Being on a roll

            

Bit uncomfortable, depending on the roll - not much purchase on one of those shiny egg-glazed ones, bit bumpy on a granary, maybe a soft bap type of a roll - squashy, giving . . .
Oh. That sort of a roll.

Odd phrase when you analyse it, but I am on one - a roll.
After seeing a literary agent a month or so back and being given the carrot of further possibilities, I'm into a serious re-write on my latest novel. It's what I needed really; the book had got to a level that people were commenting very positively (thank you all!), and enjoying the read but I knew, if I thought about it honestly, there was a mountain of stuff to be turned over, prodded, ripped up and re-constructed depending on which particular section of the novel I was looking at.
Interestingly the only other person who'd voiced serious doubts about it when I'd passed it to him for inspection, was another (published) writer. I didn't want to hear the comments at the time, but he was right. I suppose I just needed someone who might give me a crack at the real publishing world to say it, again.
So, all other projects including re-editing my last book (the Hundred and fifty-Eighth Book) and re-working my trilogy, Going Out in the Midday Sun, are on total hold while I scratch/tap away at the main thing, ceasing only to eat, sleep, walk dogs, and as little else as possible.
Below, my writing room (corner of sitting room next to the wood-stove) with London map with my scribblings, and notes/timelines and reminders.
Blog back on normal mode soon . . .

                           

Building No 61

Continuing my sub blog on largely over-looked architectural wonderments . . .



I happened upon this fine brick and corrugated iron specimen in a small Costa Brava village on our last foray down to Cerbère, Port Bou and the mysterious mountainous areas of thereabouts.
I rather wanted it to be the new Google Headquarters of Catalonia, but the appearance of a pair of gold-sprayed shoes during our hike-let around the area suggested it to be the local carnival workshop - unless golden shoes are statutory wear for Google employees.

                                     

Feb 14th

Nah . . . we never do anything about Valentine's Day, but this year, inspired by our 70s house, I decided to create a suitably kitch menu for my 'other half' returning from work, starting with the pub favourite of the era: Prawn Cocktail, followed by salmon with peas and potatoes, and a fabulous ending of the most industrial-looking frozen pud - sadly the Arctic Roll doesn't seem to exist, or maybe not in France anyway gateau roulé glacé, perhaps . . . all to be sloshed down with a bottle of Blue Nun - couldn't find the that either so a local white will have to suffice. Possibly a good thing . . .

                         

Traditions

It's that time of year again when our small town becomes a drift of confetti every Saturday and Sunday. From January for three months the Carnaval is king - the longest carnaval in the world but nothing like Rio . . . forget the sequinned/ flesh-revealing women and thudding rhythm, this is somewhat different: satin costumes, an actually rather elegant dance (when performed correctly) and live music, featuring brass of all sorts - trumpets, sousaphones, trombones, etc and bass drum/snare.



As 'étrangers (foreigners) we did both managed to infiltrate a group and stayed with them for eight years, practising, painting scenery, working out the theme for the morning 'slot' and eating/drinking way too much on the weekend of our 'Sorti' - performance.
After we left a few years back due to other time commitments, I rather forgot the goings on in the town square, occasionally nipping down to see what new costume might have been decided on, or quaffing a quick blanquette and having confetti stuffed down my neck - as is the tradition.
Yesterday, although it was raining and viley cold, we went down to see what the 'Las Femnas' (women-only group) had come up with costume-wise - not overly exciting, a sort of tulle, grey/pink affair and a lot tamer than their usual cash-splurge outfits but it was a great atmosphere. We got confettied, were invited to squeeze plastic breasts - carnaval features a lot of these, and always the men who wear them - and whapped with fish and leeks. Ah, just like old times.

                         

                                          Le pont Neuf with neon carnaval mask

How things could be

In the midst of so much frightening news of global warming and land-pulverising by us humans, it's a joyful revelation to know there are people working on a much larger scale than perhaps we might realise to enrich the land, re-introduce threatened flora and fauna, and work with indigenous peoples.

If you have twenty minutes spare, listen and watch this extraordinary talk by Thomas Waltz.