I can't help it. Every so often, I have to spend a few nights in the back of the car playing with the idea of a summer van life, escaping from the horrors of the present. How easy it is in Suffolk to stumble into 1920.
Where I become strangely fixated on the organza.
The most fantastic circular long walk, with names like Bartlow and Linton and Chilford and Balsham, with sights like dragons and Romans and burial mounds and butterflies. Just Perfect.
The days at the Globe are the best days. Simon is often waiting, right at the front of the groundlings queue, sometimes wearing his special hat. And Lorna, my best Shakespeare buddy. I met her at the Merchant of Venice and we rub along just fine. This time we also found the gentleman from Chicago, who seemed a mild enough gentleman librarian, until the second time Trump was mentioned, and the effing this and effing that started, and then there was no stopping him, with the windmilling arms and the yelling and the I HOPE HE DIES. Honestly, waiting in the groundlings queue is the best supporting act to the main stage. I highly recommend it, and maybe see you there.
Yes! Over to Colchester Castle for the ska and Madness!
Last year, I dunno, maybe October, I say to Mr R, what live music would you go to? And he answers Madness.
And here we are, birthday present, some eight months after the event, where I find the same weekend I have double-booked, made a mess of things, and brought about all sorts of blundering mayhem, but at least we definitely can call this Madness.
My most favourite place on earth. Grimes Graves, Norfolk. I've told everyone: scatter me here. (Except for the left leg. That can go in the pit at The Globe.) There is no more peaceful place on earth (exclude the pesky tourists) where I can watch the sky and the land and how the skylarks rise and fall, fall and rise, for all eternity.
No, last year's presence in Milton Keynes Gallery was not enough to satisfy my search for artistic glory. This year I muscle in on the shop front of the MK Literary Festival et Arts Central Toot-Out.
Howabout that!
Well, here I am. One window only is photographed. I fixed two books in the other window as well, but I made such an unholy cak of photographing that set-up, to exhibit the result would be to die of shame. I am, after all, known as An Artist!
One photo will suffice. The whole endeavour took fricking days, I couldn't get the books on the wall, and Missis J quite properly took over all artistic management of the entire proceedings so told me what to do (I got it mixed up anyway).
I need to reflect upon the origins of this enterprise. I went along to the original meeting to give the organiser a hard time over the recycling. After that was over (I am sure he hates me), I had no clue what anyone was talking about when they started talking about the project. I tried to join the whatsapp group, unaware that when you join a whatsapp group, you don't get all the messages that went before. How do people know these things?
Anyway, I grabbed the windows because I couldn't get the books nailed to the walls and I couldn't lift the plinths. I had four days of what I am definitely calling an exhibition before I was removed to make way for a picture of moths.
Do unto me what you will, world. I am known, myself, me, for whatit'sworth, as An Artist in a Shop Window!
A sumptuous fall this year. I leave these purple plum-like beauties outside in boxes for people to collect as they pass. One neighbour leaves me a thank you note, adding that damsons make excellent flavoured gin! I couldn't find the gin sample bottle. Just the note.
Part of the Artist Camp, running a workshop on how to make books with twigs as bindings and interesting natural things on pages. It goes okay, some literary kids are good customers, one who I'm told lives in a bookshop, and another who taught me new things about books. Momentarily made me feel the future was safe after all. One attendee came to pinch the idea for her Forest Group, which pleased me mighty, because getting the ideas into the brains of small people - that books are fun objects to make - is the only antidote I can think of in this screen-world.
We didn't live on site. I took my van off to a site close by, because I couldn't bear to be hemmed in. And the pink sheep returned.
My beautiful Garden Flat is finally up for short-term rental! It started off as The Library Flat, but over time, it morphed into the patchwork / fantasy / floral (with books) confection that is now available for rental.
My first enquiry was a scam. It didn't take Mrs Poirot much time to uncover when she popped over to the named employer and asked a simple question.
The second enquiry was the start of a novel. 'I am asking for my friend. Could he store his belongings discreetly in the garden? And do you have an oven? He likes to cook pies.'
This told me everything I needed to know. As in, your affair with Rough Trade Jack unfortunately became the talk of the estate when his wife found out. She's kicked him out and you've declared 'What? You're not living with ME!' It was supposed to be fun! Not a life-changing event! Oh dear.
From the Porta Borsari to the Amphitheater to the streets to the dinner, all beautiful. I immediately resolve to learn Italian and come to live here forever.
Not enough photos have been taken of Naples. Or Pompeii. And I'm pretty sure the world is short of snaps from Herculaneum. So here are a few to help plug the gap.
This is one of the worst experiences of my life.
I had my eyes shut for 90% of the time. (No, I wasn't driving.)
The bit I do remember was coming off the main road and driving through the restaurant.
Only drive the Amalfi Coast if you are insane.
Maybe the start.
Definitely the end.
A beautifully located door on the way from Naples. Also our accommodation. The lock broke and we couldn't get in. Then the resident locked themselves out with us. The neighbours joined in, and we all waited for the locksmith. But! From the evening I got a free beer and bag of crisps. Perfetto!
Walking from the station to find the night's accommodation. I swear France gets more beautiful as the years pass.
But I love how that yukka looks like a delinquent.
We've taken to summer exploration with some enthusiasm. Involves sleeping in the back of the van-car, a circular walk with history, pub, good weather. Here's the one from Somerset.
