was keening to swim in a big expanse - preferably the sea. We are two hours or so away from the Atlantic coast which is doable in a day or better still overnight to experience multiple swim episodes. 

Having a 'superhost' B and B voucher at my disposal I searched around my favourite bit of the coast - Le Pouligen. Short notice and the only logements available were either 'sleeps twenty with wave machine- pool and gym, etc, or stuff that looked like a dentist's waiting room but with less allure. 

Pornichet seemed to have a bit more choice so I opted for a friendly looking room in someone's house, used my voucher and booked it, to then be told that she'd forgotten to update her calendar so the room was taken. I'd by then reserved my train journeys so hunted around again and found . . . a boat. Slightly disconcerted about lack of loo on board - only because night trips up a pontoon gangplank might be a tad worrying when half asleep - but I booked it and thought what the hell, I'll pee in a bottle.

wrong port

I arrived in Pornichet and wandered as I do without checking where the port was. Went the wrong way for a couple of miles, followed someone's instructions to then turn up at an expanse of tidal mud with boats lying drunkenly to one side. The sun had disappeared and the whole scene looked rather dystopian. Just as I resigned myself to thinking what an interesting experience it would be to sleep on a vessel as it gradually righted itself with the tidal swell my phone rang. The B and B host was wondering if I was lost - she'd kindly offered to allow me to board the boat some hours before the stated time. I described the muddy scene and she informed me that I was at the wrong port.

                                                                           right port

I hurried to where I could now see a host of masts and collection of 70s buildings and met her where I should have if I'd read her message . . . duh. This was more like it: all boats upright, gently swaying, orderly lines, and there it was, the smallest vessel in the port; a perfect little sailing yacht amongst a gluttony of huge plastic white ocean-going versions of camper vans. The host was obviously in a hurry, probably due my mal-orienteering She showed me what to do and what not to do, gave me the code for the loo/showers/pontoon gate and left.

Interesting (?!) bit of mural and 70s port architecture - whole place is up for a makeover from September 25

B and B boat

next door's boat with its own boat

A couple of hours later I was hooked on the whole thing, even if I wasn't actually going anywhere on the sea. I'm pretty sure in the last life I must have been a fisher-person or similar, living on the Bretagne coast - my name (Hardy) if after all, Breton! 

I explored, swam, ate in the local fish café, napped with the gentle sea sway; and the following morning woke with the dawn, swam at 6:30, dried on the deck with a cup of tea brewed in a mug and then walked/sketched all day returning to doze when required.

                                                                    best swimming place 

Due to the generous host I didn't have to leave until later afternoon making the whole mini-trip feel like a few days. Found myself checking how much it costs to moore a boat, just in case we ever wanted to really downsize. Not sure where the piano would go however.