Londonia 3

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

                                                     Describing a scene to uninterested dog

New house, new woodpile

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

                                                The autumnal Loire from our road

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

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

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

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

 

One day out of 365

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

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

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

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

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

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

 traces of Mark, me, and Bali

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

Freedom

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Moving in a good direction

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

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

                                                         Lady Thames, 2073. Londonia.

78 G

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

Narration by the author -Kate A Hardy 

Soundscape by MarkLockett

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

  

Birthday events

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

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

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

                                                    Our house - somewhere on that hill line.

                            

                                             very old sweet chestnut tree and less old husband

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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