In June the heatwave in Britain was intense. For most of July it rained, sometimes heavily – the humidity scrambled my brain. It was as if I struggled each day through hot, suffocating treacle.

A Danish friend invited us for a few days in August to Bornholm, an island off Copenhagen where her mother used to live. A cousin rents out a rustic farmhouse and we were soon on our way.

The farmhouse is surrounded by fields. A home for leaping hares. Supper was smoked salmon, herring and mackerel with potatoes in a Danish mayonnaise. There are smokehouses in each little town and the fish is fresh and delicious. Alongside potatoes and salad, I could live on this all summer together with the bread and sweet pastries we enjoyed at breakfast. Plain yoghourt, juice, jam from all kinds of berries – and lots of coffee. All taken with loads of fresh sea air. It was a real treat to be transported from the world of populism, politics and the problems that are engulfing us and our planet. It’s so restorative to have a breathing space …

The island’s location is strategic, 105 miles south east of Copenhagen and 22 miles south east of Sweden. It has been a Viking stronghold, then owned by Sweden and for a while Lübeck in the 16th century. During WW2 the Russians took it from the invading Nazis. Today it is Danish. A ruined fortress, Hammershus, once the largest medieval fortress in northern Europe, still towers above the cliffs, confirming the brutal struggles it has witnessed.

This picture reminds me of Leonora Christina Countess Ulfeldt (1621-1698), who was one of the many children of King Christian IV of Denmark. She was imprisoned here for many years, often in solitary confinement (except for rats and fleas) but during this time she wrote a book, ‘Jammers Minde’ – translated as ‘Memory of Lament’. It was only published in 1869 and is now regarded as a classic of 17th century Danish literature.

Today Bornholm is a haven from the rough and tumble of the commercial world. There is artisan glass blowing, ceramics, painting, screen printing and schnapps making – all of high quality – to be found in the picturesque small coastal towns.

There are sandy beaches, one of which – Dueodde – has the finest, silkiest white sand in Europe. Our friends went swimming every morning – I should have but the Baltic felt super cold as I paddled along the shoreline. Given longer, maybe I could have become a mermaid …

… fortified by a glass of the local Snaps.

‘Round’ churches abound on Bornholm. Why round? Because they doubled as fortresses against the many invaders.

Bornholm uses a lot of renewable energy – old and new windmills and turbines. It’s a favourite place for the Danes to come on holiday but it retains a simple charm – a world away from the normal tourist tat. I hope it stays that way.

I came out with some polished stones – not made of granite – but which held the light of the sun within them. I’m sleeping well here with only a light duvet that is enough to keep me warm. I need one of these for heatwaves at home!

Next morning …

Dog Flossie was delighted to go for a walk in the woods, carrying around a big stick as she explored deep, dark places …

Exploring the seaside towns, we found lots on offer besides cosy cafés. Ceramics and wood carving at Svaneke, mirror art and silk screening at Gudhjem, with hand knitted jumpers, hats and gloves. A cornucopia of temptations … some of the artists live here all the time, others spend the winter months in Copenhagen.

I would have liked to look at more of this artist’s work but could only peer into her workshop as she was nowhere to be seen. Somewhere to go back to …

We ducked down a narrow alley way where all our dreams came true – retail dreams, that is!

I hope we come back here one day. Meanwhile, our chosen purchase comes home – it needs to be a wall hanging to really appreciate it!

A quick pit stop at the smokehouse on the way to the (tiny) airport.

We’ve only been here a few days but Bornholm has connected with my Scandinavian genes. The small island plane is waiting to take us back to Copenhagen. Then we are back in the flow to London.

John had had problems with eyes (a detached retina) and ears over the past year but he was mainly recovered – although age doesn’t let that happen so quickly or easily. When a colleague and friend of his invited us to stay with him in Nyon it couldn’t have come at a better time – and it’s a favourite part of the world for me too!

Switzerland lived up to its reputation – it’s just so easy to hop on an efficient, clean and comfortable train (take note British Rail) to Nyon from Geneva airport. We were there in less than half an hour. It was warm and sunny and Pavan was waiting to meet us. He lives five minutes from the station – his terrace looks out over the lake with a view of Mont Blanc on the opposite (French) side.

I must put in this little ‘hitch’ in case it helps another traveller. Searching through a drawer at home I was delighted to come upon a little hoard of Swiss francs, left over from a holiday long gone. At Geneva airport there are machines where you can buy your train tickets. I view machines with suspicion – they have frustrating limitations. No social interaction for one. John is fine about machines – he understands how they work – until they don’t.

I insisted on finding a a ticket office with a human being in charge and luckily there was one. Lucky too, because my Swiss francs were so old as to be out of date and I was told you could only change them at a bank or a Post Office. ‘But I will change them for you’, said the human being. Human being 1 – Ticket machine 0. This is the problem with automation – you can’t go ‘off piste’ with an individual problem. Take note!

But we were here. Somewhat like opening a new book with all the anticipation that brings, a new place was waiting to be discovered.

Nyon is a small town right on the edge of the lake with its own impressive château, which we reached by steep and narrow cobbled streets leading down to the lakeside. Lac Léman – how can I describe it – you need to go and experience it for yourself in all its moods. I hope you will feel like I do!

The Hotel Le Rive is right on the lakeside and the outdoor terrace was packed full of people already enjoying dinner. We joined them and were given a warm welcome … excellent food on offer, including perch from the lake.

As we later made our way home the sky and the water mingled into shades of blue. I thought of the book I had brought with me – ‘The World According to Colour’ by James Fox. He’s a great discovery. Here is a quote from the colour blue in his book.

The Earth is known as the ‘Blue Planet’. This is how astronauts saw it from space. Here is JF’s last paragraph on the colour blue. ‘For most of history, blue was the quintessential colour of other worlds; distant mountains, unfathomable oceans, unreachable skies, the uncharted territory of the soul. But when we finally escaped our world and voyaged beyond its horizons, we discovered all along that blue was the colour of home’.

I have always been drawn to shades of blue.

As we breakfasted on the terrace next morning with the sun sparkling on the water, the air clean and fresh, I was also delighted with the arrival of a posse of sharp shooting wasps who were very much attracted by Pavan’s mother’s (delicious) marmalade. You may raise an eyebrow here but John and I noticed that the number of wasps has declined in London in recent years. As a child in Scotland, I remember sitting on the beach having picnics, surrounded by wasps. The best way to fend them off was to walk into the sea up to my neck to eat my sandwich.

But despite the downsides, wasps do a good job in the garden, killing many pests and they are also pollinators, although not as good as bees. They build beautiful nests which look like ghostly footballs in shape – but beautifully ethereal. I like their bands of yellow and black too – chic and snappy. They are called ‘guêpes’ in French – onomatopoeic! Wasps are territorial and can be very aggressive but they are also an important part of the ecosystem. They love sweetness – fruit and jam – but they don’t like the smell of peppermint or citrus and they don’t live very long. I was happy to see them buzzing about here. There are more fascinating facts about them on the Internet. (I don’t feel the same aboout flies but they are useful as prey).

Next – a visit to the château, which is beautifully restored inside.

I love these strong colours.

We have all the Tintin books at home, lovingly gnawed around the edges by our children. Blistering barnacles!!

The ground floor of the château is full of many posters like this – advertising local aperitifs, exhibitions and concerts. Vineyards abound along the lake. Later on Pavan introduces us to the owner of one.

On the next floor is the most exquisite wooden chess table inlaid with marquetry. I know how to play chess but I don’t know how to win …

On the way back we stopped here and watched the sparrows drinking. Another pleasing thing to see, as there is a dearth of sparrows at home.

The yellow crossing on the road breaks up into yellow stars. It leads appropriately to a circus school!

Pavan has organised a trip across the lake to Yvoire, a picturesque village on the French side. I told him about our daughter who was making a huge installation, creating a giant spider engulfed in flowers. He seemed quite intrigued and I was about to find out why!

I’m not sure how I took this photo of myself but I was in a reflective mood. Yvoire is just so picturesque and it was a joy to be on the steamer with the breeze ruffling my hair.

There’s a garden here which is built around outdoor rooms, each one adding up to the five senses. It’s a lovely idea. We spent some time identifying flowers and plants using John’s app on his phone.

I wanted to give Pavan something to remember our visit. We finally found something quite original.

There is a shop, La Cristallerie, selling everything made of blown glass and it’s here that Pavan reveals his interest in Gaia’s spider installation. A French man makes a small number of glass spiders every year to sell in the shop and they have just arrived. They look both intimidating and super fragile. In the end, I choose one and it’s packed up very carefully – but I’m sure I won’t get it home in one piece. (I did!).

Time to leave. Here’s a ‘chocolate box’ photo I took of one of the Belle Epoque steamers.

Pavan has a beautiful lamp which reminds me of one of my favourite books. It’s called ‘Lost Horizon’ by James Hilton and is a much recommended read! Written in 1933.

John has just found out that he knows somebody else in Nyon – an explorer called Paul Rose, who lives above the town in St. Cergue. Next morning we take a small train about forty minutes up the mountain where he and his Swiss wife, Joëlle, welcome us.

They had a walk in mind through the forest and above. A field of cows reminded me of the time in Switzerland when a bold cow came up to me unawares. I was holding my sandwich in a brown paper bag and just about to sit down and eat it. Bad move. The cow swiped it and ate it, paper bag and all! I am quite anxious of meeting cows now! But we loved seeing Paul and Joëlle’s rural retreat and had the good luck to see a chamois nearby.

Next day Pavan has a treat for us. A trip on a Belle Epoque steamer to Lausanne with lunch on board.

I don’t know how many castles there are around the lake – but it’s a lot in a small space! Cézanne painted one of them which is in the Courtauld Art Gallery in London.

On the way back we were intrigued by a boat that passed close to us …

I don’t know much about boats but this one was very elegant and out of the ordinary.

As we docked once more in Nyon the grey clouds had dispersed and the evening promised a great sunset … one day I will see ‘Le Rayon Vert’ – from the film by Eric Rohmer … when the sun dips below the horizon …

That evening we went out to a lively dinner with Pavan’s friend and her husband, who is a serious ‘vigneron’. He even brought his own special wine glasses with him – unfortunately, the waiter broke one of them …

On the way back John was delighted to see some bats as we were making our way through the medieval alleys in the twilight. Suddenly, somebody called his name. ‘John – are you John Elkington?’ It was a young woman who had worked with him for a short time in London over ten years ago. And even later, just as we were about to leave for home he got an email from someone else, who also now lives here in Nyon – a visit for another time. I’d really like to come back. But there’s still more to come, another treat in the offing …

Gosh, I’m so tired – but in a good way. I leave John and Pavan to their discussions over a glass of whisky.

I had been telling Pavan how much I loved the Marché aux Puces in Bordeaux. ‘Oh, we have one here all the way along the lakeside on the last Sunday of the month’, he said. Tomorrow! What serendipity! We invited Paul and Joëlle to join us. Exciting.

There are a lot of jazz concerts here in the summer – Montreux is just a steamer ride away. I remember seeing a statue of Freddie Mercury there. He truly was a phenomenon … and not forgotten.

I didn’t buy any of these things but I could have explored the stalls all day.

I found three French plates for two euros each. They are from the south of France with the name ‘Varages’ on the back. And another plate for five euros shows an interesting way to shred garlic (ail).

We don’t particularly love cars but for some reason we have collected various ones over the years and they zoom around in our glass cupboard. The one thing is – they have to be a shade of yellow.

Another of my favourite authors is Anita Brookner, who was also an art historian. Her book, ‘Hotel du Lac’, was made into a very good film. It’s about a woman whose love affair ends and she flees to Switzerland. A quiet, reflective but memorable story with an intriguing twist or two – just the sort of thing to read when staying on Lake Geneva! ‘Bonjour Tristesse’ by the French writer, Françoise Sagan, is another novel to be read by the lake – and a way to keep up my French.

Time was catching up with us and we were soon at the train station, waving goodbye to our friends on the platform. Thank you, Pavan, for a very restorative few days. it was a lot of fun and very relaxing.

PS I have just read an article in the paper about the invasion of Asian hornets into Europe. They kill lots of insects, including bees and wasps and are a menace. They look like a very large wasp but don’t be deceived. They can also be dangerous to humans if you are stung. I’m still holding up a flag for wasps though!

Aloft were seven men, putting a new roof on our house at 8am, one of them wearing a fine silk, pale pink turban. I wondered how Charles and Camilla were faring. I expect they were brought a very early morning cup of tea. I had one as well. Made just how I like it, by myself … one for John too.

The roofers even brought their own kettle – along with a giant carton of milk. The sky was overcast – heavy and milky too. When I threw the coffee grounds from yesterday onto the paeonies in the garden I could feel the air, full of pinpoints of rain, pricking into my nightdress.

John had said that my hearing was fading but the doctor found out that my right ear was full of wax. An appointment at the local clinic to have it extracted was at midday. That would mean missing the Coronation on TV but, given the option, I thought I would much rather hear properly again – and I did. It took two minutes and suddenly everything was very noisy. In a good way!

A sophisticated, ‘dewaxing’ machine, designed by somebody who has brought relief to so many people. All these unsung inventors who anonymously improve other people’s lives beyond measure – why don’t we hear about them rather than the often gauche celebrities that fill up our newspapers with too much self promotion … who can even become a little bit boring after a short while … (perish the thought).

After the visit to the clinic we jumped on a bus to Richmond. Lunch overlooking the river Thames was a special treat at ‘Casa Brindisa’. Squid in its own ink accompanied by the freshest of salads – one warm with wilted spinach and crushed hazelnuts. A very moreish Spanish wine – ‘El Tesoro Monastrell Syrah’, with gelato to finish – vanilla for me. All of it delicious – and a nice, chatty waiter giving us a warm welcome.

The tide was on the turn as we walked down the steps to the river’s edge in the falling rain.

We noticed five guardsmen nearby in their red and gold uniforms, wearing their busbies, who were starting to play their trumpets despite the downpour. It was somewhat surreal as I suddenly realised they were playing a ‘Monty Python’ ditty – ‘Look on the Bright Side of Life’ – music and words composed by Eric Idle. Perfect!

I’ll always remember King Charles’s Coronation Day for that. John has an audio/ video of them. I felt I was one of the chosen few standing there in the rain with a beaming smile on my face. There couldn’t have been more than fifteen of us – what an unexpected, exclusive privilege – and so typically British.

We stopped off on our way home at a local bookshop, ‘The Open Door’, just close by the now defunct Dickens & Jones building. It’s a goldmine for a satisfyingly huge variety of cards as well as books. The bookshelves fade into the distance in a long narrow space with obscure corners. Another perfect memory for Coronation Day.

I read that Michael Frayn had just brought out a new book – a sort of memoir – called ‘Among Others – Friendships and Encounters’. I spied a pile of them, signed by the author, on a shelf above my head. Having managed to take one down I turned round to find the almost nonagerian Michael Frayn standing in front of me. He had just walked into the shop, purely by coincidence. I don’t think AI is up to that very satisfying sort of serendipitous happening.

Clutching a pile of books and cards, we then ran headlong for the 419 bus home, which very kindly waited for us. I don’t think AI would wait for us either. It’s too sterile for kind deeds but I fear that it will take over in time – and finally extinguish human feeling. But then ‘progress’ always has its good and bad sides. There will be some good ones too …

We missed the Coronation, we missed the street party but we had a day packed with good memories, finishing off with the highlights of ‘Fawlty Towers’ on television. I felt there was a feeling of a farewell in the air. A farewell to my now quite long, past life. It made me a little bit sad but also glad that I lived when I did. As Hunter Davies said, ‘Lucky Old Me’.

With Sunday and Monday holiday still to come we were back in Water Lane, Richmond to see the film of the Vermeer exhibition, which is sold out in Amsterdam. This is a great alternative way to see it with a backdrop of comments from well known art critics.

They didn’t mention the artist who painted ‘The Goldfinch’ who became a friend of Vermeer in Delft – Carel Fabritius. He was trained by Rembrandt van Rijn. I wish they had talked about him because he too would, I think, be well known today if he’d lived. Fabritius and Vermeer both painted a (quite different) ‘View of Delft’. Different and fascinating. Vermeer’s painting takes you to a different level of consciousness which I can’t explain. Fabritius’s is almost modern with its unusual perspective.

Sadly, Fabritius was killed in an explosion when he was quite young. Many of his paintings were destroyed at the same time. Much later, he became an inspiration for a book with the title of ‘The Goldfinch” by a contemporary writer, Donna Tartt. His painting of the goldfinch survived.

A visit to Barnes Books, our local independent bookshop, made me start as I looked in the window. Laura Cumming, a well known art critic, has just brought out a book about Fabritius, called ‘Thunderclap’, which is brilliant. The artist would have been thrilled if he’d been around to read it. It’s sad that his friendship with Vermeer as well as his art was so tragically cut short.

Another contemporary writer, Tracy Chevalier, wrote a book called ‘The Girl with a Pearl Earring’ – which is one of my favourite paintings by Vermeer. The book was made into a film. And it was well made, starring Colin Firth, Scarlett Johansson and Cillian Murphy.

Vermeer is so very special – I wish we knew more about his life. But I can always retreat to that silent wonderful space that his paintings engender and feel the better for it.

A day or so later the talented spy writer, Charles Cumming, came to the Barnes Literary Society to talk about his latest books. A friend invited me along. The heavens opened up once more, the rain was torrential but it was a stimulating evening, even though the audience was mainly white haired!

Life continues in a familiar, day to day sort of way … though I wonder for how much longer … there are deeply worrying, major changes afoot … climate change now showing with heatwaves, devastating fires and floods, dictators in charge of many countries. I just finished Michael Frayn’s memoir and felt both disturbed and comforted by it at the same time. I especially enjoyed the chapters ‘Stranger on the Hearth’, ‘Fire and Ashes’, and ‘Mantower’. Well chosen memories. He was a close friend of Bamber Gascoigne, the first presenter on television of ‘University Challenge’, first aired in 1962, which is still alive and well and bursting with intelligent life! There is hope!

Having never met Michael Frayn – except for the bookshop interlude – I understand where he’s coming from. A life well lived which is on the way out – to what, to where? I don’t know but I fear there will be no tea and cake on offer. But maybe some answers to our strange existence in an unknown universe … unlikely, but you never can tell …

Meanwhile on Earth, all best thoughts to King Charles and Queen Camilla. They have come to this job late in life and I wish them very good luck.

The picture framers by the river is also a small gallery, selling paintings, sculptures, prints and cards. As I was passing one day my eye was caught by somebody looking at me from within. He was an old bear with a very direct gaze – as if he wanted to tell me something. I stood in the front of the window, taking in his comfortable, blue cardigan and his wet, black, shiny nose. I knew at once that his wise eyes, so penetrating, and his general demeanour would give me comfort as I sat writing at my desk.

So it was easy. I went in, bought him and took him home. I’m looking at him now, as I write. He was beautifully made by Victoria Coleman. www.victoriacolemanartist.com.

My friend’s birthday was coming up and I thought he would also love the bear. But in the end I couldn’t BEAR to let him go! I tracked down Victoria and asked her whether it would be possible for her to make me another bear who looked similar. I was lucky – she could.

In time jaunty bear number 2 was ready and one dark and stormy evening turned up at our front door – care of Victoria’s partner. The bears loved one another on sight and seeing them together was a satisfying treat.

Yesterday, following a delicious birthday lunch, bear number two went to his new home and now has a name – Bernard. I’m sure the bears will be reunited sometime in the future but for the moment bear number 1 keeps a close eye on my untidy desk – and me. He’s a wise character and a kindly soul, giving me both company and inspiration.

A promising start to 2023.

Thank you, Victoria. This has been a fun adventure. You have a huge talent for capturing personalities in your art.

A pre-Christmas present!

One minute I was suffering from rainsoaked doom and gloom. A split second later a sudden ‘ping’ heralded an unexpected invitation to Bordeaux. Ho ho, I thought – let’s go!

We are here already, staying at ‘Chez Dupont’ – a restaurant with rooms nearby. It’s sunny and warm and the long weekend stretches out ahead.

Our room is spacious with interesting antiques, a separate niche with a writing desk and a super modern bathroom. Two big windows look out onto ‘la rue Notre-Dame’. Outside it’s sunlit and warm as we make our way to the local ‘Jardin Publique’ and enjoy our first coffee abroad.

Moving on …

The city is a mix of old and new. Old fashioned narrow streets open out into large, sunlit squares, full of restaurants and fountains.

The air here is clear and fresh but I wondered why the Garonne river is the colour of ‘café au lait’. This is because it brings down a lot of sediment with it from its headwaters in the Pyrenees and when that mixes with the salty sea water coming in from the Gironde estuary that sediment is brought to the surface. The river finally meets with another, the Dordogne and the two flow out together into the Atlantic ocean.

A wide promenade now leads us along the river to ‘La Citè des Vins’, an extraordinary modern building upstream.

The walk along the river is very popular – it takes us about half an hour to reach the ‘ La Cité des Vins’. We are made very welcome – there’s even a sofa in the library, which I stretch out on for a few languorous moments …

Nearby is the former submarine base, built by the Germans and used by the Italians in WW2. It is massive, ugly and threatening, a dingy, merciless, concrete building which still holds the water for the submarine berths inside. The ceilings are four storeys high with classical arches between the rooms. The whole building has been converted into a huge centre for the arts, which show mind blowing ‘Bassins de Lumières’.

I hadn’t experienced this way of showing art before. You enter into darkness. We find ourselves in Venice during the Renaissance as flickering, moving images of the city flow over the walls, the high ceilings and the floors. I was somewhat disorientated, feeling as if I might fall into a canal as the water where the submarines were berthed also reflects the light. It was an intense experience.

Venice suddenly disappeared and our eyes were bombarded by the colourful, sometimes Sargentesque paintings of the Spanish artist, Sorolla. Little children ran around in the dark shadows calling excitedly to one another, like birds. I felt I was immersed in a dream world.

The paintings are blown up so that you feel you can just walk into them.

Back to reality and returning to ‘Chez Dupont’ was a different story. We waited endlessly for a bus in the twilight. Then we had a brainwave – could we get an Uber? Surprise, the answer was ‘Yes’ and a lovely lady soon hove into view. We enjoyed trying out our French on the way back and the restaurant was open for dinner. Sometimes things do work like a dream!

The waiter introduced us to a glamorous bottle of Bordeaux liqueur called Lillet. Dinner was excellent and we retired to bed for an early start next morning. We are off to the food market.

Awake to sunshine and blue skies – it’s a perfect day for exploring and we are soon bowling along on a modern tram to the ‘Marché des Capucins’.

It hasn’t been raining – the streets are all washed down at dawn. Merveilleux.

We found a table and enjoyed a delectable ‘petit déjeuner’ …

We needed a little sweetness now and made for the patisserie counter. What are these? They look delicious!

Small, round, light and airy ‘choux’ patisserie filled with cream – perfect!

Next on our list – la rue St-James – picturesque and full of interesting boutiques …

There are those sort of places that just spill over with a cornucopia of temptations – especially when you’re in a country not your own.

They also do a wonderful brunch. Don’t miss it.

We’re on our way again …

We didn’t eat here – just passed by and I liked their sense of humour!

We stopped for a coffee at ‘Paul’. There was a woman sitting with a boy near our table who reminded me so much of an actress in one of my favourite programmes – ‘Dix pour Cent’ or ‘Call My Agent’. I love that show! It can’t have been her though! Could it?!

We finally get to ‘Le Marché aux Puces’. I could stay here all day!

There is something in the photo above which I bought for two euros – on show later!

Much as I love looking at paintings, they wouldn’t fit in my case. I was drawn to an old master portrait of an Italian gentleman – I even returned to have another look – but it had already gone. Just as well … sigh …

My companion fared better. She bought a wooden, carved and colourful cock-a-doodledoo. Vintage. She went back to the stall later on with it in her bag and heard a customer asking if the seller still had it. ‘Non, c’est déjà vendu’, he replied … it clucked softly in her bag.

My two euro buy intrigued me and I was able to find out more about it as there was an indented stamp on the back with the shape of a windmill plus the letters ORCHIES underneath.

It came from a factory in Flanders, opened by two brothers in 1886 and is listed as Old French Art Nouveau majolica. It’s so astonishing that you can find all that information so quickly on the Internet. And it’s such a very decorative plate.

Next on our list was the famous ‘Bourse’ reflected in the ‘Miroir d’Eau’. We had just about time to get there before making our way back to collect our things on the way to the airport.

A flying visit to a wine ‘cave’, where we chose a suitable Bordeaux Cabernet Sauvignon. I’m mentioning this partly because we had a long conversation with the proprietor, who complimented me on my French accent – probably being kind but definitely encouraging!

I haven’t mentioned the Bordeaux ‘Canelés’ which are sold in their own small shops around the city, along with shiny gold boxes of soft caramels, which are so bad for your teeth and so unputdownable.

The Canelés are actually more like a dessert – crisply caramelised on the outside and soft within. They are actually described as ‘un dessert onctueux’. A wonderful onomatopoeic word.

This turned out to be the last warm and sunny weekend in Bordeaux before rain set in. We were lucky. Next time we’ll try the Eurostar, as the TGV is super fast from Paris to Bordeaux . Meanwhile, this trip was a jewel, lighting up the end of 2022.

Adventures in the Dark Heart of the City

By Edward Chisholm

This is an unputdownable story of the author’s trials and travails in ‘The City of Light’ – Paris. The only other book I can compare it to is ‘Down and Out in Paris and London’ by George Orwell, which was fascinating and utterly grim at the same time. Edward Chisholm manages both those things and adds a wonderful, self deprecating, noir sense of humour coupled with a sensitive understanding of his fellow waiters. I feel as if I am the fly on the wall, the voyeur who keeps on looking, unable to tear his eyes away from what is going on.

This all happened within the last eight years.

The book also reminded me of my own adventures in Paris. A different era, the early sixties. Looking back, it certainly forged parts of my personality that I still recognise as coming from being sent on my own, via the boat train from Victoria, on what was to become an eye opening experience at the age of sixteen.

Primarily, I was sent to learn French and ended up without the supervision my mother was expecting from a French lycée in the summer holidays.

Unlike the author, I did have ‘O’ level French, which both got me into and out of various risky situations. My mother didn’t like ‘abroad’ so I owe a lot to a friend of my father’s, a French woman called Ninette, who organised my first trip to the city she was born in and later left – to marry an Englishman. I regret that I never even thanked her because at the time I was a typical, navel gazing teenager. ‘J’ai eu de la chance’, even though I didn’t know it.

As well as enjoying the unexpurgated freedom of exploring Paris, I also realised that life was a lot more fun if you could speak French, so I’ve kept that up over the years. Everyone should be able to speak at least one other language. It opens so many doors.

This is Edward Chisholm’s first book (with a wonderful jacket photo) and I do hope it has success. I feel very much on his wavelength and impressed by his perseverance against multiple odds. I became absolutely obsessed by his story.

‘Chapeau’, Ed. A sparkling début – may your success continue.

Having been confined to these shores for so long I realised that although I longed to ‘cross the Channel’ I was also afraid of ‘spreading my wings’.

When my daughter said she had Eurostar vouchers and invited me to join her, I was thrilled – but could I do it? I hadn’t had Covid, I did have my booster – my worry was just filling in all the forms for Covid and trying to organise them on my phone. She knew what to do and ‘voilà’ – I’m sitting at a table on the Eurostar, waiting for take off! Coffee arrives, followed by lunch with a glass of wine and suddenly, we burst out of the tunnel into another country. Unbelievable!

I had always wanted to stay at the ‘Hotel des Grandes Ecoles’ – but it was always full. This time there was a chance, probably due to Covid and we were soon installed in ‘The Garden Room’. The hotel lies behind a massive door to the street. A cobbled road inside leads to the old fashioned hotel and garden.

One of my favourite places in Paris is the Ile St. Louis. Fifteen minutes walk downhill from our hotel, it’s now bathed in the golden light of late afternoon.

A favourite café, the ‘St. Régis’, is at one end. Very French, untouristy. Just the place to immerse ourselves for a while and enjoy the surroundings.

As we left, the sun was leaving too and the lights of the city were appearing. The bridge by the café seemed to be closed to traffic. There was a man sitting at a piano in the middle of the road, playing music which brought tears to my eyes. We stood there transfixed, along with others, including children and I could only believe that Paris had put on this show especially for us! We made a recording on the phone which I wish I could include here. It was just a very special moment and I was so happy to be here.

I looked around as we made our way to dinner and could hardly believe the Van Gogh sunset scene. ‘ Incroyable’!

We’d seen a restaurant – L’Ilôt Vache – on a corner as we came down to the Ile St. Louis and liked the look of it, so we retraced our steps. It was just opening for the evening, with a very tall, handsome man in charge. It turned out we’d made a great choice. ‘Confit de canard’ with ‘pommes de terre rôties’, followed by ‘crême brulée’ and ‘tarte aux pommes’. And a rich, red wine.

Breakfast at the hotel was delicious too. Lace ‘doilies’ grace the old, round wooden tables and the waitresses are buzzily welcoming, asking how we would like our eggs done – nothing is too much trouble for them and hot coffee is on hand.

There are two middle aged men at another table with roguish eyes, a family with small, sticky fingered children, a lone dowager dressed in black, wearing a hat – the dining room is full. A monstrously furry cat explores silently under the tables.

We have tickets for an exhibition of Vivien Maier’s photography at the ‘musée’ in the Luxembourg Gardens. The sun is shining. We make an early start, walking past the Panthéon on our way.

It’s so good to get to places early and the Gardens looked wonderful, even though it’s the beginning of November.

The weather is mild but it is Autumn and the trees are losing their leaves.

Vivian Maier, born in 1926, made her living as a nanny, mainly in New York, but her work as an amazing street photographer came to light when some forgotten storage lockers were found to contain over 100,000 photographs of ‘street life’ she had taken over many years.

A film called ‘Finding Vivian Maier’, has been made by John Maloof, the man who found these photos and Charlie Siskel. The exhibition we were going to see in the Luxembourg Gardens contained some of these.

The exhibition was fascinating and the way the photographs came to light after decades in a lock-up is astonishing. I bought some postcards and took a few photos but cannot for copyright reasons show them here. Looking up Vivian Maier’s life and work is really worth doing. Watch the film!

By this time we were thinking about a bite to eat and I really wanted to see if we could get into ‘Le Fumoir’, a restaurant opposite Le Tour St. Jacques by the Louvre. We had no reservation but were lucky. There’s a room which contains a small library at the far end but that was full. However, we sat under this painting and had ‘une assiette’, which satisfied our hunger. Much recommended.

We hadn’t had much time to look at the shops and decided to walk along the Seine, enjoy the river views and maybe come upon some small boutiques and galleries. It was interesting to see that many seemed to have survived ‘lockdown’.

We passed by one of the celebrated landmarks of Paris – ‘Les Deux Magots’. I couldn’t help being ‘touristy’ and took a photo.

Paris is always awash with small, quirky galleries. Time was precious, so leaving the Louvre and the Musée d’Orsay for next time (!) we trawled through unknown streets, searching for windows catching our eye en route. It was probably lucky for my purse that some galleries were closed and we could only manage ‘lèche-vitrines’. Nonetheless, a little frustrating!

I’m not on Twitter but these enchanting birds ‘tweet’ when you pick them up. Fun presents for children …

All good things come to an end and our last evening is here already. And while our passenger locator forms are being processed by the lovely lady in reception, she recommends ‘Café Delmas’ – a restaurant just minutes away in ‘Place de la Contrescarpe’, where we are made very welcome.

It’s always a worry after Brexit but I think speaking French helps – we were treated with warmth and kindness everywhere. ‘Bonne nuit’ et ‘beaux rêves’ …

Time to return to ‘Le Gare du Nord’. It’s been a real treat but now the door closes on our little sortie to ‘the City of Light’. I hope we’ll be back soon …

by Lizzie Collingham – a big thank you for an inspiring and very enjoyable book …

If somebody had given me this book to read at school – ( obviously not even written then!) – I would have fallen in love with history. Corn Laws didn’t do it for me. But at this later stage in life, I’m giving ‘The Biscuit’ my personal ‘book of the year’ award for a riveting account of why biscuits played a major part in encouraging world trade. And how their delicious success continues apace today. They really do ‘take the biscuit’!

You might think that the subject is pretty mundane – a cup of tea, usually accompanied by a ginger nut or digestive biscuit, preferably dunked in the cup for extra indulgence. And drunk (mostly every day) by the masses. But there is much more to it than that.

Lizzie Collingham’s research is mouth wateringly more-ish. Starting off with the word biscuit coming from the French, ‘ bi-cuit’ (twice cooked), the origins of the first biscuits were from dried bread, used by travellers of all kinds, sailors and also the army, as it did not go mouldy en route. She also tells us that it was in the medieval Islamic world that sugar was added, eventually leading to the Empire’s global trading in biscuits which developed what is today a staple for entire nations, specifically the British.

I especially enjoyed the chapter on Huntley and Palmer’s biscuit tins with their colourful patterns etched onto the metal, making the biscuit tin into something of an icon. Packed full of biscuits, they were shipped all over the planet. Some people even put the empty tins on the mantelpiece as a decorative feature! I remember, as children, we filled the empty tin with the wooden animals which came with our Noah’s Ark in the toy cupboard.

These ‘large square tins’ (although they were to expand into all sorts of shapes and sizes) had much more fascinating uses.

In Uganda, bibles and other books were made to measure expressly to fit into these tins to save them from being destroyed by ants or similar creatures who ‘ate’ and destroyed books in the tropics.

In the Sudan a sword was found with bands of metal covering the scabbard, the name of Huntley and Palmer proudly displayed.

In Trinidad they were used as musical instruments and dustbin lids. In Bolivia a young mining engineer used an empty tin successfully to carry £1,000 across a dangerous mountain pass and fast flowing river to distribute his mens’ wages.

When Queen Victoria’s son-in-law died of malaria in Africa, the body had to be preserved in order to be taken back to Britain for burial. A coffin was constructed out of biscuit tins and filled with rum.

The writer, Thomas Hardy, apparently had his heart excised from his body to be buried in Dorset by the side of his first wife, Emma. The surgeon, having extracted the heart from the corpse, found he had nothing to transport it in. Someone came up with an empty biscuit tin.

WARTIME

In the First World War porridge was made over a fire using biscuit tins and they were also used as washbasins and, unpleasantly, even latrines. Soldiers used them as seats in the trenches. Temporary army camps made use of them filled with sand together with mealy bags to build most of the huts. During the Second World War the tins were used in an innovative (explosive) way to make tea or ‘char’. Obviously, given so many empty tins, the biscuits were very popular!

The author includes recipes for all kinds of biscuits – plain, iced and jam filled, followed by chocolate coated ones. The choice grew with the profits made. At first biscuits were the prerogative of the upper classes but with industrialisation biscuit factories brought the prices down to all and sundry.

Biscuits are a bridge between bread and cake – they last longer and with the addition of sugar have definitely carved out a tasty and nostalgic niche – comfort food, which we all desire from time to time.

Do read this book if I have whetted your appetite and find out lots more about the evolution of the biscuit across the world – and of social history, packaged in an original and unforgettable way – preferably taken in with a cup of tea to make a good match with a ‘ginger nut’, a ‘digestive’ … or even something more luxurious. The choice is endless, a welcome indulgence, wrapped into our daily lives.

“A stellar observer of the day-to-day and the mundane, a social historian of extraordinary talent” (New York Times Book Review’).

The book also has illustrations – some of which are in colour.