Gadgets

We don't have many, apart from the modern day 'essentials' - washing machine, TV, computer, soon to be totally redundant DVD player, et al.
The kitchen is almost without any gadgetry apart from the fridge, cooker, a 1970s yogurt maker and a sturdy blender. The boy has been nagging for a juicer but I'm resisting this as the blender does essentially the same job and we have little work surface.
However . . . I did recently succumb to A SODASTREAM. Yes, modern, plastic and quite large . . .
BUT. There are reasons. I love fizzy water but virtually never buy it due to the landfill element of the purchase; cold fizzy water is a great alternative to beer or wine and, well that's it really, but it's taken me about six years of indecision before taking the plunge and extracting my card in Darty - a huge French 'shed' full of domestic life-enhancements.
I did look at the 'retro' styled ones which would fit more with our slightly 50s kitchen but apart from the fact they were hideously expensive they were big and blobby with even more plastic than the basic versions. So I went for a mid-priced one, still lots of plastic but in a fairly attractive sort of badger 'colourway'.
So, is it remotely ecologic? Now I have discovered you can get the gas canister refilled at our local DIY 'shed', yes, I think it probably is, compared to buying bottled water. Of course the better option would be either move next to the source at Pellegrino (if they let you nick the water yourself) or just drink flat water, and be glad of it!
If I ever had the wonderful opportunity to appear on Desert Island Discs (one has to have daft dreams) I might well consider the Sodastream as my item of luxury. A continual supply of bubbly water to refresh myself while exploring, reading and generally lying about . . . if the deal included ice and lemon of course.

                                                      

Our black and white 'special edition' sodastream placed next to the 1970s yogurt maker. Hope they get on OK.

Songs of life: No 3

So, fast forwarding to art college days . . . I've missed out many, many records I played over and over; things that reminded me of early loves, the bus trip to foundation course, terrible discos, etc: classics by David Bowie, The Police, The Stranglers, Rush, Pink Floyd, James Brown, Chic, Bryan Ferry - and on and on, but with trying to keep to the statutory Desert Island number of records, I'm going to zip on to This.
This being Bauhaus: In Fear of Fear, the base line of which made me want to take up the bass guitar (and still would like to) I had a t-shirt with this album cover on which I wore to threads - teamed with skintight jeans, stiletto heals and a Homburg . . .
I could happily prance around in the desert island sand reliving those days of student freedom, shared -house filth, and have the time to experiment with photography, paint, and mind altering substances - if they were allowed as your luxury item(s).

Songs of life: No 1

Music pervades our lives, marking the stages, loves, mistakes, monumental moments, and small everyday routines.
Via my dear friend Penny, I learned that her Brother, Mr Robin Millar, has finally made it to the top of his world - he is to be on Desert Island Discs. Oh, such joy, and what a wonderful thing to be asked to do - compile that essential list. Actually . . . what a task. Where would you start?
Think I'll start right now - and continue over several weeks.
Okay. What song or music reminds me more than any other of my earlier years?
Mm. Probably the Beatles to start with. Mum had very little money - none really, and we had just a few 33s. The one I remember the most was this one:

I seem to remember her saying it had been left at her school, anyway we inherited it and I played it to a crispy pulp (I can't think of a more accurate description).
Roll over Beethoven was so thrilling when I heard it for the first time, and still holds that energy and excitement now.

So, back to our 1960's front room, and the crappy record player on . . .

The meaning of stuff

I, bizarrely, decided to clean the mantlepiece this morning. The one downside of a wood fire is the vast amounts of dust. I don't usually notice it, and certainly no one else does - perhaps the big dog; she was staring fixedly at a huge, grey cobweb yesterday. Maybe household disorder disturbs her? We'll never know.
Anyway . . . I did - dust, and it was amazing how gleaming everything now looks, in a grey February light at least. And it was an interesting nip back into the past for a while as I thought about the objects that have become fixtures in the part of our front room that becomes so important in the winter months.
A recent friend of mine told me over a cup of tea that she has thrown everything away, or at least given away. Everything. Just a box or two remaining. How incredible that is; I am in awe of anyone who could accomplish such a feat. Sometimes I imagine us moving to a smaller place, and honing down the STUFF. How would you choose what should stay or go, to quote The Clash.
Here's a picture of a small section of the mantlepiece (without dust) and a brief history of the stuff that resides there.

from the left:
A dragon soap-stone letter seal: unusual in that it was from Mark's past. Most of the household clutter is of my doing - other than records and instruments that make up about 50% of the habitable space.
It was his dad's and resided on their mantlepiece until Mark 'borrowed' it to carve his own version in wood; I have it here on the desk and it's rather good.

A hippo that I think came from Brick Lane Market, donkey's years ago. The mantlepiece holds many other wooden creatures from that era.

Metal number 6 from a railway line; a find from a vide grenier/car boot sale, and my lucky number.

A piece of tile from the original Limoux tile factory that Ezra spotted on one of our 'let's walk around a part of town we don't know on this drizzly day' walks. Ale being significant in our family as the title of one of Tommy Trinder's drinking songs in Champagne Charlie, probably our most watched film: ever.
'Ale owd (old) Ale, give me a glass of owd Ale, nothing quite like the juice of the hop, nothing quite like when to know when to stop - give me . . . Ale owd ale' . . . etc.

A flattened fork from another walk around a vineyard. It was the only thing left in an old vinegrower's hut, and I think has featured in a previous post - touched by it as I was.

Ah. Something I could never get rid of. I will have to be buried with it.
A photo of a proud 1960's lady with her hair all 'done nice' in her garden arranging her collection of Pekingese dogs on a coffee table. What more could you want in a photo?

I suppose I could get the really VITAL things into one box if I had to choose: a bit like Desert Island Discs for stuff.