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

Weather patterns are bizarre at the beginning of this year – blowing hot and cold – somewhat like the menopause, when hormones go awry before settling down into a new phase of life. Is the planet middle aged, I wonder? Or are we, as a species? Unsettled Nature is not particularly pleasant to experience but it was encouraging to see some Spring flowers emerging nonetheless – even if only to get their heads cruelly bitten off before time by another unexpected cold front …

But these rich-yolk-coloured tulips had the benefit of a roof over their heads!

Golden herald of sunshine to come …?

Self-seeded forget-me-nots …

The forget-me-nots must have come in as hitch hikers in a pot of something else. They are sturdy and prolific and have now spread very prettily all along the edge of the lawn. They look so innocent.

Rain washed clematis montana, sweet cicely, bluebells, sage, southernwood and a blue shirt left out on the washing line …

I am pleased that our next door neighbours also hang their washing out – but for the rest, it seems to be a custom of a bygone age. Luckily, it would be difficult for someone to steal, say, knickers, off my line because there’s no easy way into our garden. Once, John ‘lost’ a lovely forest green cashmere scarf. I had put one of Gaia’s nametapes on it, as he is prone to losing good quality clothes, which might end up with somebody who doesn’t appreciate them for what they are. And some kind person might even try to track him down to return said lovely coat, gloves, hat etc.

Some days later, I noticed a man with this colour scarf in the bus queue in front of me. I spent a long time trying to manoeuvre, in the hope of turning up the nametape. It was difficult not to cause suspicion. I just thought it might be more difficult to do that with knickers.

Narcissi – pheasant eye …

A Spring bouquet …

Flowers lift the spirits, especially on a cold wet day in Spring. You don’t need an expensive bouquet – look for flowers in season and profit from two-for-one offers. I added the rosemary myself from the garden and the white jug was quite a bargain too. Expensive bouquets have their place but you can still enjoy flowers on a shoestring. Be inventive.

Though blue with cold yet an encouragement to the garden to grow and blossom …

A royal flush of ancient paeonies …

These paeonies are at least forty years old and probably sixty. They have lived here much longer than we have and still come up every springtime with no encouragement at all – just room to flourish and no pesticides. Like having a faithful retainer. I would like one of those too!

Close up of ‘clematis montana’

One of my more successful buys – from a Duchy plant nursery in Cornwall about seven years ago – it goes from strength to strength.

Anemones – the flower of Adonis

The symbolism of the anemone is of transience. Venus apparently transformed Adonis into one of these flowers. The word ‘anemone’ comes from the Greek meaning ‘wind’ and white anemones, which come out later in Autumn, are also known as windflowers. The reddish purple anemones here, reminiscent of lifeblood, do not last very long once they have opened and suggest passion and inconstancy – easily blown away by the winds of change – but strong in spirit while they last. The colour is intense and draws you to them as to life in general with its inevitable transient nature.

END

We drove up to Marylebone to collect a painting and three photographs, framed by Railings. They are to be highly recommended as framers. The day was unsettled and on the way home we were racing against a stormy sky on our left, whereas out to the right, brighter weather beckoned. Driving westward, we were chasing the setting sun.

Going west out of London …

Westway 2

Westway 3

Westway 4

As we sped along the Westway towards Shepherd’s Bush, I took these photos. The sky promises somewhere exotic like canyon country in Arizona but the cars and then the English church tower give it away. Quite dramatic for a usually grey February in London though …

I had to include this atmospheric blur of the 33 bus on Hammersmith Bridge! I was chatting on the bus with a neighbour recently. As we crossed the bridge over the Thames into Barnes, he heaved a sigh of relief. ‘I like the centre of London’, he said, ‘but I’m always so relieved when I cross the bridge back into Barnes’.

Part of the charm of Barnes is that it’s so easy to get into central London – within 45 minutes or less – but at the same time we’re somewhat hidden in that bend in the river without a tube line. And with plenty of greenery, the common, the pond and the Wildfowl and Wetlands centre for camouflage, plus the tow path, we seem to enjoy the best of both worlds! A sort of garden city. Barnes used to be one of the market gardens for London and our house is built on former apple orchards. We saw physical evidence for this when we built an extension and unearthed broken bits of white irrigation pipes in the garden. We do still have one ancient apple tree.

Crossing Hammersmith Bridge …

Home high and dry with all the pictures intact. This is one of them. An illustration by Darren Hopes – which, given our love of both books and bees, puts them together in odd but pleasing symbiosis.

Books and bees – ‘The intellect is a dioecious plant and books are the bees which carry the quickening pollen from one to another mind’. J.R. Lowell: 1849

END

John was off to see ‘The Three Musketeers’ in Paris. They run a company called Ecovadis. The meeting was on a Thursday – perfect, I thought, to extend to a weekend exploring the city. But I never find it easy to combine work and leisure, partly because I’m only in charge of the latter and communication between the two often falls between two stools.

Still, we had the Eurostar booked. It was only at the last minute that I was told no hotel had been decided upon. Frantic searching on the Internet and in my various files followed. I should have rung the hotel direct but I went through one of those many internet sites which seem to offer discounts – I would have done as well cutting them out. The more people you deal with, the more mistakes seem to be made – partly due to misinterpretation. And then I was told John had to travel earlier as the meeting had been put forward. My ticket was not interchangeable.

However, now being used to this kind of chronic chaos and therefore somewhat unfazed, I decided to travel with John up to King’s Cross. He would go on the 7.30am and I would follow an hour later. His train was delayed but luckily only by fifteen minutes. Meanwhile, I was able to buy museum passes and a carnet of metro tickets before boarding mine. I was finally in control and found I had a table all to myself. Just as it should be! Quelle joie!

The statue of John Betjeman views the Eurostar …

This is one of the best ways to travel. I am a great fan of the Eurostar. It is warm and quiet and comfortable, the ‘petit déjeuner’ comes with as much coffee as you like, the service is excellent and there is a wealth of free magazines on offer at the end of each carriage. The UK line has now been buzzed up to speed. Immersed in my book, I hardly noticed when we slipped under the waves.

Reflections – an arty photo – or alternatively – a glass of water …

But I did notice we were in France already when I looked up from my reading and saw the electricity pylons racing across the fields. They are far more personable than ours. The ones I like best remind me of waitresses pirouetting between tables, their hands full. ‘Estelle’ attracts attention by her downcast and demure eyelashes which flutter and flirt seductively with her gastronomically seated – and then hopefully sated – clientèle.

The first picture shows a Tarzan type bearing down upon the waitress and the second shows a landscape in which menacing Dalek type creatures seem to have taken over the world. Ah well, we would soon be at the Gare du Nord and the Daleks hadn’t invaded the city yet – not being quite ‘au fait’ with the concept of steps re universal domination. The train whooshed by these robotic aliens, leaving them rooted to the spot in the frozen ploughed fields.

Gaston makes advances – Estelle outsmarts him with twinkling toes and twirling ‘assiettes’ …

Intimidating landscape of exterminating aliens …

The metro system is easy to figure out and I was soon on my way to ‘la rive gauche’. The first time I came to Paris, when I was a schoolgirl of sixteen, I was struck by the all pervading smell of garlic in the metro – the description would be ‘gluant’ – it hung heavily in the slightly stale air, infesting my nose and my taste buds and finally everything else until ‘French’ – and all that goes with it – throbbed in my veins. I can’t say the same of the metro today but it is packed solid. I hang on to my new, stylish grey four wheeled case with its jaunty organza pink ribbon. So easy to manoeuvre. John scoffed at it when I first brought it home but nearly snaffled it for this trip!

I hop off at Odéon. The hotel is very near to the Medical School. It’s welcoming and warm but too early to go up to our room. I leave my case at reception and have the whole day in front of me. John has presumably got to his meeting.

The air is crystalline with blue skies and sunshine. I decide to walk along the Boulevard St. Germain towards the triumvirate of Brasserie Lipp, Café de Flore and Aux deux Magots. We once had dinner at a little restaurant on Rue St. Benoit, close by. The tables were covered in red and white gingham and convivially nudging up to one another. Our waiter was like Rowan Atkinson on speed and it was a memorable evening – the food rustic and tasty.

Rive gauche – by Rue du Dragon …

I am tempted to take a look down the Rue du Dragon on the other side of the road – mainly because of its name. There’s an inviting stationery shop – a small version of Paperchase but a few doors down I see an ‘affiche’ for ‘Les Soldes’. A sale – irresistible. It’s a special shoe shop whose shoes are comfortable but stylish – difficult to attain but ‘Arche’ have succeeded. In the window are a pair of sea green, suede ankle boots. They beckon. I go in. I have a lively conversation in French with the sales assistant, who is charming. The boots are my size and there is only one pair left in the sale. I can’t decide. I prevaricate, leaving them dangerously on show in the window. OK, if they are meant for me, they will be there tomorrow, I think. But sometimes tomorrow never comes…

Off to the shops …!

A pride of jeroboams …

At the bottom of the street I get a shock. At Carrefour de la Croix Rouge
there’s a statue of a centaur which is very ‘in your face’! I hadn’t seen it before. It’s very spiky and punky, showing all its ‘bits’ with nonchalant pride. However, the French housewives with their shopping baskets seem rather oblivious to its ‘look at me’ stance. They are more interested in ‘les soldes’, I think.

Juggling balls … will those green suede shoes draw me back?

I come upon the ‘Rue Cherche-Midi’, home of the bakery, Poilâne. Lots more shoe shops here but the more I look, the more I think of the sea green suede temptation. And to some extent, it’s the ‘marshmallow’ experiment! But I carry on too because I want to find a little café where we once had a simple lunch on the Rue de Babylone. I have my Paris A-Z (essential) and just keep walking, fitting arrondissements together as I go. I am curious by nature, so I’m in my element.

Bookshop ‘vitrine’ near Café Flore

Suddenly, it’s four o’clock. I’m very tired and need to get back to have a little siesta. The black and white cat is already having one in the armchair at reception. ‘Monsieur est déjà là’, says the receptionist when I ask for the key. He is. Sitting at a table with his computer and various accoutrements spread around him. He enjoyed his meeting and so is in good spirits.

The room is at the top of the hotel, under the eaves and has a pretty sitting area and a newly refurbished bathroom, which I love. Lots of space, fabulous shower, gallons of hot water, heated towel rail, full length mirror. They have thought it out well. So many hotels don’t.

Under the eaves …

The windows look out onto the inner courtyard of the medical school. It is tranquil and I feel like a bird, secure in my eyrie.

Faculté de Médecine – from our window …

Later, we try and find the restaurant recommended by the hotel but get lost. To save the day I suggest repairing to ‘Le Petit Benoît’, with the red and white gingham table cloths. The mad waiter is no more but the food is still rustic and tasty and the atmosphere ‘chaleureuse’. Bon, bien, bonne nuit!

Next morning we make for the Musée d’Orsay on foot in bright sunlight and have breakfast when we get there. Then to the top floor to look at the Impressionists. There are so many paintings here I don’t know and so many familiar ones. The whole space is being renovated, so there’s quite a squash on the walls. The Monets remind me that his Water Lilies are on show separately at Musée de l’Orangerie in Les Tuileries, so rather than get paintings overload, we make our way across the river by the footbridge (Passerelle Solferino) and cross the road into the Tuileries gardens.

Barges on the Seine, Paris

Paris – romance in the air – I had just been thinking of Woody Allen’s take on it. ‘Midnight in Paris’ – his latest film – was very enjoyable and a great success. As we crossed the river, I was intrigued by the latest craze. Lovers have attached padlocks to the sides of the bridge with their names on. Have they thrown the keys in the river in the spirit of ‘forever together’ or – should things not work out – will they return to set free their other half? I don’t know what future generations might make of a river bed lined with rusty padlocks!

Paris in the spring …

But looking on the bright side, we were approaching La Musée de l’Orangerie and this would be the first time I had seen the Monet ‘water lilies’ paintings since they were installed here. There’s a small foyer, which Monet insisted should be painted white and left bare – so that you enter the gallery with a blank page in your head. I am not going to show photos of the water lilies because you really have to be there to appreciate the colours and also the setting. Suffice it to say it’s really mindblowingly glorious.

Peering into the L’Orangerie …

Waiting for John, I peer into the museum and take a photo of the vase of flowers in the reception. I only notice now from the photo that I was being studied from behind by a rather shady looking man in sunglasses and a leather jacket. I could have photographed all sorts of goings on behind me via the reflection in the glass – maybe the man was just sitting there, enjoying the sunshine – maybe he was waiting for an accomplice?! I was reminded of the film ‘Blow Up’ (1966 ) when a photographer, based on David Bailey, finds that when he enlarges his photos, one of them is witness to a murder. The director was Antonioni and the actors included David Hemmings, Sarah Miles, Vanessa Redgrave, Jane Birkin and the stunning model, Veruschka. The film won the ‘Grand Prix’ in Cannes (1966). Very much of its time!

We come upon the old and the new attended by a conflab of chairs. A lone individual consults his mobile phone while the rather languorous and dissipated statue above seems to be holding up the equivalent of a giant ice cream or ‘horn of plenty’ in his hand! I suppose you could describe a mobile as a ‘horn of plenty’ … getting in touch on Twitter could even be described as an ‘excess of plenty’ – no criticism implied here of course!

Ancient and modern …

The sun is blazing down as we walk through Les Tuileries towards the Louvre. John encounters a lonely chair but his shadow is more reminiscent of a spaghetti western. He will have to pretend that his camera is a six shooter!

Strange rendezvous with a chair …

Exit picture right … and cut

Strolling down the avenue …

And we finally make it down to the Louvre. I have been recommended a restaurant near here but I haven’t found it yet. Meanwhile, John is forging ahead …

John forges ahead …

and is rewarded by the glass pyramid waiting for him through the archway – the fountain in front is frozen solid …

A glass pyramid – a frozen fountain …

I couldn’t resist putting in this rather indulgent arty picture of light and shadow! It reminds me of a painter, Hugh Buchanan, whose work I like a lot.

light and shadow …

However, my creative powers were dwindling – we needed to find lunch. I wished I could remember where this place was. We walked out through yet another archway. I looked across the road and my eye took in an orange awning. This was it! Oh happy day! John followed me across the road, looking hungry and somewhat sulky when he saw the restaurant was full.

But buoyed up by my discovery, I marched in and joined the expectant queue. We only had to wait about ten minutes and then were given a table at the back of the restaurant, which was in a separate room, full of paintings and books and chic parties of Parisians, sitting at round mahogany tables, enjoying déjeuner. And we got to join them! I could have imagined Scott Fitzgerald and Zelda sitting here looking glamorous or Ernest Hemingway surrounded by manuscripts, a whisky by his side. In fact, there was a tall young man with wild black curls (aka Byron) sitting alone at a table for four, his coat carelessly thrown across the back of a chair and papers scattered all over, which he was annotating. A journalist perhaps – or a philosopher? In any case, he was obviously a regular and treated the restaurant as home from home.

The restaurant by the Louvre …

Nearby is the Tour St. Jacques (1523) – all that now remains of a church. Because of a fire, the bells fell through the floors of the tower and it’s now hollow inside. It’s also known as a departure point for pilgrims making their way to St. Jacques de Compostella. I was fascinated by these stone carvings and couldn’t help thinking that one of them resembled a famous French politician of today – or an ageing rock star! Clue: Not Johnny Hallyday!

The gremlins of yesteryear foretell the future …

Revived, we set on a course for Shakespeare & Co – a bookshop by the Seine which I have mentioned before and which is always a port of call on our ramblings. A much loved landmark.

This time John bought a copy of ‘Pure’ by Andrew Miller, a story set in 1785 in the heart of Paris about the clearing of a graveyard. It was the winner of the 2011 Costa Novel Award. I have now read it too. It is, as one newspaper puts it, ‘irresistibly compelling’, but not for the faint hearted! Each book you buy from Shakespeare and Company gets a special stamp in the front of it, which is an added bonus. A bit like having had it signed by the author, I suppose. Personalised – always a good feeling! I’ve stood in a queue only three times to get a book signed. And the writers are William Boyd, Catherine Deneuve and Will Self. An eclectic mix – Gaia also got me a signed copy of Tony Curtis’s autobiography. And I wish I had a signing by David Niven of ‘The Moon’s a Balloon’ – but I don’t!

John looking cold … brrr … but mission accomplished.

Time to make our way back to the hotel and put our feet up. It’s been a good day all round.

Evening on ‘la rive gauche’

The next day is bright and frosty with clear blue skies. I came upon an exhibition notice for Safet Zec, an artist who we’d seen once before in the Galerie Jean-Jacques Dutko in rue Bonaparte. This time he is showing somewhere in Ile St. Louis. We were bowled over by his work. He was born in 1943 in what is now Bosnia-Herzegovina and had started painting seriously by the age of twelve. He is a central figure in the movement called ‘réalisme poétique’, which explains to me how much I am drawn to his view of the world. He is truly very gifted and I wish I could afford an original painting.

We set off early so as to enjoy the empty streets. John had also gone crazy about Safet Zec the last time and was looking forward to seeking him out again. Unfortunately, the gallery was closed and much as we tried peering through the windows, there was nothing to be seen. I must look him up when I get home to see if he ever exhibits in London.

There was another exhibition on by the celebrated illustrator, Sempé. If you have read ‘Le Petit Nicolas’ by Goscinny you will know – and love – his work. However, there was a long queue already to get in and a notice to say there was at least an hour’s wait. Dommage!

A cartoonist with a wry sense of humour re the human condition …

Crossing over to the Ile St. Louis

Ile St. Louis is charming and we just decided to walk around and imbibe the atmosphere now we were here. It does feel like a small village and I thought it might be a nice place to stay another time. Why is it that although we live in cities – and personally I wouldn’t want to live in the countryside all the time – we want to see where we live as ‘villagey’? I notice how residents in our own part of London refer to where we live as ‘the village’. Maybe we have the best of both worlds?

A la mode – Ile St. Louis

We had almost covered it all and breakfast was uppermost in my mind. John was up at the far end of the street and came upon the perfect place. It turned out to be an experience in itself. Enough said. Just go!

Ile St. Louis – a must for ‘le petit déjeuner’ …

I’m aware I often take pictures of what I eat but eating good food is one of my favourite things to do, viz.

Petit déjeuner parfait …

An emporium of sweetness …

L’Ile Flottante is a wonderful dessert too …

The ‘sat nav’ – in other words ‘me’ – now pointed north towards the Pompidou centre. En route we were diverted by various interesting shopfronts, designs and eccentrics taking the air.

Bathrooms with a Parisian twist

Poodling along with the new baby …

Incognito?!

Putting pizzazz into housework!

toujours pillow fights …

Enlightenment …

I began to recognise the streets of the Marais and the Pompidou Centre was now in my sights. It was heralded by a wall painting which covered the whole side of a tall house and as we made our way towards it, it reminded me more and more of Will Self. Whoever it is, he is very striking and edgy is the word that comes to mind.

Up against a wall …

Having expected to see the Matisse exhibition, we were disappointed. We were only two weeks too early. There is a lot to see nonetheless and we spent some two hours exploring. The contemporary art is well laid out and the mix of styles stimulates.

View from moving escalator – Pompidou Centre

Guess who’s not coming to dinner …
The layout lends itself to spaciness, which offers time to reflect. I find the Pompidou quite a philosophical experience in which I’m allowed to take things in at my own pace. I often feel like lying down full length in galleries but it might cause concern I suppose.

Flying coathooks ou araignée en vol?

Blue and gold together – always irresistible …

On our way out, John tells me to lean over the banisters in the foyer. I am transfixed. What I see must be done with lights and mirrors. There’s an illuminated maze on the floor, inhabited by giant slinking ‘virtual’ white rats, who appear to be chasing the ‘non-virtual’ children around and pinning them down. Their bodies actually just envelop the Lilliputians who run around shrieking wildly. Originality is an intrinsic element of the Pompidou!

Giant white rats on the rampage …

I am slightly biased against rats having (for the only time in my life) struggled to make a pair of curtains which were savagely nibbled by a pet white rat, who had the run of the place. It had an exciting life, even spending Christmas camping on the beach on Lindisfarne with its owner. Nonetheless, a rat is not on my list of favourite pets but these ones certainly made an impression of sorts. A very macabre one.

We left clutching a carafe and four glasses – a present for a friend, found in the stylish gift shop. The glasses were in the retro ‘Duralex’ design – shades of school and the fifties – and the top of the carafe was also shaped like a glass. Clever thought – or in today’s terms – ‘cool’ … and they were well received!

Now we were in Rue des Rosiers, feeling hungry and a little faint. There’s a wealth of good places to eat but we found ourselves, rather appropriately, at ‘Café des Philosophes’. The meal was good, as far as I can remember; the wine was deliciously reviving. The place was a bit like being one of twenty people in a Mini but the waiter managed us all with complete sang-froid. Opposite, there’s an excellent ‘glacerie’.

Winging our way in blue and gold …

Bonbons of the Marais …

Tea time must be at the emporium ‘Mariage Frères’

If you like tea, you must seek out ‘Mariage frères’ – you won’t be disappointed. If you climb the narrow and rickety wooden stairs, you’ll see all the old boxes and tins that the tea was exported in from the East.
Weary footsteps back to ‘la rive gauche’. The hotel cat is doing exactly what I feel like. Tomorrow we’re homeward bound. I fall into bed.

Sweet dreams …

Next morning, we have time for another early stroll to the river for breakfast and then it’s time to pack up and make our way to the ‘Gare du Nord’. And there’s still a lot of Paris left to explore. That makes me feel good. It turns out we were near to the passageway where Dr. Guillotine invented ‘the nation’s razor’. It’s said he practised on newborn lambs.

On a happier note, Alain Fournier (writer of the classic, ‘Les Grands Meaulnes’) lived nearby and it’s also home to La Procope, which, dating back to 1686, is said to be the oldest café. Among its customers were Voltaire, Rousseau, Balzac, Verlaine and Hugo. It is also where the slogan ‘Liberté, égalité, fraternité’ was coined.

And then there’s Hemingway. I’m reading ‘A Moveable Feast’ by him, published posthumously in 1964 and just brought out in a new edition. Here, he relates his time in Paris after the First World War. He and his wife didn’t have much to live on. He describes eating tangerines and roasting chestnuts to keep himself writing during the day. At night, he had to put the tangerines in his pocket; if he left them out in the room, they would freeze overnight. It’s a very intimate portrait of his day to day life in the city. His writing is clear, spontaneous, deceptively simple and pulses with life. Some of what he says, especially about the nuts and bolts of writing and wanting to write and delaying writing, touches me as though I am a violin, picked up after a long time of disuse and vibrating to a well loved piece of music.

If you are a writer, or a would-be writer you will truly benefit by reading ‘A Moveable Feast’. The new edition by Arrow Books (paperback) published in 2011.

Une fois de plus, ‘au revoir’ Paris …

With the pink organza ribbon riding high, we arrive at the ‘Gare du Nord’. Always a bit of a kerfuffle but our train is on time, as are we. Soon we’re settled – warm and comfortable. John with ‘The Economist’ and myself with ‘Psychologies’ and ‘Grazia’ (en français) purloined gratis from the end of the carriage.

Just one thing to add. When did I find the time? If you want something enough, you make the time! And luck had something to do with it too … happy days!

Waiting patiently for me … !

END/FIN

It’s like being at the eye of the storm. When I am lying looking at her, she dissipates my anxieties and while I know that the storm rages all around me, I am in a safe haven where I can just ‘be’ for a while. I love her calm, graceful pose and elegant dress sense and I like her companionable silence. She is inscrutable, imperturbable, impervious to the ‘noise’ of everyday existence. In some way, without trying, she enhances who I am and leaves me untroubled …

 

She has been with me a long time and, unlike me, does not seem to age or have a ‘bad hair’ day which is cheering! She has been variously glued together – before I knew her – and has been through the dishwasher and survived – which, I think, only adds to her charm …

END

John had to leave for Banz Abbey, near Nüremburg, early on Sunday 20th November. I opened the curtains to find everything shrouded in fog. Although he got to Heathrow on time, there was a very long wait on the tarmac, and he was to miss his connecting flight from München to Nüremberg. Luckily, he managed to get a later one. He told me he was met by a delightful man who drove him to the enormous and impressive abbey. (See his blog).

Meanwhile, I got cabin fever after lunchtime and decided to brave the unseeing fog and walk up the river for a while. Everything was muffled and ‘sourd’, runners came shooting out of the mist at intervals and I couldn’t see the water, even though I was walking along the bank. But there were people about with young children, who definitely needed a run, like dogs, on this ‘blind’ Sunday afternoon.

A foggy walk through Barnes …

I then found myself at the top of Barnes, where various roads collide, set to rights by a concatenation of traffic lights. If you want to cross, you have to continue to keep looking every which way, like being cautious in a foreign country, where people drive on the right. And danger always appears where you least expect it. I once crossed a very busy road in Amsterdam, congratulating myself on success and was almost immediately squashed flat by a speedster on his bike, whizzing along the separate cycle lane, which I had failed to notice. The devil is often in the detail. And how often do most of us read ‘the small print’?! We don’t have many separate cycle lanes in Britain, although I wish we did. We should. Can you come up with an answer, Boris?! (Boris Johnson is currently Lord Mayor of London).

If you’re thinking ahead of me, I didn’t have to cross the road this time!
I tried to take a picture in the fog, so I could show John how thick it was all day here, meanwhile hoping he had made it to Nüremburg. This turned out to be such a strange photo. John says it has to do with pixels but I had just been reading an article in ‘The Guardian’ by Alok Jha investigating various doomsday scenarios, in which the human species could be extinguished, sometimes in a split second.

Invasion of the nanorobots or strangelets …

He has written two books, both published by Quercus. One is called ‘The Doomsday Handbook:50 Ways to End the World’ and the other is ‘How To Live Forever and 34 Other Really Interesting Uses for Science’. He seems to be both a pessimist and an optimist. Or maybe just a scientist. I am not a scientist but am fascinated by the workings of the universe and how we evolved.

My thoughts re my photo are related to the author’s notes on nanotech disaster and ‘strangelets’. The first concerns nanorobots, which are apparently self replicating and could run amok and turn the world into a grey goo. I’m not sure where they came from but I secretly think I have caught them conferring in my photo. Strangelets are to do with quantum mechanics, which seem to act in a very similar way to nanorobots, rendering the planet into a fate of grey gooeyness also. This is previewed by a danger sign, where everything around you starts cooking and releasing heat. Not that that is a very comforting warning, given that you yourself will also be slowly roasting in this scenario, I assume …

If you are reading this you have been spared the nanotech disaster for now and maybe I just somehow took a photo of foggy globules … but no doubt danger lurks in a place you haven’t noticed …

With these doom laden thoughts lying heavy on my mind, I trudged home and consumed a large bar of chocolate – ‘Green and Blacks’ organic – which I am sure did me some good and was fatly delicious.

John, on his return, was not entranced by either nanorobots or strangelets. We were walking in Richmond Park the next weekend and the contrast in the weather couldn’t have been greater. The sky was crystal clear, throwing birds, trees and water into sharp relief. John often gets new ideas when walking or cycling and this was one of those weekends, no doubt also stimulated by his stay in the abbey. The clarity of everything around me seemed as if I had invested in superwoman XXX contact lenses.

Blue sunlit tree in November

Parakeets now rule the roost in Richmond Park but the ravens know their strength and there was incessant noisy squawking and cawing as they swiped at one another overhead while we scrunched our way through the now dry and brittle bracken fronds.

On guard – raven in Richmond Park

Pen Ponds and a dog, Richmond Park

I managed to take a photo of our shadows – in the late afternoon sun we look like Giacometti figures … well, John does – I look rather lumpy!

Giacometti John in the late afternoon …

We walked up the woodland path towards the ballet school, black outlined silhouettes of birds and branches on either side – evening was signalling in the breeze. A self important, plump little bird, singing its heart out, the witchy fingers of a storm damaged tree. Tree trunks on the ground left to rot are often havens for stag beetles and even some kinds of bats – and of course, plenty of ‘rongeurs’. The last is a very beautifully onomatopoeic word …

A portly twitterer in full flow …
Witch fingers …

The postscript to this entry is that I put it up on my blog, only to find that half of it had disappeared by the next morning. How could that be? ‘ Definitely your fault’, said John on his return but he wasn’t taking into account the existence of strangelets or nanorobots. In Alok Jha’s book I read that in the future these nanorobots will be able to break down oil spills by eating hydrocarbons. This seems a great idea but should one of them suffer an error in its programming, it would then start to eat anything with carbon in it. The end of life in general might happen quite fast as nanorobots appear to be very greedy, despite their minuscule size.

Anyway, I’m sure they are far too clever to get themselves photographed by a rather old camera used by an amateur photographer, whose computer skills are no doubt below average?! But I did just wonder whether they had done a bit of airbrushing…

END