tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-86157221976434127672024-03-13T11:07:00.865+01:00Kate A. Hardy - writing and other stuffWelcome to the attic of my mind. Mind the stairs, click the light on and have a rummage around my thoughts on writing, the art of everything second-hand, the natural world, music . . . just about everything. Probably not much about sport.
writing and other stuffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05216767876956499277noreply@blogger.comBlogger1219125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8615722197643412767.post-20832324023501097092024-03-09T18:27:00.004+01:002024-03-09T18:27:46.342+01:00Londonia audiobook showreel<iframe frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://youtube.com/embed/DP14XkBEBaI?si=E6xb6aFH-wF9q-iB" width="480"></iframe><div><br /></div><div>So, we're past halfway on the Londonia audiobook, and I decided we should make a small sample video mainly to let our Kickstarter backers know how it's going.</div><div>Obviously it's an audiobook so either just listen or watch the images that we had fun putting together - as you like.</div><div>Mark is creating a wonderfully atmospheric soundscape with all original music and sound effects, and I'm tackling the narration. Londonia is a big book and the audio version is a long project but we're thoroughly enjoying the process.</div><div>The audiobook should be completed by the end of April.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>writing and other stuffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05216767876956499277noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8615722197643412767.post-16056012775955083602024-02-25T16:04:00.001+01:002024-02-25T16:06:21.636+01:00Crap neighbours and insurance companies.<p>So, already blessed with warm, friendly and fascinatingly interesting neighbours (irony...) on one side of our property, we gained another set on the other side last summer. </p><p>Keen to welcome them and show that we wanted to be helpful and friendly, I went over with a bottle of fizz and duly said welcoming stuff. They seemed slightly bemused but accepted the bottle, and we had a brief chat about life, dogs and everything else. Their dogs in question were (another has been added recently) a small, annoying hairy yappy thing and a black morose looking hound. The bloke had nodded to our other neighbours - where in their yard are housed six bored, frustrated and over-vocal dogs - and had assured me that the black hound only barked a small amount at passers by and then would always stop. Cheered by this information and with a warm feeling that we now had some respectful and relatively approachable next-door dwellers I went home and felt slightly less annoyed by the baying on the other side of the hedge.</p><p>A few weeks later, I went out to attack a rampant rose area and found one limp grey chicken carcass, feathers scattered and obviously the victim of a dog or fox attack. Most of the other chickens, including our special ornamental ones, were missing. I wondered where the other bodies were; did foxes drag them off? None returned the next day and then I recalled having seen the black dog wandering around outside their house. On seeing the new neighbours I asked nonchalantly if it was at all possible that their dog might have been responsible for the chicken demise. They shrugged, all innocent and, <i>beh, non . . . c'est pas possible, </i>so I assumed it had been a fox or errant wolf/dog and apart from feeling sad, life went on.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjZdHAqRzjqOO9X2xDWwfjD0MWT-KF3zYmHIZYd-F88mvG7rTF4BTZ67rFC71rbhb1xdoy_FDRd1aLDhspEWOM-BaGLhcACMnn0iHK4LSz18IUgtzlgMP4HBYtk8kHCUWJnAE9atbeo2xDoLsUdbjbK-1wjGdovK0SVaGmv0grpoSned9K7yGikgRcuqRTh" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjZdHAqRzjqOO9X2xDWwfjD0MWT-KF3zYmHIZYd-F88mvG7rTF4BTZ67rFC71rbhb1xdoy_FDRd1aLDhspEWOM-BaGLhcACMnn0iHK4LSz18IUgtzlgMP4HBYtk8kHCUWJnAE9atbeo2xDoLsUdbjbK-1wjGdovK0SVaGmv0grpoSned9K7yGikgRcuqRTh=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><br />A few days later I was in the UK and Mark rang to say the black dog had got into the chicken enclosure and had killed all but two of the flock. He was in a state of shock, not only from the massacre but the fact that the neighbours had come over at his request, acknowledged that the fault had been their dog - Mark had taken a albeit emotionally shaky photo of the beast in full kill mode - but had shrugged again and reluctantly said, desolé - sorry. No, <i>OMG, let us help you clear up</i>; no, <i>here, let me write you a cheque immediately, it's the least we can do,</i> nothing. A big F you nothing, and a gruff mention that they would engage the insurance company to deal with it.<p></p><p>Then ensued much farting about with paperwork, all of which appeared to be down to us: drives backwards and forwards to our insurance company, phone calls, etc etc. That was four months ago. After more prodding, we received a letter stating that our carefully worked out claim of around 500 euros to cover dead chickens, wrecked enclosure, loss in egg production (considerable!) not to mention all the physiological stress which we obviously would receive nothing for was overreaching and that they required proof... this is where the farce element started. A quote from the chicken provider was required, although we had already furnished them with a receipt for the same amount for the original purchase... AND, a statement from said breeder as to how many eggs would be have been laid during the time we had had chicken absence. </p><p>The breeder kindly cooperated and, surprise! the chickens now cost more, and we had very much underestimated how many eggs would have been laid.</p><p>Mark, who is surprisingly dog (no pun) matic about these sort of Kafka-novel dossiers set to it and sent them back every grain of info including the large hike in price. </p><p>I fear there will no doubt be some further hoop to clamber through - proof of whether the chickens were not in fact actually terribly miserable and were thus grateful at the prospect of been mauled to death; or an insurance company team inspection of the compound to point out the fallible areas of fencing which enabled the dog to create a way through, or the fact that step ladders were available in the open garage which could be employed by said dog or any other dog in order to climb over if the fence was a slight challenge.</p><p>I wonder how much time and paperwork at the insurance bureau has been wasted on this pathetically small dossier . . . and we still have the pleasure of seeing the chicken killer jumping up on our wall and barking at us pretty much constantly when we step into that part of the garden. The saddest thing is the neighbours seem to consider that the dog was at fault, not them for letting it escape, and have now chained it to a wall. It, as with many 'country dogs here' are never taken out and spend their lives bored out of their naturally inquisitive minds.</p><p>If we ever get the money I may invest in a flashing neon sign to be mounted on their wall: <i>Take your F-ing dog out, connards!</i> No, obviously we will buy some more chickens, and maybe a few trees to plant in memory of our funny flock of weird Russian leopard spotted hens and the Peruvian one with earrings.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxTDtp0ZrvdhzMJAP1jMQDexskpqXKDHcgLDuFi06Njy4fjwK7oXT2neoy0eTXRP3XjOSzYc0mTUBwkPAO4kg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br /><br /><p></p><p><i><br /></i></p>writing and other stuffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05216767876956499277noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8615722197643412767.post-27506436104332676082024-01-27T19:20:00.005+01:002024-01-27T19:20:56.246+01:00Human folly<p>Follies... odd little buildings without particular usage, playful, harmless. Folly, from the French (folie) meaning foolishness. Nothing wrong with a bit of playfulness in architecture, or your own pimped garden shed, but then there's the bigger and more scary version of the word, folly, which seems to be appearing with rapidity in this world of shrinking natural 'resources' and ever-increasing pollution.</p><p>After doing a spot of garden reconstruction yesterday, revelling in the very early signs of spring and feeling how important it is that we embrace all the smaller stuff: birdsong, shapes of trees, simple food made with as-local-as-possible ingredients, examining in detail our local environment, etc etc, I came indoors to start work on the audiobook and happened to see the front page of the online guardian. </p><p>My peaceful thoughts transmogrified into utter incredulity as I stared at the picture of the latest and gargantuanly (if that's a word) huge cruise ship - Icon of the Seas. In a time of human shift towards a probable extinction event - yes it could happen; it's happened before many times - it seems unthinkable that people are still wishing and able to create bigger, grosser, plastic-filled, fuel guzzling atrocities such as this. </p><p>But it's<b> ok</b>... it runs on green energy. Oh . . . yes, <i>right</i>. LNG. Natural gas -<i> natural</i>. It just appears magically without consequences of further climate disruption and vast levels of pollution. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhHKulgneU0D4JeiBhhbccTWjxYCP476mZbLIo54Ao86E4-mv_zSAgKnY6dXPhHoLIJxYMQDUMHlGkgCN9Jvf-ysLhniTe3JQ81Q4WAYzfgFQmfXIIXieOG8clD24jg28GUHZa4LNjqms0mbBhfkvS4ZwNbTYHvL-Wrnsgf9I-CxaoRi3tbo7iNmX8qMIT_" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhHKulgneU0D4JeiBhhbccTWjxYCP476mZbLIo54Ao86E4-mv_zSAgKnY6dXPhHoLIJxYMQDUMHlGkgCN9Jvf-ysLhniTe3JQ81Q4WAYzfgFQmfXIIXieOG8clD24jg28GUHZa4LNjqms0mbBhfkvS4ZwNbTYHvL-Wrnsgf9I-CxaoRi3tbo7iNmX8qMIT_=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><br />I personally don't understand the draw of cruises anyway. The few crossings I took on the piddly (in comparison) ferries between Britain and France I found only possible either by lying on the floor - preferably in a cabin - or standing on deck even in horizontal freezing rain. The idea of being trapped on a astronomically huge boat with around eight thousand other people - however manically happy they might be - (or not, if you are a member of the two thousand or so staff) is the stuff of technicolour nightmares, not to mention being swept along within a stream of slightly claustrophobic humans keening for on-land distractions when the mega-boat finally docks somewhere. <p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgOr0zibQyNMz8tOB0lHQl5bgCudFXn82YAQW_17MV7h1BEulyAgaQoi-1LjCLciE2ebsZOgvCEuwRasuTiiljNo-zO-1EdBb7rYZcrGBaXdPXTMKqjn8P6BXGZyqg-FwMaaOx4c1oJVZw8mrN5pYXlgItiif8K6jGdOsY5iQbMf5z9uUNWQl8A0LTdGFce" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="549" data-original-width="976" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgOr0zibQyNMz8tOB0lHQl5bgCudFXn82YAQW_17MV7h1BEulyAgaQoi-1LjCLciE2ebsZOgvCEuwRasuTiiljNo-zO-1EdBb7rYZcrGBaXdPXTMKqjn8P6BXGZyqg-FwMaaOx4c1oJVZw8mrN5pYXlgItiif8K6jGdOsY5iQbMf5z9uUNWQl8A0LTdGFce=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br />The vessel has an infinity pool, so you can sit and look at a chlorine infested stretch of water hovering above the real ocean infinity, along with seven other pools and spas, a highly naff water park (thrill island), a 55 foot indoor waterfall (?!), and all the usual gyms, cinemas etc, etc. As far as food goes apparently there are forty ways to dine....an odd statement - on one leg? smothered in foam, being lectured by a rabid maths teacher, surrounded by hyenas, suspended above a giant vat of custard; sitting alone at a small corner table while Gordon Ramsey picks your meal apart - what the<i> fuck</i> <i>is</i> <i>this!,</i> naked in front of a gospel choir? and that's just seven . . .<p></p><p>Give me a small rowing boat and a tranquil river in early June - waving river weed, dragonflies, weeping willows, and a picnic, maybe with a bottle of Cava thrown in. Or just a flask of tea. That'll do.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEioFOPddkBGZmKJZo2pmWROyrDCWVxZmVT1BRA6l-u6nSDJR1v-efLPzaTFx6tiYOoP9y5pw8qW_rteh9KDgwTugZAhyUj9fMxLvOyZAxkU0LT0FjhsutwFvK9lveP4mJif8xIz_qGDYgWJouRVHzkUYNLDnGP4QE0zAxzV8t7yWVaZHKJnkemOQz5Bx3V0" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="528" data-original-width="904" height="187" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEioFOPddkBGZmKJZo2pmWROyrDCWVxZmVT1BRA6l-u6nSDJR1v-efLPzaTFx6tiYOoP9y5pw8qW_rteh9KDgwTugZAhyUj9fMxLvOyZAxkU0LT0FjhsutwFvK9lveP4mJif8xIz_qGDYgWJouRVHzkUYNLDnGP4QE0zAxzV8t7yWVaZHKJnkemOQz5Bx3V0" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p><br /></p>writing and other stuffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05216767876956499277noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8615722197643412767.post-89771188932625407592024-01-20T09:51:00.003+01:002024-01-20T09:51:33.733+01:00Getting stuck in<p>Anyone reading this blog will know that I did a Kickstarter to raise funds for making my optimistic, post-apocalyptic novel, Londonia, into an audiobook.</p><p>I must say honestly that I didn't enjoy the process - at all. It's certainly not for me but we did get there after masses of hard work, and I was touched and amazed by the number of family, friends and acquaintances who pledged along the way to make the project a reality. Thank you so much to all of you. I'll keep you posted on the finished audiobook- we're still looking towards the beginning of April.</p><p>There have been some changes which have meant that the narration has shifted to me - an alarming prospect at the outset - and Mark doing the soundtrack; not just a bit of incidental music but a full on textural masterpiece, full of his compositions, collected environmental sounds from his vast back catalogue, and us making up things as complex as a gospel choir... I'm thoroughly into the narration thing now, learning as I go on less familiar accents and listening to the characters' voices that have sat in my mind for so long.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgrDA74mVnk7xs-ezxfBoq_QupQO3DqLRAs3FQjQSemDnLQyIUrCMDEA1waxxbWmyTxyxBSCUvTgIowaDSzKu2O6KQyH9Oe6doUa9_q0EYnYpoKPZlMYfT8Qif5cuNl2hUA5e1dkjIvCHlifdTkBaHHf-lUI-U90p_VxhqjgaDmP9sHWeK_Nyn4jUURe2nC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1294" data-original-width="2075" height="398" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgrDA74mVnk7xs-ezxfBoq_QupQO3DqLRAs3FQjQSemDnLQyIUrCMDEA1waxxbWmyTxyxBSCUvTgIowaDSzKu2O6KQyH9Oe6doUa9_q0EYnYpoKPZlMYfT8Qif5cuNl2hUA5e1dkjIvCHlifdTkBaHHf-lUI-U90p_VxhqjgaDmP9sHWeK_Nyn4jUURe2nC=w640-h398" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiKPRYXBsMw4ZZ654N3Mc0rqbOf0JVTaRaBAZkUg7WsSw985aYcyMunQAfZvgoqbRxJkYovMrSF-5ZGz9kT6bih7Xf493iEG1WjS7uvomfgkzVZK91nMLey-_2GSHysw2XmH58ivsBF1qx7GuDsWf40Khov6FTHhs4EFJdwSsQuh9L8EXEYNNPGpn0XElTJ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1971" data-original-width="1699" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiKPRYXBsMw4ZZ654N3Mc0rqbOf0JVTaRaBAZkUg7WsSw985aYcyMunQAfZvgoqbRxJkYovMrSF-5ZGz9kT6bih7Xf493iEG1WjS7uvomfgkzVZK91nMLey-_2GSHysw2XmH58ivsBF1qx7GuDsWf40Khov6FTHhs4EFJdwSsQuh9L8EXEYNNPGpn0XElTJ=w552-h640" width="552" /></a></div><br /></div>So. we're about a third the way there, and I will be producing a 'trailer' splicing together moments of tension, excitement, eeriness and humour to hopefully entice people to take a listen. <p></p><p>Watch this space, as they say, whoever <i>they</i> are...</p>writing and other stuffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05216767876956499277noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8615722197643412767.post-49426279813496911122024-01-13T09:38:00.000+01:002024-01-13T09:38:00.081+01:00Trade without money<p>The subject of quite a lot of my novel, and following one. </p><p>We're all so used to supermarkets, calling the plumber to sort something, buying a gadget online, taking the car to the garage for some scarily expensive investigation, etc, a million-fold, but how absolutely wonderful it feels when you get to actually trade something without money changing hands - and with people you really like and appreciate.</p><p>Two friends of ours came over yesterday with their chainsaw and we all attacked two, sadly, very dead silver birch trees. Within two hours the trees were felled, sawn up, smaller branches and twigs sorted for kindling, and stocked in our woodshed and their car boot. We then sat down in front of the wood stove - fuelled by our last meeting of tree felling - and enjoyed lunch and much chat. No money exchanged; they provided the chainsaw and petrol, and we made lunch, and we all had a couple of hours of exercise/vitamin D in the winter sun. Lovely. </p><p>Newly topped up woodshed, and Louise wielding a somewhat less worrying saw.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj8dyMJQRcbY4SwnMQSH1Jngw8SbuCZSvwfjk3wJwGjsCaVNNgRvH4-o_lsoSQdhH0178zlmjHammAt_azGA8GsQZswYauENhDFVhs0HgWwvxa1ocRXZavmzMJvqm0azSW3eYjEkoDjGUvMeDAQLKdyy6HemVeZkHjqHZZW5IiCg_hiMky9dKniNJzMeLoD" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj8dyMJQRcbY4SwnMQSH1Jngw8SbuCZSvwfjk3wJwGjsCaVNNgRvH4-o_lsoSQdhH0178zlmjHammAt_azGA8GsQZswYauENhDFVhs0HgWwvxa1ocRXZavmzMJvqm0azSW3eYjEkoDjGUvMeDAQLKdyy6HemVeZkHjqHZZW5IiCg_hiMky9dKniNJzMeLoD=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgWVlR7YLfimCtvNWgGaBXKghUh2BhJli70OWNCTK0l7SE7zE9I01SeMwOLmR6BpKH2kl7p6axmy-MDOpcV-whwSz4vzh2cy-90TBxGfzO5N2YJ9mPvM5QOeXKxLa61RY5yxE4E-6bgqHIh9D8izKB7fNsPo9JemzXoxna4RfL-1KxBfWa42Z2xh9XDtC-4" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgWVlR7YLfimCtvNWgGaBXKghUh2BhJli70OWNCTK0l7SE7zE9I01SeMwOLmR6BpKH2kl7p6axmy-MDOpcV-whwSz4vzh2cy-90TBxGfzO5N2YJ9mPvM5QOeXKxLa61RY5yxE4E-6bgqHIh9D8izKB7fNsPo9JemzXoxna4RfL-1KxBfWa42Z2xh9XDtC-4=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><br /><p></p>writing and other stuffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05216767876956499277noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8615722197643412767.post-89041499704161085592024-01-09T14:30:00.005+01:002024-01-09T14:30:50.706+01:00Recalling heat/cold<p>It must be the coldest day of the year here so far - about -2 in the day; a day of solid greyness, everything utterly silent as if snow might start falling, but nothing is forecast.</p><p>I did walk the dog but, unsually, didn't enjoy it, just very keen to get back inside and get a fire going. I did also barrow some wood in, and attempted to clear one of the overgrown garden beds but it was short-lived... back to making put-off phone calls and sorting in-tray filings. </p><p>While trying to find a photo of my passport, I came across a few garden pictures taken last July. The one below sticks in my mind. It was about 34 degrees in the evening and I was trying to capture the essence of the mid summer to add photos to our website. The river beckoned, shirt stuck to my back with sweat, mozzies homing in for a dusk feeding session . . . all impossible to imagine now as I sit in our 'office' on the landing which I have sealed off with an old sheet to trap the heat from the oil heater under the desk. It's a lot better than the yawning void onto the staircase which we naively thought would heat up if we opened the kitchen door - where the wood stove is. </p><p>The kitchen door stays firmly shut, that room the only really warm sanctuary in the house; but it's okay, we just scurry around the rest of the house dressed in many jumpers, (as the previous resident did, and the ones before her,) occasionally stopping to glance out of a window and remember when it was too hot to venture outside...</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEitdY9RTnWZ-koKrYkwNumaYKjUsd47hVfY0wM4qaW7Y-McHY11zsX085-OpZ2yUs4r7C9ZyhGlp_A3i7--QIzWk9u4iz8KlF9SMITvub2YHJEJYQklDMNh9KEbVy-nuGPMRELAj40DzFXL9V5f1oHfyorLDv1D3UV7f4Wt0uLah0hYl9rJo-pBYRcAVVSE" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2592" data-original-width="1728" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEitdY9RTnWZ-koKrYkwNumaYKjUsd47hVfY0wM4qaW7Y-McHY11zsX085-OpZ2yUs4r7C9ZyhGlp_A3i7--QIzWk9u4iz8KlF9SMITvub2YHJEJYQklDMNh9KEbVy-nuGPMRELAj40DzFXL9V5f1oHfyorLDv1D3UV7f4Wt0uLah0hYl9rJo-pBYRcAVVSE=w427-h640" width="427" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p>writing and other stuffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05216767876956499277noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8615722197643412767.post-73751504406945501732024-01-02T10:21:00.001+01:002024-01-02T10:21:17.676+01:002024<p>Pointless to predict or assume things about what might happen in this coming year...probably equally pointless to attempt NY resolutions, my usual ones being, swear less - never works, don't put off doing tedious things - getting better... this year more than ever - appreciate the small day to day stuff: trees, the way different birds fly, our dogs wagging end of tail as she looks at us, a perfect cup of tea, laying a fire for later, that fire in the evening; a chat with a friend, wood walk, soup from leftovers... and a thousand other often unappreciated daily pleasures.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEif1pJ8vPFt6eN7aD_FSPPz8B4OtieclSN4gb6aUhoaH9es2SrRQA_OUyw-lSJgTy49FCCJgg4CZBuPHz0KhuboSH0WXY6h6EQbIG2VppZW8EoTZ3AIkc1o1bVTyDZ7nG2Q8Ueg4Pp8Q4yhG3zD4w1Q0lq-C5Vf0bAS3IdfPpFqtFwjIlYgjGuUqlq7X0uH" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEif1pJ8vPFt6eN7aD_FSPPz8B4OtieclSN4gb6aUhoaH9es2SrRQA_OUyw-lSJgTy49FCCJgg4CZBuPHz0KhuboSH0WXY6h6EQbIG2VppZW8EoTZ3AIkc1o1bVTyDZ7nG2Q8Ueg4Pp8Q4yhG3zD4w1Q0lq-C5Vf0bAS3IdfPpFqtFwjIlYgjGuUqlq7X0uH=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><p></p><p> Very best wishes for the coming year to everyone who visits my attic space of musings.</p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEglXmNGEjkK_itpvII6VkdBo130LyIeANGV62WPziu7NlCE0LC_JphroMEhq5_pBfIGSUkEIyPY1vT6utBywHWkI2YoUxbbINDiNIdYP_0EhcSRJIfm_g20K0atQaKjmrO02_gd3mXC0mB2WQ-PQ6VFUxHL40R_1vTBZACvHcaE1y3pxgyNXtS2Z3-vgFQT" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEglXmNGEjkK_itpvII6VkdBo130LyIeANGV62WPziu7NlCE0LC_JphroMEhq5_pBfIGSUkEIyPY1vT6utBywHWkI2YoUxbbINDiNIdYP_0EhcSRJIfm_g20K0atQaKjmrO02_gd3mXC0mB2WQ-PQ6VFUxHL40R_1vTBZACvHcaE1y3pxgyNXtS2Z3-vgFQT=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p>writing and other stuffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05216767876956499277noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8615722197643412767.post-43476694649629321362023-12-27T11:38:00.002+01:002023-12-27T11:38:23.407+01:00Christmas Day 2023<p>Unremarkable but remarkable in it's unremarkableness; as most of the Christmas days have been that I can recall - contentment, lovely family, nice stuff to eat, dog walks, fireside, and wonderful and thoughtful presents. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjrwAaSWZnB37qyTJeRYMpSWV3jyBvXSu02cvwBPT8UlkqipcIpxz6BVQSBwGLLAhZLpDsQvY4tweNAwM3BCXQNPbDUXobhAZ40UaJ9T-6WaqRYxYGQhaHbRWSLVMT2pbbkGsi3l6zZYJJ5Xf7dpDU81vbNifOGtgq_ImF_FldAakZk-pDX9BaE-eWViQBz" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjrwAaSWZnB37qyTJeRYMpSWV3jyBvXSu02cvwBPT8UlkqipcIpxz6BVQSBwGLLAhZLpDsQvY4tweNAwM3BCXQNPbDUXobhAZ40UaJ9T-6WaqRYxYGQhaHbRWSLVMT2pbbkGsi3l6zZYJJ5Xf7dpDU81vbNifOGtgq_ImF_FldAakZk-pDX9BaE-eWViQBz=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgHM456zr5C-ikaoC46XfKket5miMb8fHn6Xl29fKzK454LbvYrWcvABspaMR988mNrEMO8L84pgL2rShy6D_svXZMbhR8_9Zejgyvoln6uOT4DFAelI9I9O3IA6jTfgQ20ipXhbUzVNstzyHNf4bNnwtjmlAzOGzB4IsVuVChiSmrUzWMZ9lF26pR52wcq" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgHM456zr5C-ikaoC46XfKket5miMb8fHn6Xl29fKzK454LbvYrWcvABspaMR988mNrEMO8L84pgL2rShy6D_svXZMbhR8_9Zejgyvoln6uOT4DFAelI9I9O3IA6jTfgQ20ipXhbUzVNstzyHNf4bNnwtjmlAzOGzB4IsVuVChiSmrUzWMZ9lF26pR52wcq=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><i> Me in 'deconstructed' and wonderful coat that Ezra bought in a super 'frip' shop in Tours</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi6GICFEPDAwHF2f-GrU_7itZzIjj4NCwQ-YKfar54JepsF5vIpoWXWavfXsTX21om4cJTux6C6LlyADeFot9XRpXDxjwa4S2V-KOwmmdoI5LjdyzDwHhoJf1jKctNgDIXE2Ehq2VPTZsdyzYk2HJv7tdNJFoc9J4EPr_hofk98dHKwqoitY0FShsX15kG1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi6GICFEPDAwHF2f-GrU_7itZzIjj4NCwQ-YKfar54JepsF5vIpoWXWavfXsTX21om4cJTux6C6LlyADeFot9XRpXDxjwa4S2V-KOwmmdoI5LjdyzDwHhoJf1jKctNgDIXE2Ehq2VPTZsdyzYk2HJv7tdNJFoc9J4EPr_hofk98dHKwqoitY0FShsX15kG1=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Mark opening present of hand made leather chess board and case made by Ezra</i></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjcxGKM6oVlBNxhTezPWWC2zN9pU0lSgpdysiIshkWStw2_eEOArSzoMAgekThsXvNSo7y00pabqAwo6XMnnYOwfLYw6Ba9Zs97SFwA0k-WQnU0M7z_iyIvjvRKijr-ap9QXmBcYzItlPAzW_w9kgICz6rXqsKOqtDgY_Eu-Ksiwt9tN_MLyRY_0QBeawGl" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjcxGKM6oVlBNxhTezPWWC2zN9pU0lSgpdysiIshkWStw2_eEOArSzoMAgekThsXvNSo7y00pabqAwo6XMnnYOwfLYw6Ba9Zs97SFwA0k-WQnU0M7z_iyIvjvRKijr-ap9QXmBcYzItlPAzW_w9kgICz6rXqsKOqtDgY_Eu-Ksiwt9tN_MLyRY_0QBeawGl=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><br /><br /><p></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>writing and other stuffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05216767876956499277noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8615722197643412767.post-41229235254620631102023-12-09T10:26:00.000+01:002023-12-09T10:26:04.025+01:00London meanderings.<p>I've done many, many of these over the years; sometimes to do with a writing idea, or sketching but often just curiosity over how my native city changes constantly. </p><p>Usually I find a room at the once incredibly cheap, St Atan's, hotel in Bloomsbury but even that modest place has become unaffordable. This time I found a generously low-priced Air B and B room on the boarders of Islington and booked it immediately, partly as the owner said it could share the secret of how to make white Marmite.</p><p>Taking a place in North London - more my childhood area rather than Eastwards which has been the case for several years due to for writing scenarios - I was excited to find a whole vast area I had forgotten, or possibly never visited in any depth. Canonbury was as I had imagined - full of elegant Georgian houses, little gated parks and rows of boutiques, but I'd never heard of the New River Walkway, something I noted in the flat's very excellent 'off the beaten track' London guide books. What an oasis of calm and biodiversity within London's sprawl - willow trees and a wandering path following a man-made river originally fabricated to provide drinking water to the area. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span> </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhqVzDq9Pjha5FKJpRcXJN4uTCCyupTnr12lHxPZwqiSIl1oMemCwhq1cIazMVYkYjExkpquQUuh6sk68iWbRXPy5iZUi2SLnfwESfGSYOKiofT6bT1sKXgJMQyMMdd8myP4b_LbOCO5hdxYJ__V3utAmiLpggtW547KgU71re-XdEzKAn_wYH-jBYRvQOd" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhqVzDq9Pjha5FKJpRcXJN4uTCCyupTnr12lHxPZwqiSIl1oMemCwhq1cIazMVYkYjExkpquQUuh6sk68iWbRXPy5iZUi2SLnfwESfGSYOKiofT6bT1sKXgJMQyMMdd8myP4b_LbOCO5hdxYJ__V3utAmiLpggtW547KgU71re-XdEzKAn_wYH-jBYRvQOd=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><br /><i> Early morning, Canonbury</i><p></p><p><i><br /></i></p><p><i></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgHlJ7SnLhatuBmQPfG0dP3jvAUSPA_5fQIYZsKVbNuGHqXXC94AHBkhG4hmRfurylQzIpcu6vT61oSqHmq3y6vYF742pkGT2vLNurMMCqSndD7ir2oSqy7aDdKKJAqsnzSCdvcdxynqulV9eDC44MJkxJV05i69QNHgksk9O5uDqUDEDr_Yrh584VtDaDX" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgHlJ7SnLhatuBmQPfG0dP3jvAUSPA_5fQIYZsKVbNuGHqXXC94AHBkhG4hmRfurylQzIpcu6vT61oSqHmq3y6vYF742pkGT2vLNurMMCqSndD7ir2oSqy7aDdKKJAqsnzSCdvcdxynqulV9eDC44MJkxJV05i69QNHgksk9O5uDqUDEDr_Yrh584VtDaDX=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></i></div><i><br /><br /></i><p></p><p><i></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgdtP12FqRe9OEZYdjJ0WB2qeo_no4J0Uk6QQZAOKCtLDwfIDI_azUhaXgJHLaFhZbpvlvYHmkE1in3CPPvbz21-FyBU_-kyyoF5sbO6a7CIcCt4SrHK_qUJpyEv5t413o6TC8EDfYh9znsyNHME1tZpNHa_QCw92g2Hpq3cvLBywmBHEAMjXCclzP8ZdW7" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgdtP12FqRe9OEZYdjJ0WB2qeo_no4J0Uk6QQZAOKCtLDwfIDI_azUhaXgJHLaFhZbpvlvYHmkE1in3CPPvbz21-FyBU_-kyyoF5sbO6a7CIcCt4SrHK_qUJpyEv5t413o6TC8EDfYh9znsyNHME1tZpNHa_QCw92g2Hpq3cvLBywmBHEAMjXCclzP8ZdW7=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></i></div><i><br /> The new river walkway</i><p></p><p><i></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjL8kugd-0uN8yuF47OrGAWdEzgZ75JmbT0pzD9Mw3jjSNNVdK3NxF3aiNEIqyrmpcZPMj3ydm2Rl74LhYN3EGUMZ9C6niFWx5-PMM3ps34ijau5YAc3Fpu4ibaBcibkUJyxRo1APjDfbXlRprbyIU7K5xKC3bjLh4ADUxe6flV4Y-yzd2zBUWj-By1CEgZ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="512" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjL8kugd-0uN8yuF47OrGAWdEzgZ75JmbT0pzD9Mw3jjSNNVdK3NxF3aiNEIqyrmpcZPMj3ydm2Rl74LhYN3EGUMZ9C6niFWx5-PMM3ps34ijau5YAc3Fpu4ibaBcibkUJyxRo1APjDfbXlRprbyIU7K5xKC3bjLh4ADUxe6flV4Y-yzd2zBUWj-By1CEgZ=w320-h400" width="320" /></a></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhYiqBKWrjB2dtUSuBmz6g2ptLlE4YZVgS9OfxTkR95dhSz7OY_DSDr8n_hrn5rgCf8Q2t4UWdbNs7tpRmbnfe56N71wkkqiBaWGQptMSeo3o8CLOnuZMePQgJ_z9nr_bb7Y28_JrjwOcZJIj8JSs2ujU4pCErGIns3QbBaR6fXPmfsU_BS-O0LWkRoUxS5" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhYiqBKWrjB2dtUSuBmz6g2ptLlE4YZVgS9OfxTkR95dhSz7OY_DSDr8n_hrn5rgCf8Q2t4UWdbNs7tpRmbnfe56N71wkkqiBaWGQptMSeo3o8CLOnuZMePQgJ_z9nr_bb7Y28_JrjwOcZJIj8JSs2ujU4pCErGIns3QbBaR6fXPmfsU_BS-O0LWkRoUxS5=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj8UjfLX1PiqY-E0NJfI4ItzusZuYvJw47c4xFfFCqYbJkf7imHWNSPZimGfhcXSiO_ifGeCkzMVczO7IFcgBdDCeqJ2d0rHsCMDhy_gWKlTQAQ1iJxZeoXUYB6zZo7YGYrK6WUp3jRdsj6wUVBRf1xbWRstRV4BqoV-A6QHSAWxTM51CgWQ6bPIK4a-JnB" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj8UjfLX1PiqY-E0NJfI4ItzusZuYvJw47c4xFfFCqYbJkf7imHWNSPZimGfhcXSiO_ifGeCkzMVczO7IFcgBdDCeqJ2d0rHsCMDhy_gWKlTQAQ1iJxZeoXUYB6zZo7YGYrK6WUp3jRdsj6wUVBRf1xbWRstRV4BqoV-A6QHSAWxTM51CgWQ6bPIK4a-JnB=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></i></div><i><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgtYT7GsQgMMCbyMAhp43bmZubJlCpAW6dyepHbce1PI-f7MVu81ptkh5NfQkjAQ0gQp6bKoJw9loW7wycGHC63GQQ2EPwr4_GTaDO9v5XNo3iBa35jApfjdKsp-PbEuflcxyVcjMQQBPuZwDfX4mCcQKGd1la32YZKvDmOWGqCZIvdCQp4IxMwaNrQob6H" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgtYT7GsQgMMCbyMAhp43bmZubJlCpAW6dyepHbce1PI-f7MVu81ptkh5NfQkjAQ0gQp6bKoJw9loW7wycGHC63GQQ2EPwr4_GTaDO9v5XNo3iBa35jApfjdKsp-PbEuflcxyVcjMQQBPuZwDfX4mCcQKGd1la32YZKvDmOWGqCZIvdCQp4IxMwaNrQob6H=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><br />Madness of Camden - but not as mad as Oxford St</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgpF8SKLJXMHkPLkG5i3toJeUKlb74Ms5HpzpRXUVWwoueRG97xAMO5XyGustY1X1-qj8QUsIPm1Xw83IxNxrsaqlSF_r--VAws07lRkz1Z5uYO5c7hEjX5jBbVS-YbztS0uCgvpEBmRU1HJqQbwVfiu9a_KiczaYGrdamDtSBFQdLUgiv7tXHfVWQlSQaI" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="512" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgpF8SKLJXMHkPLkG5i3toJeUKlb74Ms5HpzpRXUVWwoueRG97xAMO5XyGustY1X1-qj8QUsIPm1Xw83IxNxrsaqlSF_r--VAws07lRkz1Z5uYO5c7hEjX5jBbVS-YbztS0uCgvpEBmRU1HJqQbwVfiu9a_KiczaYGrdamDtSBFQdLUgiv7tXHfVWQlSQaI=w320-h400" width="320" /></a></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; 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margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgMnEy25yAXro4aa1jkM07-5IMXR43LfpWVJRqUSsy5olSwJxSfqpD4uLOGoi-wHbAAQ9aTHQl9Ui31LgxV7oXMSBgPRjdPJNciqh4wtWSXaQxGUOejHZPKJ6pWnD01TJxD_NW4KoKEZvA5_8cUZPz1BeBKJYVLh12BBaaH7wS8lLAHhPMufkAWp3WHPhCX=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhzJPL8ykEj45zXNn5jjJohFH67yJPhwd20Rz2SJ2p78cCb6XhqmjKHCYNczBlcgwPSA6K0zicPY0hFv1-5kcLuOVJg6MbXrj253sBshtlpCF0_KapjKIhqzPRMtbTNHcjqnYycV4ueCiLhOBih7Tf6hIW_IEF5m78jqzCOV5FbpXEQp6zjjjy8kdE5hOa1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhzJPL8ykEj45zXNn5jjJohFH67yJPhwd20Rz2SJ2p78cCb6XhqmjKHCYNczBlcgwPSA6K0zicPY0hFv1-5kcLuOVJg6MbXrj253sBshtlpCF0_KapjKIhqzPRMtbTNHcjqnYycV4ueCiLhOBih7Tf6hIW_IEF5m78jqzCOV5FbpXEQp6zjjjy8kdE5hOa1=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></i></div><i><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgkdUW3_O92A8FQHXQWM-Hat6rkom_ly5L4a39ItJKT_tkHKCpmugVHMV2i5h15Ptw-MTlkBOu06jmF0_YHnufGCf3SQOkkMOWigcPTkBstq67b0gQYZD18HBCVDO0BH4IiPSO7heVYKBRKQOA4gAFSTaDLA-_RCGwtlC_n1HfNQRdYneUstZ73q-fPUWt7" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgkdUW3_O92A8FQHXQWM-Hat6rkom_ly5L4a39ItJKT_tkHKCpmugVHMV2i5h15Ptw-MTlkBOu06jmF0_YHnufGCf3SQOkkMOWigcPTkBstq67b0gQYZD18HBCVDO0BH4IiPSO7heVYKBRKQOA4gAFSTaDLA-_RCGwtlC_n1HfNQRdYneUstZ73q-fPUWt7=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>a Hampstead back lane, and pub</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEipq8feR2EUdhRUSv-6cqGFOnbp24lWYKdLuHIBC4jUUMC7NislGJlJND8JktyzUGD9RzY-qfUkW7YOdHcLgqZoWqs51wDIrOF9dd0CazZeR8HXUseCB4ibi4nZu4lS-KNyb-HvnTJRvjkD6QwFxVqMf_izycLHg-mZ09rCqJnZLgGa2mrMxbJ-fYTEEodL" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEipq8feR2EUdhRUSv-6cqGFOnbp24lWYKdLuHIBC4jUUMC7NislGJlJND8JktyzUGD9RzY-qfUkW7YOdHcLgqZoWqs51wDIrOF9dd0CazZeR8HXUseCB4ibi4nZu4lS-KNyb-HvnTJRvjkD6QwFxVqMf_izycLHg-mZ09rCqJnZLgGa2mrMxbJ-fYTEEodL=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></i></div><i><br /><br /></i></div>I walked for hours with no plan, as I do, through the West End, on to Regents park with its joggers, dog walkers and groups of well-dressed Sunday strollers; and up to Camden - a mad tapestry of colour and sound, busier than I had ever seen it - and onto Hampstead, an epicentre of chique and spare cash. I did all the charity shops which were incredible! window shopped, drank tea when the cold became too intense and finished off a perfect day with a concert of experimental jazz in a church before returning to my lovely B and B room - which the kindly guy had upgraded to the whole flat as he was away, the only downside being that I never did get to learn of the white Marmite. Next time.<p></p><p><br /></p>writing and other stuffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05216767876956499277noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8615722197643412767.post-11539478610245551852023-12-03T11:23:00.004+01:002023-12-03T11:23:32.874+01:00Read this, and then tell a friend to read it...<p>I haven't read a fat tome for a while, being rather occupied with many other things, but having the chance of more free time while away in the UK I entered a bookshop and had a quick browse - dangerous place. There were about forty books I wanted to buy immediately... I was about to turn and head for the Oxfam I had noted over the road as I had begun to feel overloaded with spendism - not a word? is now - when I noted the volume pictured below and felt compelled to buy it. I'm very glad I did.</p><p>I started reading in a café a few minutes later, and couldn't stop. It's a horrifying, fascinating, enlightened read; written in a playful but certainly not irritating way, with masses of factual, scientific stuff which I will have to read at least three times to remotely understand; a book written with real passion and humility, as if the author, even though a doctor himself, was learning <i>so</i> much as he wrote and researched; plunging into a dark and secretive world of non-food, pushed by huge companies with only one objective in mind: money.</p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhfH-bUIk6Y13AljNXDP9Gt1r4c7w92Np44rnHfAmMwyNVlnV3gM-q9hFuGndeEh-i3B3MeVwIQp4WdqMzeJjBWNBjC0Un6YfN0iV9isathYIcIR9tHCLg5Kt0jroNpral8r6_HoIdmUkvWNx2p1DV9vIEVAw6WfvXBI861nbnt7wAIpOhU9BsDHTEmESQ3" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhfH-bUIk6Y13AljNXDP9Gt1r4c7w92Np44rnHfAmMwyNVlnV3gM-q9hFuGndeEh-i3B3MeVwIQp4WdqMzeJjBWNBjC0Un6YfN0iV9isathYIcIR9tHCLg5Kt0jroNpral8r6_HoIdmUkvWNx2p1DV9vIEVAw6WfvXBI861nbnt7wAIpOhU9BsDHTEmESQ3=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>writing and other stuffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05216767876956499277noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8615722197643412767.post-22306295418392215672023-11-23T11:45:00.004+01:002023-11-23T11:45:55.743+01:00Sheffield wanderings<p>London is my usual go-to wandering place but as I was visiting my lovely brother and his lovely family I spent a few days exploring somewhere composed of large hills and stone buildings.</p><p>They live on one of the seven hills of Sheffield, an hour and half walk into the city itself. The tram was an easy option but being now a dweller in flatter countryside I wanted to experience the calf-aching inclines. </p><p>The views were inspiring: rows of brick and slate roofed dwellings, autumnal trees, and distant moorland hilltops. I sketched, ate scones and drank tea in various cafés, and enjoyed chats with folks about their gardens and or dogs.</p><p>The city centre itself I found less fascinating as many of the shops have been sucked in to the black hole - or rather glittering, white, Christmas bauble-infested nightmare that is Meadowhall. But I did buy some walking boots in an outdoor pursuits (what a lovely phrase) shop which were 80% off thanks to another consumer madness trap - Black Friday, even though it was Wednesday.</p><p>Some snaps of my meanderings.</p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhnKymR6qjfe7CkjgaY1An6395y5iIMVb1GALfgNNu2a9iqHsWO42tJ_O3k96F2xx8wQESY3KTPtvTsOOXteqJScNRThLfE_iBtR2WMETrpmmHjKc3Ak0tXG_UxyZpWrzkAEfDn0H6qeGrmxlyJ-rXPYideJ5i-E7h1RGQPFG3seDrYD6h3K2o09bRBu7nX" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhnKymR6qjfe7CkjgaY1An6395y5iIMVb1GALfgNNu2a9iqHsWO42tJ_O3k96F2xx8wQESY3KTPtvTsOOXteqJScNRThLfE_iBtR2WMETrpmmHjKc3Ak0tXG_UxyZpWrzkAEfDn0H6qeGrmxlyJ-rXPYideJ5i-E7h1RGQPFG3seDrYD6h3K2o09bRBu7nX=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><i><br /><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> V steep footpath towards town</span></i><br /><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiFBAIZer-pOfLaCewZ_G85VvFejmxs_OZVwcMChtb6Jfyk2OvVHSN4Ofu3dbk0bMxdREmcpLa4QALkiGHUE10Dgs7gDPrL_XP7LYwKSnIicI5NySmPay5oSgn0K5Rp4pnMaFMGYYy1xP1DcoyTkWx_bqVPATvEn4Noy6EpkN1Jr0gZPkzr5wM092jPwWY8" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiFBAIZer-pOfLaCewZ_G85VvFejmxs_OZVwcMChtb6Jfyk2OvVHSN4Ofu3dbk0bMxdREmcpLa4QALkiGHUE10Dgs7gDPrL_XP7LYwKSnIicI5NySmPay5oSgn0K5Rp4pnMaFMGYYy1xP1DcoyTkWx_bqVPATvEn4Noy6EpkN1Jr0gZPkzr5wM092jPwWY8=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjSIlal-gOr8Qiuj0j8-ID_9pWXu9sCxF6nJo4teatG1OUdqk3lJQ3UCkH2dVg_jZcv8EanS-3OPKMcXhgLdMhCIRlhV4LXW_lQ90Q2UPina9lyRKwkhn2q-NwhWvCtP4AalkVH0QD74g7wQpl6vd1iEH5l_LdNSqx8J2QNzex1zYeMDhYTkS4BMXaaIYnX" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjSIlal-gOr8Qiuj0j8-ID_9pWXu9sCxF6nJo4teatG1OUdqk3lJQ3UCkH2dVg_jZcv8EanS-3OPKMcXhgLdMhCIRlhV4LXW_lQ90Q2UPina9lyRKwkhn2q-NwhWvCtP4AalkVH0QD74g7wQpl6vd1iEH5l_LdNSqx8J2QNzex1zYeMDhYTkS4BMXaaIYnX=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjg9noIYGtyhcp6eavwP_aqLNE32-THPEIj7JFOPnsFs1oFSJWCWvHgviOXKGepKIS-XnLjVu3zpppWJ63INNnQk-RBW7jSdE0hEi_R16UzSoDAA5_L0CAVJezOcBAmomxBJhK7zwT6s19yV7C2MV6sC2tcI4hTj-GQVpRgSrRNuJsv5TY_8iUI3IsjDc0T" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjg9noIYGtyhcp6eavwP_aqLNE32-THPEIj7JFOPnsFs1oFSJWCWvHgviOXKGepKIS-XnLjVu3zpppWJ63INNnQk-RBW7jSdE0hEi_R16UzSoDAA5_L0CAVJezOcBAmomxBJhK7zwT6s19yV7C2MV6sC2tcI4hTj-GQVpRgSrRNuJsv5TY_8iUI3IsjDc0T=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>don't miss the other sign - Battersea Cod's home...</i></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiqAagxJg7tMq5OxiacaLcySDuehlnz7FZFwsYzxavBY-gtLFUL7lLwj6Xe-RWCo4RIa1MzuUmQf5fP-W2EDa7r3SrqnXE7hESjBxWCV9ZF2UB2pWUMgmOutf-6TzDP-o4w63p0m554xboJPklL2jEO9uahRhzGoGfTNJK6-rk5MUzOOAXWzWlrJ6VhOlp2" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiqAagxJg7tMq5OxiacaLcySDuehlnz7FZFwsYzxavBY-gtLFUL7lLwj6Xe-RWCo4RIa1MzuUmQf5fP-W2EDa7r3SrqnXE7hESjBxWCV9ZF2UB2pWUMgmOutf-6TzDP-o4w63p0m554xboJPklL2jEO9uahRhzGoGfTNJK6-rk5MUzOOAXWzWlrJ6VhOlp2=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; 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text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjFU0hCeE3gZuuzGg1x5NxibfKYhpCG7hCj6_AYidTLuZBYxgSIrUlGFFph9FS_dUdnn5U7RQMohiKN-XClmegP230PN7uC-9TMZSU6_Ze9Q3Nq2xtWPZ3b4BwitFsXZV2kAiSf6RU3G71Z-_Sr4rR-mS25Pnla-VXi6Xxfjc_A2HSd1f5lyrpiK-P50q7-" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="512" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjFU0hCeE3gZuuzGg1x5NxibfKYhpCG7hCj6_AYidTLuZBYxgSIrUlGFFph9FS_dUdnn5U7RQMohiKN-XClmegP230PN7uC-9TMZSU6_Ze9Q3Nq2xtWPZ3b4BwitFsXZV2kAiSf6RU3G71Z-_Sr4rR-mS25Pnla-VXi6Xxfjc_A2HSd1f5lyrpiK-P50q7-=w512-h640" width="512" /></a></div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><br /></div><br /><br /></div><br /><br /></u></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0000ee;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 238);"><u><br /></u></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0000ee;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 238);"><u><br /></u></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0000ee;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 238);"><u><br /></u></span></span></div><br /><br /></div><br /><br /></div><br /><br /><p></p><p><br /></p>writing and other stuffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05216767876956499277noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8615722197643412767.post-24903648898892390412023-11-06T09:38:00.001+01:002023-11-06T09:38:06.085+01:00Done and not far off dusted...<p>So, it happened, the Kickstarter for Londonia to audiobook achieved its goal, or rather we did; the amount was realised with some last minute help from wonderful friends and family. Now the packing up of the rewards starts, and then the real project begins with recording, editing and adding of music/soundscape which will take some time. </p><p>I'm taking a computer break as much as possible for a while as I've been staring at a screen far more than I should have been in these last few weeks resulting in some unwanted bodily protests.... So next blog, in a while... cheerio.</p><p>Thanks to all of you who supported and helped me through this interesting but at some points very stressful and self-doubting escapade. It'll be worth it. The audiobook will be extraordinary!</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhHt5OmgblPHWe6nL1BWzHfbcqnjKv8by4hfJA2y4t_SDbnc9mncsaVmQZEPrNPTw4fikdECLf4Z0iK0t2-evY50M4Jdx_feHwOexhKqidxzmg19qjMxlYlTtEDulQnZMrLd3VU87DIglsFBlxJYhVSE5kpkxbVeSxLz2DPU7Rkw7kpM_Y7SQ2Fe4nJ28yI" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="512" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhHt5OmgblPHWe6nL1BWzHfbcqnjKv8by4hfJA2y4t_SDbnc9mncsaVmQZEPrNPTw4fikdECLf4Z0iK0t2-evY50M4Jdx_feHwOexhKqidxzmg19qjMxlYlTtEDulQnZMrLd3VU87DIglsFBlxJYhVSE5kpkxbVeSxLz2DPU7Rkw7kpM_Y7SQ2Fe4nJ28yI=w512-h640" width="512" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p>writing and other stuffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05216767876956499277noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8615722197643412767.post-30590216321613353852023-11-01T15:42:00.008+01:002023-11-01T15:42:57.332+01:00Another glimpse into 2073<iframe frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://youtube.com/embed/YmoeOHI-Lec?si=hvup7vhWIsbQYBEb" width="480"></iframe><div><br /></div><div>Madame Caruso, a wealthy dame from the Cincture, sits in her drawing room with time on her hands and antique Ikea items to find.</div>writing and other stuffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05216767876956499277noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8615722197643412767.post-30796631073999669422023-10-29T09:51:00.007+01:002023-10-29T09:51:50.710+01:00Jarvis Anderton-Wolfe speaking to you from 2073<iframe frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://youtube.com/embed/OoEH-lLOU5Q?si=ToxqB4fKB2pf0hRu" width="480"></iframe><div><span style="background-color: #b2b2b2;"><br /></span></div><div><div><span style="caret-color: rgb(228, 230, 235); color: #e4e6eb; font-family: inherit; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Jarvis Anderton-Wolfe, genial gangster, Finder from 2073 , and a main character from Londonia has a message for you 2023 - ers. </span></div><div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="caret-color: rgb(228, 230, 235); color: #e4e6eb; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a class="x1i10hfl xjbqb8w x6umtig x1b1mbwd xaqea5y xav7gou x9f619 x1ypdohk xt0psk2 xe8uvvx xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r xexx8yu x4uap5 x18d9i69 xkhd6sd x16tdsg8 x1hl2dhg xggy1nq x1a2a7pz xt0b8zv x1fey0fg" href="http://kck.st/3EN4hAP?fbclid=IwAR1aZa0CRNcN9gytqNl7PSva3Bm2kzRqqP3cRy5-VIO0sSSd_zf03N-U9Uc" rel="nofollow noreferrer" role="link" style="border-color: currentcolor; border-style: none; border-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: var(--blue-link); cursor: pointer; display: inline; font-family: inherit; list-style: none; margin: 0px; outline: currentcolor; padding: 0px; text-align: inherit; text-decoration: none; touch-action: manipulation;" tabindex="0" target="_blank">http://kck.st/3EN4hAP</a></span></div></div></div></div>writing and other stuffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05216767876956499277noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8615722197643412767.post-32249429151100753192023-10-27T14:35:00.001+02:002023-10-27T14:35:02.497+02:006 days to go...<div>Not to the end of the world, and nothing important on a scale of events going <i>in</i> the world on as I write, but, in our little household, fairly important. </div><div>The end of our Kickstarter crowd funder is looming, along with a more ramped up polite request for money . . . we've come a long way, the sum now over 2,400 but there's still a fair bit to find. It's been a lot of work and still will be with all the 'rewards' to prepare and post such as the hand-stitched CD covers - and making up of CDs and bigger artworks. But it will all be worth it, and I know the end result will be an audible treat packed with drama, mystery and humour surrounded by a rich tapestry of sounds and music, and, of course, the marvellous voice talents of Steven. </div><div><p>Below, an extract of myself reading the part of the story where Hoxton, our heroine, visits the rather creepy, Bert-the-Swagger, in search of 'antique' 2020s smart phones for her pampered Cincture clients.</p></div><iframe frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://youtube.com/embed/qo1SNCm-TkU?si=zKVhnu6EqMtDbn1T" width="480"></iframe><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgA69vcsfPkeAhxqDQyZ7gkd14PN5VWUrU1Bv_PDSvteLZJhKwgJqjOfW_0OzlMabQSC3UvBWXiYBZpwehOq0hCW2oHvLIwtRVfAMc7g0qRDb8U9At_mgN0R4uGv7vjiRtFVVpJ85hFGSwEcn_TL8bWeypsU8WGi870OKYz_lg5_a6KV1azlyhqbTdLbHk7" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgA69vcsfPkeAhxqDQyZ7gkd14PN5VWUrU1Bv_PDSvteLZJhKwgJqjOfW_0OzlMabQSC3UvBWXiYBZpwehOq0hCW2oHvLIwtRVfAMc7g0qRDb8U9At_mgN0R4uGv7vjiRtFVVpJ85hFGSwEcn_TL8bWeypsU8WGi870OKYz_lg5_a6KV1azlyhqbTdLbHk7=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div> My Londonia style CD covers.<br /><br /></div>writing and other stuffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05216767876956499277noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8615722197643412767.post-22504883123515253632023-10-24T14:08:00.002+02:002023-10-24T14:08:42.453+02:00Meaningful presents<p>We have a huge colony of blue tits in the garden, enough that they pretty much queue up outside the one nesting box we attached to their favourite tree in the front garden. I found another box in a vide grenier (boot sale) recently but we still need more - especially as I read that the tit family are one of a few birds that actually eat processional caterpillars, therefore we need to add more homes to the pine trees in the back garden. Given more time we could make some . . . or not . . . or I could give in and buy some from the scarily expensive local garden shop. Then our lovely friend, Louise, came back from the UK with a present for us and our bird population. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjBd7LQWdrkB_S4tYhsybraQEyzHR7hiKwWmEkmv1j8uSyyMRjVHTe_SAQMhkIsZF0p4LsZ_ufCALTuTelutudQGKBDoUckeCo7yuepnstfiRKLnm-WIihsGMMXiBt8J4Zoo9xAV2tIWOsyjQyThPKssYf--EUvjkDiquUnfZZuhbMAzO_AT6_7NFx4fqPe" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2592" data-original-width="1728" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjBd7LQWdrkB_S4tYhsybraQEyzHR7hiKwWmEkmv1j8uSyyMRjVHTe_SAQMhkIsZF0p4LsZ_ufCALTuTelutudQGKBDoUckeCo7yuepnstfiRKLnm-WIihsGMMXiBt8J4Zoo9xAV2tIWOsyjQyThPKssYf--EUvjkDiquUnfZZuhbMAzO_AT6_7NFx4fqPe=w427-h640" width="427" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p>This is an exceptional object - made by her mother's boyfriend - exclusively from old recycled bits of garden sheds and other collapsed garden edifices. How marvellous. I love the added decoration of a painted butterflies, ornamental stick, and the fact that it's a two tier logement allowing two feathered families to inhabit the box. Think he should start building tiny houses - I'd buy one. </p>writing and other stuffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05216767876956499277noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8615722197643412767.post-78416210380555788612023-10-20T08:43:00.004+02:002023-10-20T08:43:47.518+02:00Making a soundscape<p>14 days to go with our Londonia to audiobook, Kickstarter campaign, and it's looking good with over half the amount raised. THANK YOU! to our lovely backers!</p><p>Mark - pictured here with one of his smaller pianos :0) will be in London today making recordings of the Thames, pub interiors, and backstreets (avoiding present day giveaways of sirens, traffic etc - no mean feat!) to add into his Londonia soundscape for the audiobook.</p><p>Looking forward to the rich tapestry of the end result! Link below if you'd like to support our atmospheric glimpse into 2073.</p><p>http://kck.st/3EN4hAP</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhMM91MBQHw_JrOLD6ruNCzPnlvH7wuGqQwqdVHLKuHelrMbcJlljbHU6xgK4HuxNdAGT749f3kSjpLGr2fv1pbyDuwgu3s8NtYUrmOJ2-DMEoqflFY7XRXjfwW_qRAVrwob5peeadf2tn3mPs4wkOyYwlXTr_5KFCMKQFuXP3akxP0j6smfwXLzMXvk4s9" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhMM91MBQHw_JrOLD6ruNCzPnlvH7wuGqQwqdVHLKuHelrMbcJlljbHU6xgK4HuxNdAGT749f3kSjpLGr2fv1pbyDuwgu3s8NtYUrmOJ2-DMEoqflFY7XRXjfwW_qRAVrwob5peeadf2tn3mPs4wkOyYwlXTr_5KFCMKQFuXP3akxP0j6smfwXLzMXvk4s9=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><br /></p>writing and other stuffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05216767876956499277noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8615722197643412767.post-85638707824934289692023-10-16T10:46:00.002+02:002023-10-16T10:51:45.836+02:00Dog, I and lad road trip<p>He's not a lad anymore (25) but our road trips started when he was - around eight or so.</p><p>We had a free day so perused the map for a short while pinpointing a town we knew nothing about, not too far away but with some potential interesting stops along the way - probably not the usual things folk stop for: castles, famous monuments, prettiest villages of France, etc; rather, abandoned quarries, desolate unused railway stations, abandoned railway lines, and lakes, in case it was still warm enough to swim.</p><p>The town chosen was Bressuire, between Poitiers and Nantes. We stopped to give the dog an airing at an actually very pretty and interesting village called Curçay sur Dive atop a hill with panoramic views of the Anjou and Torraine landscape. The most interesting part was a small field at the top of the village where many species of vine had been planted in rows with accompanying notices describing the types of vine, age, original region, wine produced etc.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjIB1u-spIY3QRB5pu3xFjWmxCBZCUE1QKJhxZ9-VtzjyLeRBHcxmfQv8jkHo_wx6PnHs05IOK5mi8YLuhkdd8BzAg08QOVKwsL_e-TNCtzyDjnHIQqmItZfGeQp4Qz8yCQFWzQoC3N7ck-yxx78s_gAeFCUDaTXF5rmdAsf0Zop9RIpVhj4NtwMJq8t-Z3" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjIB1u-spIY3QRB5pu3xFjWmxCBZCUE1QKJhxZ9-VtzjyLeRBHcxmfQv8jkHo_wx6PnHs05IOK5mi8YLuhkdd8BzAg08QOVKwsL_e-TNCtzyDjnHIQqmItZfGeQp4Qz8yCQFWzQoC3N7ck-yxx78s_gAeFCUDaTXF5rmdAsf0Zop9RIpVhj4NtwMJq8t-Z3=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p>Dog aired, we moved on to Bressuire via Thouars - a town I think I have blogged about before which is a strange melange of faded grandeur and desolate concrete infested buildings/vast car parks. I don't think we gave it and its rolling countryside enough chance and will return to re-explore.</p><p>First impressions of the Bressuire were ones of the same faded grandeur and eclectic mix of post war/70s/80s buildings but with a more thriving atmosphere than Thouars - the main street being full of fairly up market chain shops. Soon, architectural detail, faded or otherwise, disappeared in significance as lunchtime arrived. Having decided against a picnic, we'd assumed we'd find a nice old fashioned bistro with cheap menu - sadly not. There seemed to either be plasticky, over-lit bars or a choice of two very expensive restaurants towards which well-dressed people were heading. One was fully booked anyway and the other, 28 euros for two courses - prices have certainly gone up . . . that used to be a relatively expensive evening eatery experience. I stopped trying to find an excuse for why we should go ahead and treat ourselves as the mental sum became around 70 euros for lunch - and the dog wasn't even included in said treat.</p><p>The bakeries were shut. I had a banana and some cashew nuts in the car. Then we noticed a kebab place. The right choice, 8 euros a head with some spare meat for the dog, and the most smily restaurant owner I can recall.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhQ9lhPrsOwZD-tJCHbXCpBchtPvN-G7d2OUydrWuAjaiKs_TdaqvlZKmbcB3UPjrkuNd7t8pS8AUwFIRrkvSQmAsNvSgqV-d8nQMk7D7jJuhRmoBQJuwZl2NafBvzVxCvB5Y6jo_4QNLJoLfeniXdPf_ZiWnNYemt01Bf9Q6vrtPSykABQVPYALHXzmeiS" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhQ9lhPrsOwZD-tJCHbXCpBchtPvN-G7d2OUydrWuAjaiKs_TdaqvlZKmbcB3UPjrkuNd7t8pS8AUwFIRrkvSQmAsNvSgqV-d8nQMk7D7jJuhRmoBQJuwZl2NafBvzVxCvB5Y6jo_4QNLJoLfeniXdPf_ZiWnNYemt01Bf9Q6vrtPSykABQVPYALHXzmeiS=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjSSJ_NPetkRO5NctSG5m9fQtATNMCGJz0-wn12qOd4zHtPuf8TXDOB0Q8cTsPGf0DSd283ya2eJLTQXesJ7YLcfpU_ivmeIyXsNVZEpISSrSoilpAvF_Ku7_TugtRoYbWDOm0Uh7-kuH5-NbYI6IjBkaKU0P4iUOwk06umf5zytYLijvf_egeVmOCD6RmS" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjSSJ_NPetkRO5NctSG5m9fQtATNMCGJz0-wn12qOd4zHtPuf8TXDOB0Q8cTsPGf0DSd283ya2eJLTQXesJ7YLcfpU_ivmeIyXsNVZEpISSrSoilpAvF_Ku7_TugtRoYbWDOm0Uh7-kuH5-NbYI6IjBkaKU0P4iUOwk06umf5zytYLijvf_egeVmOCD6RmS=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg869Ki_HcC9-5sVVvNiU5Xm5DB5ouVtSUFgOvQkGoR0bkSFxOC17S6TQBOCFTmuKCIDNmGtMvyOqDLwAvlKW5lKOPMZn7gcZc6IReQN5pSeMZUFxKOqUDhKh0Zgqq703fufEvG9p8A8Mm6ACI54MHBn9mV7fAoA7eQI1aHSM23VBP1nJz24sjXcHjgn4Uy" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg869Ki_HcC9-5sVVvNiU5Xm5DB5ouVtSUFgOvQkGoR0bkSFxOC17S6TQBOCFTmuKCIDNmGtMvyOqDLwAvlKW5lKOPMZn7gcZc6IReQN5pSeMZUFxKOqUDhKh0Zgqq703fufEvG9p8A8Mm6ACI54MHBn9mV7fAoA7eQI1aHSM23VBP1nJz24sjXcHjgn4Uy=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiSXxGFPs9s1Oa_Ntce-kHYZiPXHk3ZKDySv9M6l4T8km_BDD0pJ70_u82Pcmpgxr4MFpGSYWKWTXufhhLEb_zAW5vT5Yw4gx5vhT7Eq_lazwtV3sQ9cpJAM5eCKDwOHb-7v6se1_Kti1Fz28BbSAso5KS409D8T2jOErOW7uvo0iEq3_9MULd5R1fFxPDz" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiSXxGFPs9s1Oa_Ntce-kHYZiPXHk3ZKDySv9M6l4T8km_BDD0pJ70_u82Pcmpgxr4MFpGSYWKWTXufhhLEb_zAW5vT5Yw4gx5vhT7Eq_lazwtV3sQ9cpJAM5eCKDwOHb-7v6se1_Kti1Fz28BbSAso5KS409D8T2jOErOW7uvo0iEq3_9MULd5R1fFxPDz=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><br /><i>Dog preferring wheely suitcase path</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Fuelled, we decided on a walk to the factory area near the station, pulled mainly by the site of a bizarre blobular - new word - metal water tower. The station has had much revamping with new areas of planting, benches, sculptures etc, slightly spoiled by the glowering form of a vast abattoir at the top of the hill. We passed by feeling guilty about the kebab and then followed a path back down the hill and into a lovely and contrasting area of meadowland with winding brook and young willow trees. The town and region have spent much on this area, re-digging the river into its wandering shape and thus recreating previous wetlands and helping biodiversity, <i>and</i> probably feeling guilty in turn about kebabs and all the other stuff that starts its product life from the scary abattoir. <p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh5jflQ0ZZhfU0UkBOYWK6OgZsQPiev9tpARW3J_GQRCV6rLBwxkwMcwtdvwGVHyO8SW7rn51E2SUL6srL7JhUdCFbj5g-sWb7bWebg00hnRrETcYJKNhFwKmBHMRd8Q1HkiZwpQO7uR5tDzEGmnFa2C6fUV4TRl1FmX_oF4S6pBdLMdiIylwVn-R8JaPbE" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh5jflQ0ZZhfU0UkBOYWK6OgZsQPiev9tpARW3J_GQRCV6rLBwxkwMcwtdvwGVHyO8SW7rn51E2SUL6srL7JhUdCFbj5g-sWb7bWebg00hnRrETcYJKNhFwKmBHMRd8Q1HkiZwpQO7uR5tDzEGmnFa2C6fUV4TRl1FmX_oF4S6pBdLMdiIylwVn-R8JaPbE=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg_WeAe3NvwGni5Bqrifvix21wUHBWOI6446hzSck118goHMsKo0mpFNVpXXK3Ls2l8SZhcudoPnZkdep5u7fZG_XNJ_zaO0bV0tWUVCfdMSP_H0bnbaGlTSsawprO1jdfB8BjulslsTIW0ZdkW51L4BWhQIszDc2SQo3QCvoqZvsrx-8Ky08T-ZhCXpHne" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg_WeAe3NvwGni5Bqrifvix21wUHBWOI6446hzSck118goHMsKo0mpFNVpXXK3Ls2l8SZhcudoPnZkdep5u7fZG_XNJ_zaO0bV0tWUVCfdMSP_H0bnbaGlTSsawprO1jdfB8BjulslsTIW0ZdkW51L4BWhQIszDc2SQo3QCvoqZvsrx-8Ky08T-ZhCXpHne=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgkoOc0FBAD1sLxDv8YH58qmr2ntqGKG-mUSQYxnIwD6c_BQ8CK_WKHn6ybL4tpA-b54TI_IyarMa3O4AHrXbkrSu6_W2-nNap3Jr0UqMps532ZRf0uknmXWmU4liOGNbq0jnIn0wYh_EmZL4_mdspTb68LGoHQRgPYtVzRCPwWYOC28M_QNA6QBHFfT76Y" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgkoOc0FBAD1sLxDv8YH58qmr2ntqGKG-mUSQYxnIwD6c_BQ8CK_WKHn6ybL4tpA-b54TI_IyarMa3O4AHrXbkrSu6_W2-nNap3Jr0UqMps532ZRf0uknmXWmU4liOGNbq0jnIn0wYh_EmZL4_mdspTb68LGoHQRgPYtVzRCPwWYOC28M_QNA6QBHFfT76Y=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><br />The path continued into the grounds of the impressive and in parts crumbling castle/chateau that looks over the town. More money spent on gardens, metal structures and potagers of unusual vegetables and fruits. The grounds were lovely, enhanced further by a troop of handsome black goats (gated away from the edible stuff). We passed through the entrance gates and back into the melange of over-the-years architecture and searched out a cup of tea in the previous fully-reserved brasserie overlooking the very magnificent town church.<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgz__one9399cj7E8DUGPqJGG6JxXA0uCdm1DPIbTAb1jP2QI5m3V_Tw24tfWfauDQ-5eip03dkwZspAd_x6pZkHatdd28xdJhCDC9Tq4boMI_4NrA_0So07k33iE00bcGtLD-fM6DV8GQatoGMux5-kjWgJoHO1sC4nAwe4dwPAQtKWR1BYN2KOXldajFW" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgz__one9399cj7E8DUGPqJGG6JxXA0uCdm1DPIbTAb1jP2QI5m3V_Tw24tfWfauDQ-5eip03dkwZspAd_x6pZkHatdd28xdJhCDC9Tq4boMI_4NrA_0So07k33iE00bcGtLD-fM6DV8GQatoGMux5-kjWgJoHO1sC4nAwe4dwPAQtKWR1BYN2KOXldajFW=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgcHMUPFlVCb77sBOxLAezyDOxAhBg3ObcUTlkyYs4a1XrjW2lYUzZSovnE6hihFHuMhCt0Wlcwpgqe_ti5dJ4xRPzdI1MyQRjMWpmtpHc-SdqHjFVT6J6NW_A6N9F2F8xCC24vKbIeIsidns4dGw4cLgsjjnQ-ujB_hdpjEX1GN03b8tP_inSUiqFQ_3oJ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgcHMUPFlVCb77sBOxLAezyDOxAhBg3ObcUTlkyYs4a1XrjW2lYUzZSovnE6hihFHuMhCt0Wlcwpgqe_ti5dJ4xRPzdI1MyQRjMWpmtpHc-SdqHjFVT6J6NW_A6N9F2F8xCC24vKbIeIsidns4dGw4cLgsjjnQ-ujB_hdpjEX1GN03b8tP_inSUiqFQ_3oJ=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><br /><br /></div>it was time to return to household chores and angry neglected chickens. I had saved them a pitta bread though, so all would be forgiven.<p></p><p><br /></p>writing and other stuffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05216767876956499277noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8615722197643412767.post-5342187847769815852023-10-12T14:27:00.000+02:002023-10-12T14:27:02.085+02:00Dog and I road trip<p>Too many jobs to do; too many protesting body parts, so I decided to take a day off - with the dog. And, aware that this period of crazy late summer weather will end any day, I was keen to get a last wild swim in.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEikQbHNHMFruSzVercvoigVgRiv7PVkfPfJZNK6z_QbmWDRM2GU-SEh4IHKdih9nSutacjZC8ftjZM_uYRcn1W26kp6nexN2QYs95N0baRAjQ_FsyPlYb48i1dm3gCA6OojiSAun_V5dmtZDmf0ZTw2zdw-Sm2RMtA7WpOGaopncPUe8mwZZTUQeDoJxeE_" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="512" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEikQbHNHMFruSzVercvoigVgRiv7PVkfPfJZNK6z_QbmWDRM2GU-SEh4IHKdih9nSutacjZC8ftjZM_uYRcn1W26kp6nexN2QYs95N0baRAjQ_FsyPlYb48i1dm3gCA6OojiSAun_V5dmtZDmf0ZTw2zdw-Sm2RMtA7WpOGaopncPUe8mwZZTUQeDoJxeE_=w320-h400" width="320" /></a></div><br />The dog doesn't really appreciate the road trip idea but sits upright on the back seat, eyes fixed on the road ahead - so maybe she does, difficult to know. We headed north with lakes in mind - the sea is my biggest pull but that would be a serious dawn to dusk road trip. About half an hour away is the lac de Rillé, a large area of water, part bird observing place, part human enjoyment - fishing, small boats etc. I'm never sure if you are allowed to swim there, but have done.<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEifI_SdQq3GkRv5zbAino8h-AAIdz9mhbTH-Dqru8L86SjJM4fvCmYZaeu9uKN6-IvTDEYHnLsRFZFcF9k1RMveEkHfOrIjdlGHKhctfLnSnx94P_b4iNc5CnxZeBG52Igtm3CjhBGerRw_AY9D1KQplsVEGdScfm9CDmekmL7wNN0hJf7RXsRaEyA4umLc" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="512" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEifI_SdQq3GkRv5zbAino8h-AAIdz9mhbTH-Dqru8L86SjJM4fvCmYZaeu9uKN6-IvTDEYHnLsRFZFcF9k1RMveEkHfOrIjdlGHKhctfLnSnx94P_b4iNc5CnxZeBG52Igtm3CjhBGerRw_AY9D1KQplsVEGdScfm9CDmekmL7wNN0hJf7RXsRaEyA4umLc=w320-h400" width="320" /></a></div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjVoYBlIqMeeBx1WctzTZuTvX2sk-c3G1U2XikFuorY2mh77ULfRkdhhXGZ7U7TxJNnhTdBANJrLr3-tKccLUyVop09KXjBJ2mbsN9kP97Ig-rr5FwjbX4LkMpl0D_g1-XT_9UGbKELWNLEgINoORZjo4LF0Zr5uT_-Yq8Ecv-wyQLkDTEhbAYSLtcmL4HH" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjVoYBlIqMeeBx1WctzTZuTvX2sk-c3G1U2XikFuorY2mh77ULfRkdhhXGZ7U7TxJNnhTdBANJrLr3-tKccLUyVop09KXjBJ2mbsN9kP97Ig-rr5FwjbX4LkMpl0D_g1-XT_9UGbKELWNLEgINoORZjo4LF0Zr5uT_-Yq8Ecv-wyQLkDTEhbAYSLtcmL4HH=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Rillé's South end</i></div><p></p><p>On the way we stopped at a favourite small walk of mine passing by the moulin de scée and its clear little river, so the dog could undertake the morning <i>doings </i>in some undergrowth<i>, </i>then on to Rillé where we walked the lake's ragged circumference, ate sandwiches - well, I did, and peered in at various access points in which to enter the placid water. There were too many fishermen however, and I'd forgotten my flip-flops so was unsure of what lay beyond the reeds. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiuozgQ2Yadpq5a-bV3qjwBDNivu61Iy6Aq4_FMIVsMTqCXJBAHxrQrbC0C0zemwkRlrZ6wDOXlktTd-svWV_v7qj6AeR7C4Td5W-5u-wXXo613LhABlXctbjO-W7glqbHPKcav7BGWA9oeLEsd6hVBOaHfu-1_tQyNFtH8ONo8JHpqL_rM8HmI_FEbiIBS" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiuozgQ2Yadpq5a-bV3qjwBDNivu61Iy6Aq4_FMIVsMTqCXJBAHxrQrbC0C0zemwkRlrZ6wDOXlktTd-svWV_v7qj6AeR7C4Td5W-5u-wXXo613LhABlXctbjO-W7glqbHPKcav7BGWA9oeLEsd6hVBOaHfu-1_tQyNFtH8ONo8JHpqL_rM8HmI_FEbiIBS=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><br /><i> The new bird observatory structure at Rillé</i><p></p><p><i></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjz92S-ya9O_Hau4798LOeY7AfPmNJIkUbWdxJykqYdot-Yj6Fv-xtgtnE9dY5zrnmOuCahE0hb26WUqBN_u03JQ4ORolRdzm0kq-G0Fjva2njvjohHBC8KM7Rbn25Speih2ru_mAa49-jMqfBRbD7r3Z2udUX3Qli7yboOVZYqywPHIG9Uq9JjCQLpWuqD" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjz92S-ya9O_Hau4798LOeY7AfPmNJIkUbWdxJykqYdot-Yj6Fv-xtgtnE9dY5zrnmOuCahE0hb26WUqBN_u03JQ4ORolRdzm0kq-G0Fjva2njvjohHBC8KM7Rbn25Speih2ru_mAa49-jMqfBRbD7r3Z2udUX3Qli7yboOVZYqywPHIG9Uq9JjCQLpWuqD=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></i></div><i><br /></i>Feeling deprived of the swim I decided we would investigate the lake at Hommes, just a few KM away. This was easier - set up for swimming but as it was October, not a soul about. So, the last wild swim of the year was a placid, warm, smooth swim, none of the battering and oh, so wonderful waves of Brittany on our recent trip there. But non the less, a lovely close to the season - unless the weather continues in its worryingly hot trend. I already feel the thought of one-more-swim sitting at the back of my mind.<p></p><p>Hommes was a tiny village devoid of cafés or at least open ones. We had a quick explore then drove on to Savigné sur Lathan a small town which was mostly being dug up for G5 cable laying... it must have had an illustrious past as there were the vestiges of a town wall, moat and a few majestic houses but now it appeared beyond quiet and rather more crumbling than repaired. I sat on the bar's terrace for a while anticipating a cup of tea but no one appeared so we left, did a final tour of the empty streets and returned home, sand still between the dogs toes and in my shoes from the beach at Homme's lake.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj0G-E913i-Ri5KB-0r4n32AEKLAVnSsJJRAQdOO1rhCfplRyBt-pOUQs5bE2supb-ApQsD85N2iwtJ6mFxCZVswLQQgSsZblaDkPNMXLGe1rFtVVOkVbyAsavef92frNdlVqu-EW6pj0yUgc0e5PYjnU9HKrl6_V8f7ymA-clYXzHWAXtIRey-8Zp-bo-N" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj0G-E913i-Ri5KB-0r4n32AEKLAVnSsJJRAQdOO1rhCfplRyBt-pOUQs5bE2supb-ApQsD85N2iwtJ6mFxCZVswLQQgSsZblaDkPNMXLGe1rFtVVOkVbyAsavef92frNdlVqu-EW6pj0yUgc0e5PYjnU9HKrl6_V8f7ymA-clYXzHWAXtIRey-8Zp-bo-N=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><br /> <i>This town needs vegetation....</i><p></p><p><i><br /></i></p><p><i></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhaInnHTua17-S6mekeWc_Uu_tiD80jWrWyqoq9rr-Sw1IaSWshJHX6vgX3MCZrQEMRzvWueuPoTshYKp4lgq62Qfx1Yct_9az1NT2jsjJssIPGnERqM2H2DLGf7mtl2--qjL5LGg7gYvkjIIHobUyhvmCkqHLqBT0a0DI4KfmFZoJ_92mL_hA4xE534EEB" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhaInnHTua17-S6mekeWc_Uu_tiD80jWrWyqoq9rr-Sw1IaSWshJHX6vgX3MCZrQEMRzvWueuPoTshYKp4lgq62Qfx1Yct_9az1NT2jsjJssIPGnERqM2H2DLGf7mtl2--qjL5LGg7gYvkjIIHobUyhvmCkqHLqBT0a0DI4KfmFZoJ_92mL_hA4xE534EEB=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></i></div><i><span> <span> </span></span></i><p></p><p><i><span></span><span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span><span>Tired and sandy dog</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br /><br /></i></p>writing and other stuffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05216767876956499277noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8615722197643412767.post-83924652855068984072023-10-08T09:03:00.004+02:002023-10-08T09:03:52.662+02:00Dog walk stories: No 3. Good Reverberations.<p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533335px;">Good reverberations. </span><span lang="EN-US">© Kate A Hardy 2023</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533335px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiSnfULLPMi1PMTCV7xxXlxElVky1n17DzEhMRzfgd64F76aPXGzmfo91igldykPkjpItvi8JPv_TWJWk-6TpZTVdNl0MTqqDVKaQqRP0WWSXQxMHjsDkzcMj7BcmVR9rU9XvevpYsSYnrXWANbjUqnMptYJlic7nLga4TKxwpqLxd5epnu0uTYfZVyUI7S" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="640" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiSnfULLPMi1PMTCV7xxXlxElVky1n17DzEhMRzfgd64F76aPXGzmfo91igldykPkjpItvi8JPv_TWJWk-6TpZTVdNl0MTqqDVKaQqRP0WWSXQxMHjsDkzcMj7BcmVR9rU9XvevpYsSYnrXWANbjUqnMptYJlic7nLga4TKxwpqLxd5epnu0uTYfZVyUI7S=w400-h400" width="400" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">So, this was a makeover?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">Alan squinted across the restaurant's newly painted stark interior; he felt like collapsing to his knees and howling. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">The Montebello had been so very perfect - snug, intimate; all red cloths, chianti bottles and candles, and that reassuring, badly executed old mural of mountains and sea. Now it was <i>modern - </i>everything out of an Ikea catalogue, grey, white, beige, plastic, ugly, and the bloody lighting! Yes, you wanted to see your food, but not interrogate it.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">"Have you reserved, sir?"<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">Alan started, surprised to see that the waiter requesting information was dressed in a long-sleeved T-shirt emblazoned with a smiley pizza, the old white shirts and bow ties dispensed with.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">" . . . Yes. A Table for two - Reed."<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">"Yep - over here, sir." The youth busied about with paper place mat and new tinny cutlery. "Drink while you're waiting?"<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">"No - thanks. I'll wait till she arrives."<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">She . . .<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">It was some months since he had done this - dared to accept a suggestion from Date 'n Co. The last one had been farcical, frightening, even. She'd looked nice enough - under the dim lights of this pre-relooked restaurant, but when they'd got back to her flat it was evident that she had somehow deducted twenty years from her age on her profile. He wasn't agist at all, but her resemblance to Aunty Vera, a crabby relative who had always imprisoned his ten-year-old self next to her crimplene-clad bosom was just a bit too worrying. Maybe this laboratory-style lighting had its uses after all . . . <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">Alan's sweaty fingers prized open the plastic clad menu. He wasn't hungry but could have downed two bottles of just about anything to keep the clamouring nerves at bay. Glancing around the room he observed the couples discussing, gazing at each other, laughing, chinking glasses. Why did it seem so easy for other people? Or maybe it wasn't. Maybe they had terrible lives and were just seeking a momentary relief - photographing themselves to plop a few self-congratulatory images on Inster-whatever.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">"Alan?"<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">He looked up and saw a woman hovering at the opposite side of the table, her hands awkwardly clutching a pink shiny bag. Alan got up abruptly, causing the carafe of water to judder. He grabbed at it, preventing the small wave which would have headed in her direction.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">"Juliette?"<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">She nodded. "That's me."<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">He wondered whether to nip round the table and pull the chair out for her, or would that be taken as some sort of male presumption? Old fashioned, chivalrous, out of touch. He gestured to the chair instead.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">"Please, take a seat." <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">Shit - sounded like a job interview. He could feel the sweat patches increasing, his armpits becoming soupy. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">She nodded again, a flush spreading across her plump round cheeks. Alan thought she looked rather like the milk maid in the print that hung on gran's kitchen wall - take away the purple and pink splodgy shirt and gold chains, and yes, she could be an older version of the timeless milk maid who stared benignly as you went to the fridge.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">Alan searched for the first phrase. "Did you find somewhere to park?" - duh, obviously, or she wouldn't be here . . .<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">"I came on the bus - I don't drive."<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">"Ah - I see." <i>A bus . .</i> ."A long journey?"<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">Alan let the word bus sit in his mind. All the angst in his mind seeped away for a moment. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">"From King's Cross," she continued. "I don't own a car . . . I'd rather take the bus."<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">Alan wanted to ask an odd question, but his mouth uttered something more normal.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">"Would you like a drink?"<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">Juliette shook her head, blond hair undulating. It was rather lovely hair.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">"I'll have a glass with the meal, thanks."<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">He wondered whether to go for the: <i>what do you do? </i>question as he'd stupidly failed to make a note of what she <i>did</i> do. All those profiles had become confused in his head - hairdresser, secretary, hotel receptionist, teacher, estate agent . . . She was studying her menu now, just glancing at him quickly from time to time over the top of the plastic that glinted under the ridiculous spidery lamp. He should have put on the newer shirt that hadn’t been quite dry. Marlene next door said it suited him - blue to go with his eyes. Eyes that had once sat within wrinkle free skin, eyes that had scanned London cars' number plates for far too long.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">"Are you ready to order?"<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">The t-shirted youth was back, pen poised over a pad.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">"Oh - err, yes - or do you want longer," asked Alan of his companion.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">She smiled up at the youth and Alan noted the gap between her front teeth. A little shiver of pleasure passed along his spine.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">"A carbonara, please. And a glass of white - house white."<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">They hadn't discussed getting a bottle. Alan felt a bit daft. All that vagueness about what she did, and then the word, <i>bus</i>. He'd been thrown. Anyway, she obviously knew what she wanted - not a bad thing.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">He quickly scanned the lines of suggestions, hazarding a guess: "Al'arrabbiata . . . and a green salad."<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">"Drink, sir?"<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">" . . . White . . . actually, Juliette - shall we get a large carafe?"<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">Oh, God, might she think he was trying to suggest something? get her loosened up? ugh, what a phrase; something his vile brother would say.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">"Good idea," she said, smiling and handing the menu over to the youth.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">She turned her eyes on Alan: "So . . . what do you do?" She laughed a little - a musical sound amongst the louder chatter and four chord rubbish that filled the room. "Sorry, that's such a dull question - but I'd rather be honest . . . must admit I've forgotten."<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">A little of Alan's nervousness fell away, a smile emerging. "That's really okay - likewise . . . I failed to note what you do."<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">The waiter appeared and showed off with corkscrew and beaded bottle, removing the cork with a practiced pop. He slanted the bottle towards Alan's glass and poured a little. Alan observed the ritual knowing his knowledge of wine stopped at i<i>f you can pour it, you can drink it.<o:p></o:p></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><i><span lang="EN-US">"</span></i><span lang="EN-US">Great - lovely, thanks."<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">The waiter poured nodded and placed the bottle in its plastic gift bag filled with ice cubes.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">Juliette raised her glass. They clinked and both swallowed much of their respective glasses’ contents. Nerves. Or . . . were either of them desperate drinkers? Alan hoped the former, his last serious relationship ruined by Sara's obsession with vodka, in all its forms and flavours.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">"Shall we return to the dull subject?"<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">Alan started, jolted away from a memory of Sara screeching with laughter while balanced on a bin trying to draw a moustache on Boris Johnson's face leering across a Brexit poster."<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">"Sorry - miles away."<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">"Where?"<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">The wine was beginning to seep into his hungry stomach. The waiter had forgotten the bread sticks. Sod it. He would just go for it. Say what he had been thinking. What's the worst that could happen? He described the dim night, the monster felt pen and Sara snapping a heel as she jumped down from the bin. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">Juliette grinned. "She sounds like a laugh . . . what happened?"<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">"Booze . . . and she wasn't into . . ."<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">"Into?"<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">"Something . . ." <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">Shit. The question had arrived, and they hadn't even got to the bloody tiramisu bit yet. Juliette cocked her head engagingly. She really was very pretty, in that innocent milk maid way - mind, who was to say milk maids were innocent . . . all those haystacks, and belts and braces farm hands. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">Juliette's hand touched his hand. "Go on - you can say. In fact, maybe we should forget, what do you do and skip to, what would you <i>like</i> to do."<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">Alan downed the rest of his glass and sat up straighter. "Right . . . I'm a traffic warden, and don't want to be."<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">She also downed her wine and refilled the glasses. "And?"<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">The waiter was back. "The carbonara for . . ."<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">"Me, thanks."<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">Juliette regarded the plate and made yum noises. Alan thought sadly that he really rather liked her. It would be crap that she would no doubt stare at him with mouth slightly open . . . you like <i>what</i>? <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">Of course, it hadn't just been the vodka problem with him and Sara - she'd gone along with <i>his idea</i> but never really understood him. He looked down at his tomatoey choice and stuck a fork in.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">"And?" repeated Juliette, her own fork laden with creamy pasta. "You were about to tell me . . ."<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">"Oh. Yes. Okay. But promise you won’t just leave."<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">"Sure - it can't be<i> that </i>weird, can it?"<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">Her brow was knitting slightly under the blonde fringe. Perhaps she was thinking about really dark stuff. Mortuary raids. Inappropriate behaviour with goats . . . <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">"No - no. Not really, just a bit . . . Oh, Hell. Look I like buses, okay? Not just any buses . . . London Route masters, to be specific."<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">Juliette giggled a little, a thread of pasta clinging to her lip. She popped it back in with a pointed pink nail.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">"You'll never, ever, ever believe what I'm about to say."<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">"I won't?"<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">"No."<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">"So. I'm a carpet saleswoman, and don't want to be."<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">Alan swallowed a peppery mouthful. . . "And?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">"I've always had this <i>thing</i> about buses - especially the older ones." She looked a little dreamy for a moment. "Something about that deep reverberation as they wait at stops. The Route Masters were the best - deep, deep reverberation, and the smell of . . ."<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">"Warm dust," ejaculated Alan. "And those fuzzy velvet seats. And the metal ticket machines."<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">"And sitting on the top deck with your feet on the bar."<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">"And the rain streaking sideways down the windows."<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">"Traffic lights blurring red and green."<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">Alan's pulse seemed to be in hyper mode. "Did you ever have any . . . sort of . . ."<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">"Fantasies?" She whispered.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">"Yes - that - those."<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">" . . . I did - do, in fact. Although since the Route master has been taken off the roads, it might be more difficult."<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">Alan downed another half measure and peered at her through his misty glasses. "Do they involve . . . sex - on a bus."<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">"Yes." Her answer was hoarsely whispered as if she was already engaging in the act.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">Alan slapped his red and green napkin forcefully on the table.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">"Would the bus have to be moving?"<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">"No - stationary would be fine, but better if the engine was going."<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">Alan feverishly wondered if Jon might be up for a big wad of cash on a Friday evening. His words clattered forth.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">"Got this friend . . . she, I mean, he, bought a Route Master on ebay. Cost a fortune. It's not far from here - just off the Holloway Road."<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">"Does it run?"<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">"It does."<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">Alan crossed his cutlery carefully across the large white dish, his trembling fingers causing the metal to rattle. "Did you want a desert?"<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">Juliette smiled, a red flush appearing on each cheek. "Maybe an Irish coffee - after we've visited the bus.<i> If</i> it's possible."<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">"Just excuse me for a second."<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">Alan scooted to the men's, prodded Jon's number into his phone and waited, his, for-the-evening blue shoes jiggling on the tiles, words to himself jangling in the sterile room.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">"Please, <i>please,</i> don't be at the flics."<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">Jon answered sleepily: "Yeah?" <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">Alan described the situation. "What d'you reckon?"<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">Jon snorted into his phone: "Fuckin mad, you are. But, why not - hundred and fifty in cash. Do yer?"<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">"Yes. Great! Marvelous. Be at yours in fifteen minutes."<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">The defeatist section of Alan's brain suggested Juliette would have left, secretly appalled by his weirdness, but she was there, nibbling on a breadstick, a pink shoe tapping out some internal rhythm. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">He laid a gentle hand on her back. "Fancy a stroll to a certain bus owner I know?"<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">She glanced up at him with a cheeky smile: "Next stop, Holloway Road." <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></p>writing and other stuffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05216767876956499277noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8615722197643412767.post-5875097957401064462023-10-06T16:23:00.006+02:002023-10-06T16:23:44.437+02:00The incredible generosity of friends.<p>Yesterday, just as I was feeling a tad morose about our whole crowdfunding thing, a notification popped up saying someone had pledged several hundred euros, AND, hadn't gone for a reward. </p><p>She wishes to remain anonymous, and fair enough, but I would like her to know - if she reads this - that her contribution kept the whole idea alive!</p><p>Onward, with a positive mood, and knowledge that completing the project is now so much more likely.</p><p>Thanks so much to all our lovely backers</p><p>45% there, and 28 days still to go...</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj4VJ7ZRxLcsjSxDc5lLN2Bipoyc1OsQkNyTvIh9yuErWhbNeyqDvv9zJxaABfQ10GkaOLrsvSQxSAs1t3eE15fUYN5P3PsDSDF364hEFKcTLfJghaT50J9qHJKeCcozKlNtJpVq3hPBVWjnebVSyyZ4hu-vrrqVTN3RG9B36WI6O_rI0RgUv0ceGVCPLo-" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj4VJ7ZRxLcsjSxDc5lLN2Bipoyc1OsQkNyTvIh9yuErWhbNeyqDvv9zJxaABfQ10GkaOLrsvSQxSAs1t3eE15fUYN5P3PsDSDF364hEFKcTLfJghaT50J9qHJKeCcozKlNtJpVq3hPBVWjnebVSyyZ4hu-vrrqVTN3RG9B36WI6O_rI0RgUv0ceGVCPLo-=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">http://kck.st/3EN4hAP</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Londonia to Audio book.</div><br /><br /><p></p>writing and other stuffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05216767876956499277noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8615722197643412767.post-32730846490553795572023-10-02T18:20:00.004+02:002023-10-02T18:20:41.780+02:00Birthday<p>I have one today. I felt distinctly melancholic for about two hours - various aches and wrinkles which seemed to have joined up enthusiastically to promote the fact I am no longer forty, or fifty, or . . .</p><p>Anyway, lovely presents, messages, and counting of blessings saw off the small (pale, it must be said) grey cloud. Stepping out into the garden, I was greeted by an absurdly beautiful, and hot, early autumn day - rather hot for the beginning of October . . .</p><p>The day was quiet, even the annoying dogs next door were silent! Lunch outside was perfect; we planted the trees Mark had bought - an apple and a mandarin, had a snooze then did a quick trip to Saumur to visit favourite recycling (and much mentioned on this blog) shop - 5 DVD, jeans, a jumper, two bowls and a book all for 5 euros - gotta love Emmaüs!</p><p>Before leaving for home, we did a quick NOZ dash. (See explanation of NOZ a few posts back...) and found this unbelievably labelled wine - something seriously wrong in the marketing department.... </p><p>I am told we will be going out for the evening and that clothing other than gardening stuff will be required . . . a challenge!</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgxA6XDbdrwRTPemIitEVUUUwdGq4JLvVH7yfu_5eZjKyymwSZYchjQ7AI1GHN9h81JKPTMBA0M4N54ajpLecTRt53VIubAnj5zEWEczJ0-zgswxUtbABb9JuYMwYJOHryoRjLichMkCXg3RnDSiMwIC2WOZFVmymdVzwtSGARxCCiZ9Lo_y_8YJQD3Qr5L" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="602" data-original-width="370" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgxA6XDbdrwRTPemIitEVUUUwdGq4JLvVH7yfu_5eZjKyymwSZYchjQ7AI1GHN9h81JKPTMBA0M4N54ajpLecTRt53VIubAnj5zEWEczJ0-zgswxUtbABb9JuYMwYJOHryoRjLichMkCXg3RnDSiMwIC2WOZFVmymdVzwtSGARxCCiZ9Lo_y_8YJQD3Qr5L=w395-h640" width="395" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; 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text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>beautiful bag made for me by Ezra</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg9LOF1zZTGRfjcnkFlETRmR9PlAtwrlUgf4ZI1QApVVM5cXTr57vngJ1SvuqEmvZZxrMstmEH3U93jY8i2axQQ3vGyDQtqn5TzEKob5nyK-8NkF-LgQqbzlQkTvS4iqhYz4oM981n9GNV3w72u_BJsAsupDAIVykzxPh57EuNwcH0wVPNGhXgjS0jlM4qv" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg9LOF1zZTGRfjcnkFlETRmR9PlAtwrlUgf4ZI1QApVVM5cXTr57vngJ1SvuqEmvZZxrMstmEH3U93jY8i2axQQ3vGyDQtqn5TzEKob5nyK-8NkF-LgQqbzlQkTvS4iqhYz4oM981n9GNV3w72u_BJsAsupDAIVykzxPh57EuNwcH0wVPNGhXgjS0jlM4qv=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>oops...</i></div><br /><br /></div><br /></div><br /><br /></div><br /><br /><p></p><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="caret-color: rgb(228, 230, 235); color: #e4e6eb; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></div></div>writing and other stuffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05216767876956499277noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8615722197643412767.post-71354418504847852602023-09-30T11:37:00.003+02:002023-10-01T08:51:11.245+02:00Sketching<p>Of all the places - woodland glades, top of mountains, on a train, comfortably seated with an excellent view of the Taj Mahal (never done this one) within the crowds in front of the Louvre . . . cafés are the best places for sketching.</p><p>A cooling cup of tea, earwigging on snatches of conversation, admiring city outfits, observing people and attached dogs, ancient shady trees; a jumble of street signs, brisk waiters and folk hunched over phones, oblivious to the sounds and colour of the world that surrounds them.</p><p>I add a few scribbled words about the tea being experienced, the weather, my thoughts on that day, jobs to be done or that I've escaped from. For me, these brief drawings bring back memories, even from years ago far more resonantly than camera or phone images. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEizEbHxTZQVrB0wRvYgbgj3rO7dg7ym8H0sVZcpg_tirnibm-ucZB2lGA0KbZnm4eUTsSVWsvPKmkSC3BW73G9sJFEsEMYcU4q5UisCc1NToI2SMBXWTfcPtnHR1-zchRgzK_umuoN5vbge9qWpmZxoSqyBgKMIvzsqgNmb4Dv-V4jhifzcWwozZvRTuVZb" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEizEbHxTZQVrB0wRvYgbgj3rO7dg7ym8H0sVZcpg_tirnibm-ucZB2lGA0KbZnm4eUTsSVWsvPKmkSC3BW73G9sJFEsEMYcU4q5UisCc1NToI2SMBXWTfcPtnHR1-zchRgzK_umuoN5vbge9qWpmZxoSqyBgKMIvzsqgNmb4Dv-V4jhifzcWwozZvRTuVZb=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; 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margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEighpZlgVhh5BtPHFxQAiLhLmEWVKQEz0cK9uQ6EfKl-pvnfzwv2upJRShxoG9MjlrApAORAkLgN0hoq-Vd8wgF_OqHBUXzCETbVE4VzvlmaLHXQZjet0ioVC1yfyakB2bYRvLVY2dHADA3Ww9bm2TEPtB1XKQbQj-CSUuOF7DR6YR4iRSfPMjNRpEML_Tb=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><br /><br /></div><br /><br /></div><br /><br /></div><br /></div><br /><br /><p></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>writing and other stuffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05216767876956499277noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8615722197643412767.post-75562063704542042722023-09-29T15:20:00.002+02:002023-09-29T15:20:41.788+02:00Onward . . .<p>Hurrah for lovely friends and supporters.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgipM3RbfOBZGX73NjdwF6kXx7uvRb1OeBIrTb8JaW-edhSj3HbKED24Lzx55YWCMosGIyM8N305o11m9_LES5DDDaqJAIYe8vVxuMu9E5u4TNTGZOZOX2oWfn1W5WpuZ6Cw5nArXt972Ug7tqfqylumdKAWI7h_poxZI1iBwx1sJVZT15IgRZlYOytvlR-" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="640" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgipM3RbfOBZGX73NjdwF6kXx7uvRb1OeBIrTb8JaW-edhSj3HbKED24Lzx55YWCMosGIyM8N305o11m9_LES5DDDaqJAIYe8vVxuMu9E5u4TNTGZOZOX2oWfn1W5WpuZ6Cw5nArXt972Ug7tqfqylumdKAWI7h_poxZI1iBwx1sJVZT15IgRZlYOytvlR-=w640-h640" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p><br /></p>writing and other stuffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05216767876956499277noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8615722197643412767.post-30059177026668885312023-09-27T13:34:00.008+02:002023-09-27T15:44:18.627+02:00The loneliness of the long distance crowd funder.<p>Well, not loneliness really as I'm working with several lovely and talented people but it's mainly my project so I have to do a lot of the asking.... I find it difficult. Very. </p><p>Every silent response to an email is worrying, a silence where there would normally be a friendly response; every observed but ignored text message further possible proof that people find this sort of <i>cap-in-hand</i> thing distasteful? or embarrassing? After a few moral-boosting conversations with friends this morning I have returned to thinking of the process in the way I had done before - a way of promoting art that everyone can share by giving a small amount of money, as small as they want - there's no minimal amount apart from 0. </p><p>I've been collaborating with our narrator on the Londonia project for some months now and as its a mountain of work for him - and too much for us to pay for - it seemed like a great idea - a beautifully produced audiobook that people can listen to for free on his Youtube channel, plus genuinely thought about rewards for those who wish to support us. </p><p>Anyway, so far, pretty good. Some wonderful folk have pressed the backer button; people I know who have encouraged and helped me over the years on this weird, almost profitless and vertiginous route of writing, and others that I don't know but just like the idea of the project. </p><p>I hope it works out. It should do, and if you are one of our backers reading this - <b>thank you</b>! Happy future listening!</p><p>http://kck.st/3EN4hAP</p><p>The Londonia to Audiobook team:</p><p>Me, author - doing a bit of renovation. Steven Red-Fox Garnett - narrator. Mark Lockett, composer. Chaz Lockett (Jake the Prophet) project manager, and Sophie, editor.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjUv_02Vf-dUr6YlF8nMwTg6U3RCxCY2ty5lI_Y1R8GdKLATqsMxfIgHNSUVCI1OpKrkpwSmzbzOKgDFH3PQDPzL7vQXWYVC3LzcsZ9Zu0AbGQnQ78cFQYiReOw_PjTypG87qZMxztvbbIidBqiwWJdznpTkAGvA5paxCeLSTEqNjhwhhV9x8j6bf7j0WZz" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="310" data-original-width="253" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjUv_02Vf-dUr6YlF8nMwTg6U3RCxCY2ty5lI_Y1R8GdKLATqsMxfIgHNSUVCI1OpKrkpwSmzbzOKgDFH3PQDPzL7vQXWYVC3LzcsZ9Zu0AbGQnQ78cFQYiReOw_PjTypG87qZMxztvbbIidBqiwWJdznpTkAGvA5paxCeLSTEqNjhwhhV9x8j6bf7j0WZz" width="196" /></a></div></div><br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjOt29j9m_LTsEJWEGqTrB9LuMGBxwhp7Il04mQBjZV8GhZuUI_8zZcPUmQP6eNU8J3EcFeYjkAj24DQt7XuEFFDUuFBcKOZccJDz916H12HN-y7tSaKdhYqBzZoQamBwRklvL3IVQcOHQKOGbfDjCHmNEf0sR3MjhPAmP0mgznC92cn7nYDk2XfIOVBu-4" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="658" data-original-width="361" height="292" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjOt29j9m_LTsEJWEGqTrB9LuMGBxwhp7Il04mQBjZV8GhZuUI_8zZcPUmQP6eNU8J3EcFeYjkAj24DQt7XuEFFDUuFBcKOZccJDz916H12HN-y7tSaKdhYqBzZoQamBwRklvL3IVQcOHQKOGbfDjCHmNEf0sR3MjhPAmP0mgznC92cn7nYDk2XfIOVBu-4=w161-h292" width="161" /></a></div><br /> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgzvR6195VNECWE9jagGJmfFPnmDa5kjG3w5cRnOZcpT8bmPflophBr7eqSH_j3ue1DGgY6jGSqQ-0eZ9H2rNYvDq95aGkyc3OpOKoxh5vGXyxJ8t0LdSCFmKpR-Q3xdeyE-CkZCWj0YH-bxZ5mKyAvY99QMrq33jSrqtx-6KYwmJ-Ym6pjJMff8L5foBtZ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgzvR6195VNECWE9jagGJmfFPnmDa5kjG3w5cRnOZcpT8bmPflophBr7eqSH_j3ue1DGgY6jGSqQ-0eZ9H2rNYvDq95aGkyc3OpOKoxh5vGXyxJ8t0LdSCFmKpR-Q3xdeyE-CkZCWj0YH-bxZ5mKyAvY99QMrq33jSrqtx-6KYwmJ-Ym6pjJMff8L5foBtZ" width="180" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjCmqZfl02K44t1MP7rF2akjhXCOzEMOw-zk7QvsYf0NX01Zro5TDnq4D5zr9qqhG5DjwhKZPuP1ODVKhLMwXU9cSuiHi63nneRF7WTT2uzdAqklLQVztb0Tf9sfDK43m0fHrBINPkbVQNlc6I_xq37Yx2HGHUlw7XHuhVWVK6_DpBSbHBg5GuiykfMXE60" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="240" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjCmqZfl02K44t1MP7rF2akjhXCOzEMOw-zk7QvsYf0NX01Zro5TDnq4D5zr9qqhG5DjwhKZPuP1ODVKhLMwXU9cSuiHi63nneRF7WTT2uzdAqklLQVztb0Tf9sfDK43m0fHrBINPkbVQNlc6I_xq37Yx2HGHUlw7XHuhVWVK6_DpBSbHBg5GuiykfMXE60" width="180" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgwBpK1hpvvXYE2Nom_WwxqBEkthwG8SE9mXjysl227cuor0VbyCAW4QZhFsD3N3-ZpVnC4kTQUufFVR2TWZs_Z-oL9tvFxQvEQwfqYom7EizaJNx5VMw0o0EoxbVgdbOSp1gHkewpmmLbaXnUJckJHsqapKgR15CySfcg3xjlN1yQlo0y7FyJH2znpwSB7" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgwBpK1hpvvXYE2Nom_WwxqBEkthwG8SE9mXjysl227cuor0VbyCAW4QZhFsD3N3-ZpVnC4kTQUufFVR2TWZs_Z-oL9tvFxQvEQwfqYom7EizaJNx5VMw0o0EoxbVgdbOSp1gHkewpmmLbaXnUJckJHsqapKgR15CySfcg3xjlN1yQlo0y7FyJH2znpwSB7" width="180" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><br /><br /><br /><p></p>writing and other stuffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05216767876956499277noreply@blogger.com0