It’s really worth looking ‘up’ from time to time as you beetle about your important business … no more so than standing on the opposite side of the street at Haymarket, where the horses jostle each other on the corner. Raise your eyes and leap into the blue. As ever, the clouds provide a perfect backdrop …

If I had been shown these photos some months ago and asked in which city I might find them, I wouldn’t have guessed they were in London. Maybe you would – but, just in case, I’m asking you to look up from all your gadgets from time to time! It may be to your advantage … the body beautiful awaits you … and much else besides.

END

I don’t belong to Twitter… am happy not to tweet … but this ‘poem’ came to mind on the Piccadilly line … short but haiku sweet.

On the tube at Kensington
I saw a man so smartly dressed
Staring at his stylish garb
Embarrassed (for I stared too hard)
Then at Green Park he flew away
Umbrella’d on that rainy day.

END

We were passing the Odeon Shaftesbury Avenue, near to the market on Earlham Street when we had this – well – surreal experience. A sparky Irish girl came by – you can spot her legs in one of the photos. She stopped and got off her bike to join us in this fishy encounter.

The streets of central London are never dull – and then those Irish legs jumped onto her bike and she disappeared at top speed. All of a moment captured in time …

END

I tend to think that sunsets must always be best in exotic places. Here are two which prove me wrong!

This also gives me the opportunity to quote one of my favourite speeches in Shakespeare’s Henry IV Pt. 1. This play was part of the ‘The Hollow Crown’ series which was on BBC 2 earlier this year, produced by Sam Mendes. Jeremy Irons was faultless as the old king and Tom Hiddleston shone out as his son, Hal. This is spoken by him …

‘Yet herein will I imitate the sun
Who doth permit the base contagious clouds
To smother up his beauty from the world,
that, when he pleases again to be himself
Being wanted, he may be more wonder’d at,
By breaking through the foul and ugly mists
Of vapours that did seem to strangle him.’

We have had more than enough of those vapours of late but tempered by some glorious open skies. The sunset below is taken from the top window of our house.

The colours remind me of the leaves described by Shelley in his ‘Ode to the West Wind’ – ‘yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red’ – worth a look for that and the rhythm of the poem. I must sweep up those Autumn leaves now!

END

We took the train to Lausanne in August. John and I had been invited to stay with a colleague so they could discuss ideas about a book they are writing together. It’s a pity continental train travel is so expensive as opposed to the plane but later in the year, when I explored the possibility of going to Aix-en-Provence by TGV, it was a lot cheaper than to Lausanne. When I asked why such a difference in price, I was told it was because of crossing borders! I think SNCF might work on getting that sorted out because if we go to Switzerland again it would have to be by plane re cost – even though the train was preferable. You do have to make the change from the Eurostar (Gare du Nord) to Gare de Lyon – and signposting is not very clear – but it’s only two stops on the RER. The Gare de Lyon could do with more seats in the waiting area – we ended up sitting outside the station – which wouldn’t be possible in cold and rainy weather… here endeth a paragraph of ‘nuts and bolts’ for those so minded with practical detail!

I was looking forward to this TGV trip to Aix. We had to change at Lille – easy – same station, downstairs platform. Orange and brown continue to be the colours of Belgian choice. The loos are, in mood, like the old Parisian pissoirs. Inside, one’s private parts are enclosed but otherwise it’s draughty and I’m clutching onto my bag at the same time. John says I clutch onto my bag with such paranoia that I begin to look like one! Afterwards, I can only get a squint at my anxious face, as the mirrors are tiny designer slivers.

John is ensconced in the waiting room with some women clutching their dear ‘petits chiens’ to their ample bosoms. The dogs are very well behaved and look as if they offer comfort to their owners. I think I may also have one in due course.

The seats on the TGV are black and white striped, with burgundy antimacassars. That is such an antiquated and mysterious word, conjuring up Victorian moustachioed men using pomade and leaving unsightly, greasy marks on the backs of armchairs – hence the need for an antimacassar. Today it probably fends off the unwashed and maybe a stray louse. We have a stylish lamp at our table for two. It’s dark yellow, the colour of my orange juice.

The landscape outside Lille continues flatly with rows of spindly trees flanking the autoroute. The agricultural taming of the countryside is both comforting and dispiriting. We pass the name ‘Arras’ on the faded side of a building and just tucked in behind in a small field, shaped like an unfurled scroll of paper and enclosed by trees, are lines of small, white gravestones, presided over by a cross.

Huge lorries (‘camions’ is a good word) roar along parallel to the train, with names emblazoned across them – Petrus, de Kraker, Parex Tanko, Kôkez, LeuLeu, Roussel, Charbonnier, Cobelfret, Peyrot, Gokbora … they are following signs to Cambrai, Valenciennes and the Somme.

The mournful sound of a mobile phone similar to that of the old black, bakelite telephones, reminds me of being brought up in a doctor’s house – that sound often signified illness. News of death, victory, defeat – something extreme and often bad. So I began to think of the soldiers in both world wars and their remains here – some of them left in the trenches – and how the countryside must have looked then. The trenches are dug in now but there are lumpy banks here and there and mute remains of DNA along with rusty ironmongery – all resting in the same mud.

And we, the survivors, are speeding through it on our way to the soft warmth (‘châleur’) of the south – pour chercher un petit séjour doux et ensoleillé contre la réalité de la vie humaine. We have a lot to thank those soldiers for who lost their lives that we might enjoy ours. Are we worth it? We have a duty to try, at least. ‘Tristesse’ is the word for ‘sadness’ in French.

We have now arrived at the airport – Charles de Gaulle – the station is a totally grey and metal landscape with walls of ‘waffelled’ concrete. Each square contains sixty four ‘waffles’ – so you can see how exciting it is to be here … ‘Will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I’m 64?” – probably not. Where is the coffee trolley?

I see an orange and white Easyjet flying in at the end of a field of cabbages. I was contemplating the lugubrious face of one of my co-passengers. He resembles a bloodhound – a smartly shorn bloodhound with a moustache – and glasses. He is looking at the girl opposite with timid but intent interest. I listen in to the phone call of an American who is going to miss his plane connection and will be late for his operation. Then he finds out the surgeon’s plane has been cancelled. He is speaking in English but using a lot of ‘mercy buckets’ so obviously talking to a Frenchman. His bowel will have to wait.

Another man, reading ‘Science et Vie’ or similar – with very thick glasses and very thick black straight hair, cut pudding bowl style, disappeared for a time and his place was taken by a tall, bony, melancholy looking robot. Inexplicably, the first man has now reappeared – no sign of M. Melancholia. The girl opposite the bloodhound is playing cards with herself. I think the bloodhound would like to join in and try his luck but she is not cooperating – she is listening to music on her headphones.

It’s warm and comfortable in the carriage. ‘De quoi pensez-vous, Monsieur?’ Granny takes a Trip. ‘She always turns up to auditions in Hollywood town – she always turns up and she’s always turned down … (John lent me his I-Pod for a minute) …

I find reading on the train much easier than on the plane but as I was really excited about this trip from north to south, I spent lots of time gazing out of the window. I should really call this piece ‘Moi on the TGV’ – because I was interested in how my photos came out at speed. Also, John wrote a blog on the birthday festivities, so mine has to be a bit different.

When I was a child we used to travel by train from Manchester to Edinburgh every summer with my Scottish aunt for our ‘grandes vacances’ three week holiday by the sea. I only realise now how much my parents must have enjoyed waving us off from Manchester Piccadilly station! One of my favourite poems probably dates from that time as Auntie Jenny used to read to us as well as handing out all sorts of puzzles, guessing games e.g. how many cows would be in the next field? – first person to see John of Gaunt (a statue by the railway) – followed by the ‘Welcome To Scotland’ sign, which was not far away from a glimpse of the sea, leading to heightened hysteria as we ran up and down the corridor outside the six person railway carriage. Fellow passengers unamused, no doubt!

FROM A RAILWAY CARRIAGE
by Robert Louis Stevenson

Faster than fairies, faster than witches,
Bridges and houses, hedges and ditches:
And charging along like troops in a battle,
All through the meadows the horses and cattle:
All of the sights of the hill and the plain
Fly as thick as driving rain;
And ever again, in the wink of an eye,
Painted stations whistle by.
Here is a child who clambers and scrambles,
All by himself and gathering brambles;
Here is a tramp who stands and gazes;
And there is the green for stringing the daisies!
Here is a cart run away in the road
Lumping along with man and load;
And here is a mill and there is a river:
Each a glimpse and gone for ever.

What would Robert Louis Stevenson have made of the TGV? Maybe faster but still very much the same experience. Somehow, I managed to capture a few of those glimpses as I sped by them at over 300 km/h. We’re certainly on our way south now…

This first photo turned out to be something quite different from what I thought I’d taken!

We’ve arrived and Mont St. Victoire is a powerful presence as we take an evening stroll through the vineyards.

The swimming pool looked inviting even at night time. This part of Provence was exceptionally hot during July and August and I think everyone is relieved that the temperature has fallen. For me, this is perfect as I struggle in the heat. Now it is cool both morning and evening and still about 25C during the day. By the field of spent lavender are thousands of tiny white snail shells which you can’t help but crunch underfoot. The grapes are already harvested.

Breakfast and dinner happen at a long table under the mulberry. There is a tree frog which we hear as we drink the local wine in the evening and an enormous and splendid spider outside the kitchen window. I will remember these days and the special light of Provence when the grey city rain brings me low.

As soon as I get back to London, I must buy a colourful umbrella. I did have a Japanese one covered in red roses and dewdrops, which I, very sadly,left on the bus. It was never handed in. Whenever I am in Richmond and it is raining I keep my eyes open for it – it was quite unusual. I would have to make enquiries, should I see it! Unfortunately, it could not bark or miaow in recognition …

As we walk through the vines, I am struck by the real darkness of the countryside at night. There are covert rustlings in the bushes, the chirrup of a late-to-bed, lone cricket. The air is soft as velvet on my face, the night sky is infinite and starry – I am glad to be here. Enter left, a charging, full blooded ‘sanglier” (wild boar). This is the sort of thing that happens when I am in a communing, meditative state with ‘nature’. Luckily, I am only hallucinating this time but next day we hear shots of ‘la chasse’ up in the hills.

Rested and much revived we meet up with our Norwegian friends next day for breakfast. A friend of John’s, Jørgen Randers, had a book come out about the same time as ‘The Zeronauts’. It’s called ‘2052’. I am determined to read it after the mesmerising talk he gave to us at dinner one evening. John has brought some copies of his own book too. Jan-Olaf has meanwhile devised an extraordinary trip for us all.

We drive over to another village. This disused railway track has been taken over by a French entrepreneur with an original idea – and cycling on rails means you don’t need to balance. Luckily, in our group there is a very sporty Norwegian chap who kindly takes over from me for the uphill part. Even the vertiginous viaduct we had to cross didn’t put me off! It was enormous fun.

Time for lunch at the French Foreign Legion. Mont St. Victoire is still with us! And then it’s home to the mas for some relaxation in the garden and by the pool before dinner appears – as if by magic! This is especially appreciated by me. All I have to do is anticipate what turns out to be a delicious repast – what could be better?!

The mountain does seem to be always in our sights. No wonder Cézanne painted it so often! It’s very powerful – like a large supine lioness that could flex its muscles at any moment.

There’s a small museum which we visited – mainly of men in different army uniforms. But I was taken by this dragon – the colour and the weave of the material …

The battle of St. George and the dragon shown in paintings, symbolizes the ongoing struggle of good and evil. Dragons always remain a threat, a powerful force ready to fight any new invader.

Late afternoon – and we are back at the mas discussing the state of the world by the swimming pool.

a dreamless sleep and our little gecko, who inhabits the ceiling …

A trip to the market in Aix is on the agenda. My camera was in my pocket and now I find it missing – just as I was about to take a market stall full of different types of mushrooms and fungi. I feel downcast but I buy a bag of ceps to take home. We find that the English bookshop, just a few steps down a side street off the Cours Mirabeau (almost opposite ‘Les Deux Garcons’ restaurant) – has expanded into two shops – the English one now being further down on the opposite side. I don’t see the cat that used to sit like royalty in the window but perhaps she is on mouse patrol.

John buys a large paperback containing 100 of Ray Bradbury’s short stories and I buy this. It looks good for the train ride home. There’s a small café in the bookshop and I console myself with a lemon and ginger tisane and a warm scone with jam. I need comforting! We meet up with the others for lunch and then decide to go and seek out Cézanne’s atelier, which I’ve never managed to get to before.

It’s uphill but worth the effort – the atelier has been left almost as it was when he died. There is a huge north facing window and various familiar objects are scattered around. One of his paintings, which is in The Courtauld Institute in London, features a rather podgy, swaggering, self important cherub with a number of various fruits lying on the floor around him – he stands here on a table, now looking rather grubby and a bit forlorn.

It is a strange feeling to think that many of our possessions outlive us – yet without us they have no validity in a way. Unless, of course, they are worth something financially and take on a new persona, are attractive or useful enough to be taken up by somebody else or strike a memory for those who were close to us. I remember going into a house where a much loved cousin had died and his pairs of glasses were on top of the piano he played every day. I found myself near to tears for a minute or two. Still, sentimentality aside, they would probably benefit somebody in a developing country, who would never know of their past life. Our optician collects unwanted pairs of spectacles to send them off to people who need and can’t afford to buy them. And the grubby cherub is doing a good job on the memory front. However, it is not one of my favourite paintings. The bombastic ‘putto’ has had his day.

Cézanne was a strange man. I think he was mostly in love with Mont St. Victoire, which he painted over and over again. He also loved Provence, where he was born – one of the paintings I like is a landscape to be found in The Hermitage Museum in St. Petersburg. A vast pine tree frames the foreground with a gaggle of provençal red tiled houses in the distance. The colours are vibrant and true and you feel the warmth of the red, dry earth reflected on your skin. And it has that magical ‘Alice Through the Looking Glass’ feel of being able to step through and into the painting. I have only seen reproductions but hope the original might come closer to home in an exhibition one day. It would also be nice to have it on my wall …

John lent me his camera but I only took one picture in Aix as I was devastated by the loss of my own small, battered one. We ambled slowly back to the car park. I climbed in to the back seat and there it was. It must have slipped out of my pocket as I got out.

The birthday festivities that evening were full of warmth and friendship. Twenty six of us sat under the mulberry tree and many heartfelt speeches were made and we all joined in the rousing Norwegian songs. ‘For he’s a jolly good fellow’ was added for ‘the British’ (two of us) and for the Frenchman we had ‘Chevaliers de la table ronde, Goûtons voir si le vin est bon’ – un chanson I had last sung with gusto in our French classes at school! Surprisingly, I remembered it, word for word. It’s a good song to roll out. We ended up eating enormous slices of birthday cake and drinking whisky (not me!) by a roaring fire. Our Norwegian friends were off next week to the forest to shoot moose – an annual event.

We made our way for the last time through the vines well after midnight. A kind friend had offered us a lift to the station in the morning.

The TGV whooshes in right on time from Marseilles. We are on the top deck at a table for two. The train is busy, so we soon settle down with our books. This time we are bound for Paris.

These photos are not as dramatic as when we came down to Provence but they give a feeling of the lie of the land and that was one of the reasons that I wanted to come by train.

‘I should like to spend the whole of my life travelling, if I could anywhere borrow another life to spend at home’. (William Hazlitt – Table Talk 1824).

‘If you look like your passport photo, then in all probability you need the journey’.
(Earl Wilson – Ladies’ Home Journal 1961) How very rude!

‘They say travel broadens the mind, but you must have the mind’ (G.K. Chesterton – ‘The Shadow of the Shark’1921) This is also rather rude but definitely hits the bull’s eye!

or could it be a giant caterpillar?

And, finally, some blue sky!

We are at the Gare du Nord with two hours wait before the Eurostar leaves. And what better than to cross the road to the ‘Terminus Nord’ restaurant – I love this brasserie where the waiters are adept at dealing with peoples’ luggage with no fuss, treat you royally, the food is delicious, eaten in ‘art nouveau’ surroundings and you don’t want to say ‘au revoir’ but you know you’ll be scampering back to Paris in no time.

Happy Birthday – Happy Days – When can we do it again?

END

This time last year we were starting out on our Lycian cruise on a Turkish gulet and I’ve been thinking how much I envy this year’s group – just beginning to enjoy it.

If you remember, I was suffering from extreme stiffness and pain around my waist, hips and thighs before we left London. I had been to the physiotherapist without success. It was as if I was a stick – with no flexibility from the waist down. A strong mix of paracetemol and codeine kept me going and since we didn’t need socks on board – it’s such a joy being in bare feet on wooden boards warmed by the sun – I didn’t have the problem of putting them on. Before we left home, the only way was to lie on the bed and struggle to reach my feet, which was time consuming and utterly infuriating. Like a beetle must feel on its back, legs flailing … But thank goodness I made the decision to go to Turkey rather than languish at home. It was interesting to find I could swim with no problem – the sea was salty and buoyant and this seemed to have the effect of freeing up my legs and back. Odd, nevertheless …

The doctor hadn’t been sure of what I was suffering from but when I got home with no improvement in the stiffness, she successfully diagnosed ‘polymyalgia rheumatica’, which the medical establishment think could be an auto immune problem. However, the cause is not known. There is pain, extreme stiffness and tenderness in large muscles and it mainly affects people over the age of sixty-five. Women are more likely to suffer from it than men. The muscles in your shoulders and arms can also be affected.

The doctor put me on steroids. Miracle cure! Within twenty four hours I could bend and move without pain. It was really unbelievable. Blood tests showed high sedimentation in my blood. Since then and for almost a year now on steroids, my sedimentation rate has plummeted and continued to fall on a regular basis. I am now on a low dosage of steroids and the doctor hopes that I will be able to stop them completely in about six months, should all continue well with the blood tests.

Since this happened, I have met two people with the same problem. A man and a woman. It’s a debilitating condition but, as my doctor says, rather a satisfying one for the medics, as when diagnosed, taking steroids results in the ‘take up your bed and walk’ syndrome, the result being miraculous within twenty four hours. The downside is that you need to keep taking steroids for some time but the disease then often burns itself out . In some cases, this doesn’t happen but being on a continuing low dose of steroids is much better than the alternative of being as inflexible as a ramrod and suffering with it. An image of the ‘Minister for Silly Walks’ comes to mind.

Amazingly, I did in some way manage to cope with it on the gulet. That was one of the best adventures and I would love to do it all over again.

END

Unilever, who have sponsored the Turbine Hall installations annually since 2000, invited us to the latest commission. Almost 30 million people have passed through the hall attracted by the artists’ various creations over these past years. Whereas the Turbine Hall once housed powerful turbine engines, the energy this year came from live interaction between people. Here was a huge public space for walking and talking and communicating – sometimes intimately – with strangers.

I always enjoy the walk along the Thames to the Tate, which takes about twenty minutes. I couldn’t see John when I got there but spent some time walking through the gardens in front, vaguely looking for him, and enjoying the warm evening sunshine. People were sitting, some in groups on the grass, some strolling to and from the riverside, some running.

There is something about a riverside with a path which brings out sociability in people. A sense of promenading just for pleasure maybe. I didn’t know anybody but I felt a sense of belonging – and that I could just sit down and enjoy that togetherness in peace, with my book for company. But, instead, I had to find John and go to the exhibition.

The interaction in the Turbine Hall was quite different from that outside – it was very pro-active. There were huge numbers of young people, many of them students, who came up and just engaged us in conversation. About what they were studying, how they came to be here in London, their opinions on politics, social issues, art, the environment, climate change … but often they started off by just talking about something quite intimate and personal – the sort of thing you wouldn’t immediately bring up with a stranger – and yet, in the context of what Tino Sehgal was trying to do with the Turbine Hall space, it was very successful.

You were immediately drawn into a stranger’s life and a sharing of the ups and downs of human life in general forged an immediate bond. I found it fascinating to listen to something significant that had happened in someone’s life I had never met before. It filled me with energy and enthusiasm both for this opportunity and also for these young, intelligent people trying to make sense of the world we now live in. They were open and friendly and inclusive. It was a very successful group experiment. It gave us tacit permission to talk openly to strangers without any pressure and I much appreciated being able to talk to young people in that way, as I don’t often have that opportunity.

As it got dark and time to leave, we were attracted by the lights bordering the river and decided to walk across the Millennium Bridge.

This is probably the last time we will be invited to the Turbine Hall installations as Unilever is finishing its sponsorship and the Turbine Hall will now be closed until the new extension of the Tate has been built. These visits have been stimulating and very enjoyable and I will miss them – and remember them with great pleasure.

The person I will remember most sitting next to at dinner is Miles Young of Ogilvy and Mather. He is one of the most entertaining and lovely, warm hearted men – with terrific style – that I’ve ever met.

END

John’s new book, ‘The Zeronauts’ was just published and a kind friend had organised all sorts of meetings and book signings for him in San Francisco. I found a ‘green’ hotel – ‘The Orchard’ – very near Union Square, which turned out to be a perfect location. I had wanted to spend my holiday money on going to the seaside in France but when I got to San Francisco all that blew away in the wind and the mist and I was thrilled to be here once more. It was eight years since my last visit.

We travelled on Virgin – one up from economy – but I have to say I prefer British Airways. Nevertheless, it got us there and back in one piece and that was the main thing. So no complaints really!

The first evening we walked down to the waterfront (about half an hour stroll) and had a seafood dinner, sitting outside by the water’s edge, with a view of the Bay Bridge. The restaurant is a sort of diner, where waiters whizz in and out giving speedy service while shouting the next orders to the kitchen. Quite a lot of them seem to be Italian. The fish is very fresh, salads crisp, Anchor Steam beer (one of John’s favourites), presentation faultless. Couldn’t have had a better reintroduction – I love this walkabout city. The soft mist that drifts in from the sea suits me well and the sunshine was gentle when the washed blue sky made an appearance.

Now tucked up in a huge, comfy bed after a warming soak in the bath. I feel so well looked after and at ease as I stretch out my stiff muscles from the long journey. Bliss!

John was off early next morning and I had the day to myself to explore. I’d bought myself some fabulously comfortable ‘lunarlon’ Nike shoes just before leaving and they were to stand me in very good stead. Like the new pair of summer plimsolls (sneakers) in Ray Bradbury’s book ‘Dandelion Wine’, it was ‘like menthol on your feet’ – so you ran along as if there were springs in your shoes … this is just how I felt, day after day, in San Francisco.

Thinking back to 1973, when I first came to San Francisco, I didn’t even need shoes to feel like this!

Rather obscure photo of ‘the writer’ below taken by self … probably need camera with timing control so I don’t look as if I’m lighting indoor fireworks in my hotel room!

I love our doorman at the hotel. He is so helpful, (and handsome!), directing me to the art gallery via Union Square. And this is what I saw and snapped as I went along, having stopped off at ‘Café de la Presse’ for a coffee and croissant to give me pzazz en route.

The small round marble tables are placed quite close together and, it being San Francisco, I was soon chatting to my neighbour. He was a middle aged man – I can’t even remember what he looked like now – but he told me he didn’t know London well. However, when he came over, he stayed with an aunt, now very elderly, who lived reasonably centrally. ‘Where’?, I asked. ‘Oh, it’s called Knightsbridge’, he said. ‘It’s alright – quite a nice location’! Maybe Auntie will leave him her ‘pad’ in her will, I thought and he’ll be pleasantly surprised. Except, of course, he prefers to live here in San Francisco. It’s good to see the world from a different perspective. I so much like immersing myself in different cultures and feeling anonymous. The day stretched ahead, the future unknown.

It’s not usual to go around taking photos of banks – unless, I suppose, you plan on a raid, but ‘Wells Fargo’ is such an atmospheric name, conjuring up pictures of cowboys and the Wild West and this building is very impressive too.

Slipping down a side street – noting a yellow taxi I may need later – but I’m nearing the gallery right now. No photos allowed with flash inside and this camera is truculent and won’t let me turn it off. Grrr…

The SFMOMA art gallery is well worth a visit. I ended up having two because there was a special exhibition on Buckminster Fuller, who is one of John’s heroes – so he insisted we go back next day. As I came out of the door first time round, I saw this poster and decided it was ‘a sign’!

The next lot are a medley of buildings, shop windows, design and finally a view of ‘homeless’ people in San Francisco, of which there are many. I was told they tend to turn up here from all over the States. But this means that San Francisco is burdened with an extra problem which seems to be escalating. I was rather shocked to see middle aged women snuggled up in flowery duvets on the pavement and felt relieved I didn’t have to join them.

I had my ‘Eye Witness’ Top 10 San Francisco guide with me. This series are excellent because they live easily in your pocket, the maps are clear and the illustrations can tempt you to explore places out of your comfort zone. But this first day was a very personal search for curiosities and things that ‘took my fancy’. It was a treat to have time to do this on my own.

And maybe here’s a multinational well on its way to heaven …?!

Continuing to walk the streets in a random fashion, I found myself on Market and California behind ‘the heavy mob’ – in rather ill fitting suits it must be said but it wouldn’t be worth my while to cast aspersions!

And a suitable automobile …

I flash by the ‘Moth and Dagger’ and find myself with a friendly ‘cigar buddy’ on Market and 3rd, followed by a busking saxophone player and another shoeshine man with some style …

There’s as much diversity in streetlife as there is in the natural world …

Time to retrace my steps to meet up with John at the hotel. I don’t need the map now to find my way. I’ve got a few landmarks and I puff up the steep hill onto Chinatown via Hawaii. Then I’m almost home. See landmarks below.

It’s soon to be John’s birthday and I came upon this shirt in a shop window and wondered if that could be ‘the present’. It’s heavy silk. I decided to come this way tomorrow with him and see if he noticed it. The entrance gate to Chinatown is near our hotel and I lighted upon an extraordinary shop selling the most exotic lamps, chandeliers and furniture. You could have furnished a whole Hollywood mansion here in one fell swoop. But sadly I don’t have one!

Then there’s the ‘green door’ massage parlour which looks rather down-at-heel but is a great landmark as it’s on the road into Union Square which you reach by underground stairs from our street. It has some rather striking stained glass at the entrance but the whole could do with a scrubbing down. Still, who am I to complain as I am not planning on a visit. And I’m now back at ‘The Orchard’ with familiar faces greeting me in reception.

The cable car passes by on its way to Fisherman’s Wharf as I reach the hotel entrance but it’s time for me to have forty winks before dinner time. We are invited out to a special restaurant called ‘Cotogna’. I must look my best and soon I’m dozing and dreaming of being here on the other side of the world.

It was wonderful to meet up with San Francisco friends and colleagues last night. I’m also now keyed into the city after my solitary wanderings. Day over and I fell satisfactorily asleep as soon as my head touched the downy pillow. And I don’t have the added worry of making speeches, although one of the companies John is visiting have kindly offered to show me round their gallery of designs in 3D printing. They are called Autodesk. Should be illuminating. I find the idea of printing out a house to live in quite extraordinary but some of these futuristic imaginings are now coming to pass. Later on I am to have the chance to see the Heatherwick exhibition at the V&A, which chimes in with this and is really a major breakthrough in architecture and design. Genius in action. Very exciting.

But now it’s time for ‘lights out’. John’s Blackberry often makes a ‘raspberry’ in the dark at this point. Turn it off! I win – for now!

Next day already ….. John was meant to go out to Moffett Field but there were problems and so he took the chance of a now spare morning to go and see the Buckminster Fuller exhibition. I trailed along for the second time but was happy enough because he liked the Hawaiian shirt. To my great joy, sale notices had gone up overnight so it was 20% cheaper! Nothing like a good bargain to set the blood flowing and see the world in a favourable light. Something to do with my Scottish ancestry no doubt as John doesn’t seem to be quite so interested in bargains. He just likes the shirt.

We have an old friend in San Francisco who very kindly took us out to the California Academy of Sciences. Wonderful aquarium, rainforest experience on four floors in a glass dome with blue and yellow macaws and giant butterflies – and to top it all, an earthquake simulator!

There are two Andy Goldsworthy sculptures out in the woods on Pacific Heights which Ian drove us to. Very thrilling to see them out here.

Later on in the afternoon we went to meet John’s new publisher. The editor was great and we came away with several interesting books, which showed the type of list John would be joining. More books!! We could build an extra house out of our books at home. I can’t quite get myself to ‘Kindle’ yet but it must be soon up ahead on the (virtual) cards. I still see books like familiar friendly faces. And the ‘faces’ I don’t like go off to the charity shop to annoy somebody else.

No, I’m not about to jump but how did my lovely ‘lunarlon’ Nike plonk itself in the middle of the building opposite? There are still so many intriguing mysteries to solve out there!

We’re quite tired this evening and decide to have an early supper at Café de la Presse, which is only a few minutes walk from the hotel. It’s got that quiet but buzzy atmosphere – very cosy and good brasserie style food. The waiter recognises me – always flattering and a good sign in general. It is important to make the clientele feel ‘at home’.

I wish I could open the windows in the hotel but it doesn’t seem possible. No matter – we’re now up and out and about. John has made off and I will meet him later at Autodesk, which is near the Ferry Building.

On my way I met up with the refuse lorry. Goodness me. Recology probably includes recycling and Waste Zero chimes in somewhat with John’s book. Something good is going on here, I hope.

I’m making my way down to the Ferry Building as the Autodesk offices are right opposite. I took a photo of Coit Tower from there and when it came up I thought I recognised the chap at the front in the middle … but maybe I am wrong. I didn’t even see him when I was taking the photo as I was concentrating on the tower. It would be a strange coincidence if it were he!

I’ve been reading a French novel by Patrick Modiano over the summer called ‘Dimanches d’août’ where the narrator, who is also a photographer, comes upon a photograph he took some time ago. If he had taken notice of the detail – two men sitting at a table in the background – he may have been able to prevent a tragedy later on. But it is only afterwards that he makes the connection.

And, of course, there’s a similar story in the film ‘Blow Up’, made in 1966, directed by Antonioni, with David Hemmings as a fashion photographer and a cast including Vanessa Redgrave, Jane Birkin, Sarah Miles and the astonishing sixties model, known as Verushcka. The David Hemmings part is based on David Bailey, the London photographer celebrated in the ‘swinging sixties’. After taking some photos of a model in a park, he notices, when developing the photo, that in the copse in the background he seems to have unwittingly, uncovered a murder.

One of the reviews of this film by Joe Gerardi gives a flavour. He comments that that ‘gut feeling that I missed something, is exactly where Antonioni was going’ with the film. ‘You always miss something’. ‘Blow Up’ won the Grand Prix at the Cannes film festival and had two Oscar nominations. Michael Palin can be seen briefly in a night club crowd scene and Janet Street-Porter dances in stripy Carnaby Street trousers. There’s also an interesting take on the film by Peter Bowles (he played the part of David Hemmings’ agent) on Wikipaedia.
This was Antonioni’s first English language film. It has been called ‘painterly’. And could be seen as a ‘cult art house’ film. At one point David Hemmings makes an impulse buy in an antique shop of an aircraft propeller. When challenged as to why he has bought this seemingly useless object he quotes the philosopher Kant’s theory of ‘what is art?’. My first trip to San Francisco coincided with ‘The Age of Aquarius’ – in the spirit of the sixties. This film is really one of the sixties icons – whether you like it or not. Maybe the American equivalent was ‘Easy Rider’, with Jack Nicholson, Denis Hopper and Peter Fonda. A big sea change in society was welling up.

Well, my excuse for being melodramatic over my photo is that San Francisco is a dramatic city to be in! It’s also good to be well aware of what is going on around you. It needs more than flower power nowadays …

That evening we were invited to dinner at a former ‘speakeasy’, which was at the back of a beautiful traditional timber painted house on Pacific Heights. We didn’t know what to expect. I don’t think this had been on John’s schedule. He had been speaking and signing books at an architecture office – big warehouse space with views of the ocean – and then we were informed that a car was waiting for us.

We left the still buzzing crowd and walked out onto the pavement. There was a large black car which had the lines of a crouching puma. Inside, the driver was dozing. I knocked on the window – he acknowledged me and – yes – he was our driver for the evening. He made me think of one of those chauffeurs who discreetly drive the rich and famous of Beverly Hills to secret locations. His voice purred like the king of the jungle and we drove off feeling sleek and streamlined.

Our co supper guests were an eclectic mix of arty, academic, bejewelled, wacky and completely off the wall. Our hostess was chic and bohemian and very welcoming. At dinner we all had to try and describe who we, in essence, were, one by one. We weren’t allowed to use anything that was on the Internet – e.g.website, facebook etc. but we could tell a story to illustrate our character. It’s an interesting concept. Below is one of the guests who was dressed in spiky rubber trousers. When I asked where he came from and what he did, he was rather vague. He said he enjoyed joining parties. He was very sociable.

It was getting late and we made our farewells. Outside, the black puma was waiting in the shadows and we were whisked smoothly back to the hotel through the now dark and deserted streets. I had a moment of finding myself in a different era vis-à-vis the Woody Allen, ‘Midnight in Paris’ film. For me, it was Ingrid Bergman, Humphrey Bogart ‘Casablanca’ and ‘Flying down to Rio’ – come with me!

This was to be our last full day in the city as we had been invited to our friends’ house near Healdsburg for a ‘garden of ideas’ weekend. John was busy with meetings in the morning but we met up for a last seafood lunch and then walked along the ocean front towards the Embarcadero to meet with a colleague at IDEO.

The large sculpture by Claes Oldenburg is 60 feet tall. It’s of a bow and arrow but also looks like the prow of a ship against the backdrop of the Bay Bridge.

I always like to get a picture of a truck when I’m in the U.S. as I was blown away (with horror) by Steven Spielberg’s impressive film, ‘Duel’ – a psychological thriller about a truck driver who for no known reason hunts down a perfectly ordinary mild mannered electronics salesman, driving a perfectly ordinary car along the highway. This was Spielberg’s second feature film. The camera work is stunning and the rising tension almost unbearable. The success of this film led Spielberg on the road to fame.

He apparently ‘auditioned’ the trucks, choosing a 1955 Peterbilt 281 because of its menacing face. He gives the shark in ‘Jaws’ a truly evil personality too. He said that ‘Jaws’ and ‘Duel’ ‘ were both about leviathans targeting everyman. I am glad this truck is going the opposite way to me!

Time to leave downtown for pastures new on the other side of the water. We drop into Fillmore Street on the way – full of cafés, restaurants, and many boutiques with antiquities of every sort …

And we’re off, making our way to Healdsburg … across the Golden Gate bridge.

A WEEKEND IN THE COUNTRY

It was much easier to drive out of San Francisco on a Friday evening than London and soon we were bowling along the highway as the sun began to go down. We’d had a great week mixing work and leisure – and so much enjoyed meeting a wealth of exciting, creative people every day. Our friend, Will, had been so generous and thoughtful with his time and organisation. I am sure there will be opportunities for John to work with some of these people we’ve been lucky enough to spend time with. And there’s a lot of goodwill all round.

Twilight had overtaken us and we were all pleased to see comfortable beds waiting for us. Next morning we strolled through the garden. It was pleasantly warm but not the sort of heat I dread when I turn into a wet rag, unable to function at all when everybody around me is a sun worshipper. Roll on, genetic engineering!

IN THE GARDEN

DOWN BY THE POOL

FLOWERS AND FRUIT

And then there’s the orange grove …

I find it enormously thrilling to pick an orange off the tree and just eat it. It was so gloriously fresh and juicy. It’s a good thing I was on my best behaviour as a guest – otherwise I would have sat in the orange grove all afternoon, being very greedy. As it was I put some in my bag for later.

HEALDSBURG

Healdsburg has a farmers’ market and a beautiful square at its centre, surrounded by artisan bakeries, an upmarket deli and various cafés – an independent bookshop and several boutiques selling expensive clothes, shoes and jewellery. And a garden shop not far away, to which we made a visit. In the middle of the square are tall trees and places to sit in the shade. At times I felt I had wandered onto a film set.

GARDEN SHOP

TIME TO GO HOME

One last morning out and about in San Francisco before making our way to the airport. John’s favourite bookshop is still going – many have foundered – but ‘City Lights’, beloved by many, continues, still proud of its associations with poets like Ginsberg, Ferlinghetti and others. Lawrence Ferlinghetti was its founder. The ‘poetry’ room upstairs survives too. It has been a literary meeting place since 1953. We made our way to ‘City Lights’ via Chinatown. All within walking distance of the hotel.

It almost looks as if some geisha with a magic wand has transformed the three models into wedding cakes. The intricacy of the icing patterns is astonishing. The shops here are a cornucopia of consumables. There is a dazzling array of things to buy everywhere you look.

Then we threaded our way along another street, where the foodshops were groaning under piled high vegetables and fishes and sea slugs – all waiting for hungry mouths to snap them up.

We finally arrived at ‘City Lights’ bookshop. It still has that aura of the sixties and I’m surprised I can’t smell joss sticks or stronger – but I do feel at home – a home I left about forty years ago now … and yet the books are up to date and the older ones survive happily among them. ‘City Lights’ seems to have worked out how to be sustainable in this high tech age without losing its personality.

Shakespeare & Co. – the celebrated bookshop in Paris – has achieved the same status, even though its American founder is no longer – his daughter seems to be a chip off the old block though!

And so it seems fitting that this trip to San Francisco should be ending up here. It brings old and new together and the hope that we can in some way make a good future using both of them to create more than the sum of the parts. We ended up with a ”phew’ more books’! I was probably a packhorse in a past existence. But at least I can have the enjoyment of reading what I carry in this one!

But not being Vivienne Westwood, I couldn’t quite carry them off now. And my new Nikes make up for it – they are so comfortable. Mmmm … I want those shoes …

If you’ve managed to stay the course – if I’ve managed to keep your interest until now – below is probably one of the best photographs I’ve taken to date. It’s a fitting close to an exciting and worthwhile trip to California and to one of my favourite cities. Thank you to all there who welcomed us and went out of their way to give us such a wonderful and memorable time. May it be ‘au revoir’ and not ‘adieu’.

END

A late family lunch for five at Wan Chai Corner on Gerrard Street, Soho, marked several celebrations – both for The Diamond Jubilee and things personal. The restaurant had been recommended by a colleague of John’s. She loves it and is a regular. She told me she sometimes goes alone. I never mind sitting alone in a restaurant as long as I am enjoying the food … you can concentrate on the taste better solo – although having a lively conversation with somebody does sort of make up for that! Not wanting to appear anti social here but both states of being appeal!

One of the things – excluding the delicious and bon marché food – which really appealed to me, was to see the Union Jack and the Chinese flags, fluttering in seemingly symbiotic harmony. Maybe it’s just my ever hopeful and heartfelt wish that different cultures can live side by side – independently, yet in relative harmony with one another … but it did make me feel optimistic to see those intertwined flags. And as we are, more than ever, a global people, it surely means we should be working towards a common good? Fat chance but there’s something waking up out there…

Going our separate ways after lunch – via the meraviglioso Gelato di Lupo shop on Archer Street – a visit ensures the best of treats – John and I said farewell and the two of us made our way along Brewer Street to the Royal Academy to see the Summer Exhibition.

It’s a good year. We both found it very enjoyable – for different reasons. John very much liked the ‘architecture’ room. I bought a print of an old fashioned looking dog called Louis.

David Mach is a favourite with both of us and the cheetah this year didn’t disappoint. I still have a card up on the shelf of the lion he did from a previous year. Phenomenal! Mach is definitely in ‘genius’ category! For the rest, my nature likes to search through the general melée, hunting for hidden gems, so I’m in my element at the Summer Exhibition.

Leaving Chinatown on a high …

Guardian at the gate …

A star turn – Shaftesbury Avenue

Leading off Brewer Street …

The shop below has been there since the 1970s – one of my old landmarks on Brewer Street, near the bottom end of Berwick Street market, along with the now renovated Italian ‘Lina Stores’. But this is the first time I’ve seen the Queen in the window!

Still going after all these years …

Colourful reflections …

A very English pub, just off Piccadilly

Crossing Regent Street, stuffed full of Union Jacks …

Telephone boxes in triplicate by The Albany …

Gieves of Savile Row offer up a suitably svelte and streamlined Queen …

Lulu Guinness shopfront in Burlington Arcade

Penhaligon perfumes celebrate The Jubilee with fragrant crowns

Old Bond Street …

We finally make it thru the photoshoots to The Royal Academy and the Summer Exhibition.

Entrance to Royal Academy and Linnaean Society

Close up of herons – prolific on the Thames today …

Sculpture RA courtyard

John found this sculpture more rewarding to the senses than I did. So I cloned him enjoying it. I can be seen looking somewhat anxious at the bottom of the picture, maybe because I now have two (identical) husbands to contend with! Not at all what I intended! I don’t know how I managed to take a picture of myself either!

Cloning John …

As we left and were about to cross the road with Fortnum and Mason on the opposite side, I saw a couple, who rather reminded me of the American, Duane Hanson’s lifesize/ lifelike sculptures, especially of ones known as ‘tourists’. This is blurred because I didn’t want them to see me taking the photo! I was pretending to take Fortnum’s window show.

It took me a long time to find out Duane Hanson’s name. I had seen this sculpture some time ago but I couldn’t remember where or who it was by. I tried Google with various bits of clued up information – obese couple, American, stripey T shirt, large camera, bags etc. Hawaii? but in the end I found the answer in one of my art books – along with the very illustration I was looking for. I said to John that Google hadn’t really come up to scratch here – however, it is wondrous to find most things out so quickly so I will forgive them. Also, I was rather pleased with myself that I had remembered the details of sculpture so well.

Duane Hanson’s tourists come to life outside Fortnum’s …

We filtered down the side of Fortnum’s to Jermyn Street …

Bates The Hatter, Beau Brummel and company on Jermyn Street, Jubilee style …

Beau Brummel, behatted …

Jermyn Street Jubilee window

I don’t find mens’ clothes shops very inspiring but Jermyn Street certainly came up to scratch on their Jubilee window dressings. Although this one above gives me a sense of the 1950s – rather dated – but at the same time that is when the Queen ‘ascended the throne’, so redolent of past times! I could say that the next photo shows John on his way to cocktails at The Ritz but we were actually making our way to the bus stop at Green Park. I was once invited to cocktails at The Ritz by a charming gentleman dressed in 1940s style. A happy memory …

Homeward bound …

Cool London fashion on a bike …

with Jubilee highlights

‘Beam me up, Scotty’, or whatever … it’s bus rather than bicycle for us and we are soon back over Hammersmith Bridge and bowling down Castelnau. I snap ‘The Red Lion’ pub, from the bus window, as we wait at the lights. There are two lions keeping watch, either side of the front door. They are now red but for a long time were painted gold, for some unknown reason. The pub owner had not thought to change the name when he changed their colour. ‘Les Lions d’Or’ sounds more tempting to me than ‘The Golden Lions’ – no matter, as they are red again after the latest makeover.

The Red Lion Pub, Barnes

A breath of fresh air by Barnes Pond …

Lovely Saturday … time for a glass of wine in the garden before the rain sets in …

POSTSCRIPT:
The royal barge, made at the boathouse in Brentford, was moored by Richmond bridge, in readiness for the Jubilee festivities. I walked over there after my French lesson, to get a glimpse of it.

Royal barge in readiness at Richmond on Thames

Fish shop dressed in Jubilee colours, Twickenham

The royal barge was used again for The Olympics and I ran down to the river at the last minute, alerted by our postman and just caught it on its way to central London.

Barge coming under Barnes Bridge …

Happy oarsmen

Passing the boathouse – Chiswick bank

Ploughing down river to Hammersmith and beyond …

Bringing up the rear …

END

This was the month when the conference, organised by Volans, would (maybe) come to pass. I could have pulled the stress from out of the surrounding air but it would have strangled me like a giant octopus, so I survived carefully beneath its tentacles.

John’s weekends were just constantly trying to fit in all he had to do with the only respite being him taking to his bed for an afternoon siesta. I devised a walk through Barnes to clear his head and take some physical exercise. The computer was not invited. The blackberry growled from time to time but was not acknowledged. They need to know their place. In the end they always win but it’s nice to put a spoke in their works and see them discomfited.

We started off along the common, where horseradish grows in wild unruly clumps. The council have left some patches of long grass here and there. You can walk by Beverley brook, which separates the backs of peoples’ gardens from the common. It’s sometimes muddy but worth exploring. How great to have somewhere so rural to walk in straight from your front door. And yet you can be in Piccadilly within forty minutes.

In China, the paeony is a symbol of wealth and honours. The Chinese name, mutan, includes ‘tan’, the word meaning CINNABAR, the medicine of immortality.

I have been attracted by the colours of cinnabar moths – greyish black wings with spots and splashes of crimson – since I was a child roaming the cliffs above the sea in Wales on summer holidays. The cinnabar moth lays its eggs on ragwort – a poisonous plant. The caterpillars are stripey, like wasps. They ingest the poison which is a warning to birds that the chrysalis – and then the moth – may look appetising but are not a tasty treat!

In China, red is a lucky colour and ’tis also the colour of blood. Well, our paeony plants have certainly achieved longevity! (see my note in ‘Spring Flowers’).

We have a ‘common ranger’. He looks after things and has done an especially great renewal of plants around the pond and shrubs to give shelter to the birds on the island in the middle. I like his choice of plants – irises, hemp agrimony. bulrushes … This year he has experimented with a fenced area of ‘wild flowers’ – a great success. He must be very ‘green fingered’!

This is the amazing sight that greets your eyes when you get off the 209 bus by the pond. Cornflowers, poppies, daisies, pink campion – a ‘bobby dazzler’ of wild flowers!

Passing by peoples’ gardens, which fringe the common.

A pink parasol of blossom

Ceanothus – heavenly blue

Passing the gate of a ‘lion’ house, Laurel Road, Barnes

Another shower looks imminent. One moment the sun streams out, then the fluffy white clouds puff up and having looked plumply innocent against a blue sky, gradually turn a darkening grey, looming over you, getting ready to drop their heavy load of tears – and having done so, the sky breathes blue again and all sadness is forgotten – except we are soaking wet!

Puddle reflecting broken yellow lines + + +

And finally, out onto the open common, which stretches all the way to Putney, bar a main road inbetween.

Hound of the Baskervilles …

finds a friend …

Beverley Brook with homage to Monet …

How green it is – how wet it has been! It’s good to see the evening sunlight as we walk back to the pond and home.

One man and his dog …

Avenue of horse chestnuts …

When we were young … !

The horse chestnuts are at their best now but later they begin to wilt and dry out due to some virus that is attacking them. We need to support scientific research in a big way right now or something similar will happen to us. But I can end on a high note for the moment …

 

as the wild flowers get better and better …

Jubilee colours fit for a Queen!

Poppies, daisies and cornflowers – red, white and blue – perfect timing!
What’s that pink foxglove doing, barging into the picture? Typical British eccentric behaviour I expect. Stimulates the creative impulse. And Barnes is full of foxes!

The conference worked out well with lots of the audience wanting it to become a yearly occurrence. I was there for about half of it and was duly impressed with both the venue, the speakers and the people attending – but am just as impressed by managing to take holidays. It’s a tense time on many fronts and I realise there are a good lot of people out there not wanting to leave their posts – but I think my role is to organise holidays so I’d better get on with persuading them that their batteries need recharging.

END