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.

Affirmation

After all those months of reading, recording, mixing, editing, nearly throwing the computer our of the window, weeping, howling with laughter, dreaming of the finished product, and finally pressing the Good-to-go for audiobook production button, we are starting to get excellent feedback. Some from dear friends, and some from unknown listeners; and today, one from someone who really knows his 'sound' stuff. Sir Robin Millar, CBE. The man with the golden ears - as named by Boy George.

I'd asked him a while back if he might have a chance to listen to Londonia - he'd enjoyed a couple of my short stories - and he said he would. He's a very busy man so I put the idea firmly on the mental back burner and got on with house renovation, working on paintings, planning the next audiobook, and life generally, until an email from Sir Millar this afternoon. 

  . . . Adored the whole thing conceptually and stylistically, Kate. I would compare it favourably to Gormenghast . . .

Both Mark and I are utterly rubbish at following up anything to do with statistics, demographics of listeners, possible earnings - ha ha, so the audiobook had somewhat slipped away into the cupboard of 'things we've done'. Mr Millar's comment has nicely shaken up our thoughts on the project, and given us a welcome bit of affirmation that it was, and will be, worth all the hard work.

Londonia the audiobook is available on Audible and other platforms. Link below.

https://kateahardy.com/londonia-audiobook

The Londonia audiobook team. Mark Lockett - sound design. Kate A Hardy - author and narrator.

A I rant

Just a very small one. I opened up Word this morning to write a few lines of my current writing idea and a chirpy suggestion appeared amongst the others that now seem to position themselves at the page header without fail. I don't so much mind the ones that say dull, potentially useful stuff like: write a cringy letter to your bank but 'write a witty post about a sailing trip' made me want to cancel Word immediately - but of course it's too damned useful, especially if you are dealing with publishing agents and the like.

Surely this making us all less curious, less willing to put the real work in, less autonomous, less human.

                                                   How we laughed over our chips. Blog post.

So, on a windy Tuesday last week, dressed in our blue and white sailing outfits, we boarded Alan's boat, only to find that a rat had eaten through a plank and that water was slowly filling the hull. Alan had looked up at the amassing storm clouds, shrugged and said, Well, maybe it's a sign. We could have all died out there. Let's go and get chips. So we did, and chortled about our near death Tuesday excursion.

Written by Sean the Word-bot. Or not. 

painting by a human: Anthony Vandyke Copley Fielding (attributed to, so it could have been AI, but unlikely in 1850)

Inconsequential archeology

 Our new abode is somewhat mysterious in its history. The agent had muttered something about 1960 or 70s, but the electrician discovered wiring he reckoned to be from the 40s, or certainly the 50s. Apparently the building has been added to over the decades - as whatever family lived here had expanded, or the goat shed had been noted as a future extra bedroom, or . . . who knows, certainly the sellers didn't have much idea.

The oddest bit of the house is where I am working to create our bed and breakfast/family and friends logement. The windows and doors appear to be from the 30s, possibly a bit later. Maybe they took them from another building, or maybe there are parts of the house which really are that old. Some of the walls are of the local stone - tuffeau, and some are breeze block, and there's a ton of plaster covering everything in states varying from - wow, this is great plastering! through to - this really ought to come off and we start again. The latter is in the bedroom I am painting/filling/painting. Proper builders like our friend Kevin would shake his head at the dents and grooves I am allowing, but I know when it's all under its final coat and with furniture added it'll look quaint and pretty. No one will see the dinks, and if they do, they won't care as there will be too many other more interesting things to look at. Well, that's my theory.

The oddest of the oddest bit of the house - in said bedroom, is a corner coated in ancient creme gloss paint, interspersed with small squares of fluorescent pink paint, or possibly felt pen. There must have at one time been a small cooker here as there was a chimney flue - now gone, just an inspection chamber left. Also, a series of warped air vents which on further inspection - one was very warped so I took it out - seemed to be just sitting in the wall where no air could pass. Odd. Perhaps the 'builder' had told the house occupants that he had put in special new-fangled air grills which would assure ventilation, and had just tacked them on. We'll never know; there's certainly no 'before and after' photo album from that era.

Small and odd bedroom which will be cute and art-filled

other end featuring the mysterious air grills 

And with its earlier layers of 70s/80s paper/gamelan gong storage area

The most unknown bit of archeology is yet to come. We may or may not re-do the hideous outside tiles which resemble slabs of composite ham, but as I've had an eye-watering quote probably not. Not this year anyway. Unless Londonia suddenly gets a film deal. Which might not be 100% impossible . . .

The tale of an old wardrobe, and a new bedroom

No one wants them - old, dark wood wardrobes. They sit lined up in our local favourite recycling emporium aware perhaps that the chipboard melamine versions seem to come and go with rapidity. I sort of understand it - if you're looking for light and airy/modern, but we never are. Old, oak, carving, history, craftsmanship; something you can gaze at with a cup of tea in bed and wonder who made it and how long it took them. 

Our latest purchase ( I have to stop myself buying all of them) was an extraordinary carved wardrobe which must be a couple of hundred years old, and is probably a Breton marriage wardrobe judging by the info I tracked down. It cost thirty euros . . . less than an Ikea footstool, and was delivered by afore-mentioned emporium taking the grand total to forty-five euros. 

With an idea of transforming it into a sort of 'fitted' cupboard system, our builder friend took it apart (impossible to get it up the stairs), reassembled it and added shelves made from another salvaged wardrobe, also oak but from the 40s. Mark added shelves on the other side, a few baskets bought and we have fitted furniture that might have caused the original carpenter to sigh with incomprehension but has made us very happy to inhabit the room.

when we first saw the house

                                                    New bedroom featuring the wardrobe