Tag Archives: Rain

Latitude 2012 Thursday 12th July

Diary 18/07/2012 Leave a comment

 

Before I begin, I just want to say that I'm going to post quite a few links and if you would like to share my Latitude experience fully do please click on them and enjoy. In fact, ignore all my ramblings and go straight to the links… Give yourself some time and check them out… There's some lovely stuff here…

Ms Burpy, my very own Campervan (somewhat neglected this year due to lack of funds and she's an expensive little minx), needs a new engine so, Jo and I, not allowing our usual optimism to curtail our common sense and presuming the ferociously dire precipitation of the last two months would continue ad infinitum, I hired us a motor home for the weekend… I collected it on Wednesday – in essence, a Ford transit with bits, therefore easy to drive, (notwithstanding my attempts to exit my very narrow drive – sorry boys, hope you weren't too traumatised by the vile expletives that emanated from my lips excorcist stylee) – bits meaning shower, loo, bed, gas hob, fridge. We were quite excited about the prospect of such luxury, especially the shower, until eldest son said, 'What is that? It's so UNCOOL! (teenagers are viciously cruel at times) It looks like a gypsy caravan…' Now I don't know about you, but my idea of a gypsy caravan is a pretty painted thing, all hearts, flowers and horse shoes, possibly even horse-drawn. It's not a beige motor-home. But unperturbed and with our enthusiasm uncurbed by his slanderous outburst, we set off just after lunch on Thursday with everything we could possibly require.

We were half way there when my subconscious suddenly kicked in. It must have been silently collating an inventory of my wardrobe (as it does) and I realised, oh shame, that I'd forgotten my underwear. Oops. I told my fellow travellers and youngest son piped up, 'Mum… I've forgotten mine too…' Is it a familial trait? Is there a recessive gene that enables one to pack seven changes of clothing allowing for every possible vagary of the jet stream, a box of jewellery, an Accessorise-Franchise worth of hair ornamentation, A bathroom cabinet of toiletries, three hats, two umbrellas, six different types of footwear, but no knickers? (I hasten to add, that's just me… Jules entered into the festival spirit and threw a couple of t's and a pair of jeans into a carrier bag…) But you'll be relieved to know it was all OK. A Sainsbury's superstore appeared on the horizon and we hurried in, excited by the lifesize cardboard Gok cut-out welcoming us and we found some lingerie… Quite pretty actually… and I add again for clarification, for I don't wish to damage his fragile teenage reputation, Julius just went for The Pants…

The journey was easy and getting on site the quickest it's ever been. We were parked up, the tee-pee erected, the cider cracked open, in under four hours. And the sun was out. Against all better judgement, we wandered off to collect wrist bands, buy a programme and explore the main arena wearing (in hind sight) unsuitable footwear and carrying no umbrellas.

I can't remember if we ate curried goat or merely partook of coffee and cakes. Perhaps the goat was Friday, but whichever day it was it was damn delicious. It's always a favourite of ours. As are the coffee and cakes. We perused the programme – there isn't usually that much to see on a Thursday – and we were pleasantly surprised to find that at 8pm the film tent was showing a film of 4AD (an ubercool label) artistes and then at 9pm-12am there was an evening of two halves with Paul Heaton, (Housemartins, Beautiful South.) First half, a performance of 'The 8th'! a show that's toured the UK – The Barbican among other choice venues, and second half, a selection of his back catalogue sung by him and his guests. Both of us are big Paul fans so we were very excited and off we toddled, a pint of pear cider in this years Latitude cup in each of our right hands.

The 4AD sessions were brilliant. In particular, a new band to me, tUnE-yArDs. Loved them. Amazing, original, stunning vocals… (And we saw them live on Friday) The album is great – Whokill… Downloaded already.

 

 

Also really enjoyed The Big Pink…

 

And Stornoway…

And St Vincent blew me away… I have to admit, I'm now (we saw her playing live later in the weekend) a little bit in gurrrrl love with Annie Clark…

This first song, Surgeon, she wrote after reading that Marilyn Monroe once said, 'Find me the best, finest surgeon and cut me open…' and she thought it a good line for a song… I have to agree. I feel a poem coming on…

Next up Paul Heaton and The 8th – one of the longest songs ever written – about the seven deadly sins… and the eighth, that we are all guilty of… GOSSIP! I didn't get what the eighth was until I researched it when I got home. I'm obviously one of those he disparagingly mocked in his outro. But. I nevertheless enjoyed it although it's quite kitch and kind of… simplistic, I suppose, but the performers were all amazing, including Paul himself! which is what I enjoyed about it. Reg E. Carthy (from The Wire, for those telly buffs) narrated, brilliantly, and Jaqui Abbot was Envy, Garath David from Los Camposinos, Gluttony, Wayne Giddon, Lust and Simon Aldred, Cherry Ghost, my favourite, sang Greed. They were all fab, And there were more, but I can't remember them all.

The second half was a kind of Karaoke/sing-a-long of Heaton's best and again, Simon Aldred wowed with a gorgeous rendition of I'll sail this ship alone. It's a bit crackly, but gorgeous still…

 

A thoroughly enjoyable evening made even more pleasurable by Heaton's witty, self-deprecating, Northern charm – ie – 'this one was from my first solo album and that's solo because only one of you fuckers bought it!'

We emerged from the film tent to a torrential downpour and had to tiptoe through the mud in my new denim blue plimmies and Jo in her divine new blue leopard print furry brothel creepers (which I madly covet- a mental note made, book shopping trip to Office.) How we loved the gipsy van and tea and warmth and dryness… To be continued…

Home Thoughts From Home

Poems 29/06/2012 Leave a comment

***

Home Thoughts From Home

(… after Browning)

 

Oh… To be left in England now that June is here…

While you stroll coral shores, dance Carnivale,

eyes alight with scarlet Flamboyante and flaming

Immortelle, almond Frangipani carried on warm winds,

 

I drag the dogs along the dank railway cut, tiptoe

single-file slippy moss-clung sleepers, the earth

swamp-like after a month of rain, steam rising,

a tentative sun learning, shyly, how to shine again.

 

But the leaf-dark tunnel opens on to dazzle-white

sky and a sweeping bank of nodding Ox-eye Daisies

takes my breath away, twizzle, twirl, like a gorgeous

throng of lissome girls dancing to a midsummer song.

 

I stand, mesmerised by their grace, gaze awhile

through tearful eyes. And listen! The bees drone low,

the birds sing high, the Elderflower thrusts its scent

into the breeze. Even the blooming nettles shout – Truce!

 

Fescue, Sedge, Feathered, Tufted, Velvet, Bearded,

Silver-hair, Silky-bent, Frogspit, knee height, taller

than me, grey-green, yellow-green, blue-green, lilac,

grasses, grasses – the more I look, the more I see.

 

Ribwort Plantain bee-bodies hover, purple Vetch tendrils

trail through Teasels, fuscia Clover rubs shoulders

with Buttercups, Rose Campions rise amidst drifts

of forget-me-nots and even bluer, the Periwinkles wink.

 

Glossy Hartstongue ferns adorn Jurassic iron-stone walls,

beetroot Cranesbill blossoms In dark cracks and fissures,

dainty lemon Lady’s slippers peep through Maidenhair,

and everywhere the blushing rose twines its sinuous limbs.

 

The dogs return, rain-slick, backs sprinkled with stars –

a million diminutive pearl-white sticky-weed flowers,

so tiny you’d miss them if you blinked and they shake,

sending them scattering all along the fern-splayed path.

 

We walk back home, spirits lifted as high as the sun

we can almost glimpse through this misty morning sky.

You can keep your attention seeking O’Keefe exotica…

I have my quiet, innocent, Browning England, my dear.

 

Tuesday 1st May 2012

Diary, Home 01/05/2012 Comments: 2

Annual Jaunt to Middle Stanley

with

The Leicester Writer’s Club

Having blogged my recent adventures in LA and Coachella so extensively I had intended to take a break, getting down to some ‘proper’ writing, but my weekend away in the Cotswolds with fellow writers was too special not to share.

If you haven’t got time to read on, a precis in two sentences – Getting to know you, getting to know all about you, la la la lah lah – and – I’m looking forward to next year already.

My navigator and I travelled down the Fosse Way through torrential rain on Friday afternoon and we didn’t get lost once – all hail Margaret! I was very glad to have company and the journey passed in a pleasant haze of chat, laughter and scenery. The last stretch, through beautiful woodland, rolling hills and amber-stoned winding villages was particularly picturesque. We arrived at around four o’clock to a warm welcome and the immediate offer of a cup of tea, which all boded mightily well for the weekend to come.

I was shown around the farmstead, pleased to find it as charming as I had hoped (and led to believe.) The surrounding land is dramatic with stunning far-reaching views, some wonderful specimen trees (a most regally upright cedar and several weeping willows newly clothed in their fresh, granny-smith-green leaves,) a woodland topped hill, undulating furrowed fields complete with bull-rush bordered lake and gushing stream.

Our group were divided amongst the main house, which dates from the seventeenth century (if not earlier) and rambles like a stone warren over three floors, including a small tower with its own circular staircase and a cellar furnished with the original cider-press, and nextdoor, a light and airy barn conversion called The Cottage. I was to sleep in the cottage and I was very pleased with my room, my roomy and my lovely cobalt and star ceilinged bathroom. I unpacked, settled in and began to relax.

By seven o’clock all sixteen of us were happily in situ, our chores signed up for, wine and beer opened, awaiting our supper. Margaret did us proud and produced a wonderful coq-au-vin with tagliatelli which was consumed with gusto by all. We ate, drank and talked, talked, drank and ate by candlelight in the large dining room and later, removed ourselves to the shabby-chic comfort of the sitting room. Much later we all drifted off to bed and I slept like a log…

I awoke bright and early and enjoyed tea in bed, (thanks Siobhan – I could get used to this) and a leisurely breakfast with my fellow cottagers… :) And more tea on tap.

We all assembled at ten for the first workshop of the weekend led by Dave – Interview your characters: A way of getting to know your characters, unearthing new and unexpected information about them by asking some unusual, pertinent, or even perhaps impertinent questions. The session was designed to get our writerly muscles warmed up and our cerebral juices flowing. It certainly worked. We all wrote reams and happily shared our efforts. A few of the group zoomed off to find a quiet corner and write up their new found knowledge, inspired and invigorated.

The next session, led by Nick – Setting the scene through a sense of place and Unblock yourself through a look at re-telling a well known fairytale, was again inspiring and revealing. I have the beginnings of a new story, so thanks for that…

Lunch: A delicious spread of salads, meats, quiches, cheeses, breads, and more talk…

Afternoon: Freedom to walk or write: outside, slate grey skies and torrential rain. Indoor exploits were definitely more appealing today. Most of us chose to write, or in my case, write, snooze, tea, write, snooze, tea. What luxury.

Poetry Workshop led by Yev: Some poets are like exotic flower arrangers and their flowers are words of the most exta-ordinary lushness and beauty. Others are more like gardeners or natualists and prefer a less stylistic approach. An interesting analogy. Write about someone who has made a very strong impression on you. I began another in my sonnets series. All good stuff.

I had volunteered for the position of head-chef for Saturday supper and served up lasagnas, both meat and veggie and garlic bread, ably abetted and entertained by my charming sous-chefs.

More drink. More talk. Another late night. Another log-like coma.

I awoke bright and early and enjoyed tea in bed, (thanks Siobhan – I could get used to this) Oh sorry, no… it’s not Groundhog Day…

Richard led our first workshop… Adjectives and Adverbs… Out! Out! Damned ‘A’ words!

I realised with some dismay, that my knowledge of grammar, although vaguely OK, could do with a bit of brushing up and I wasn’t actually able to accurately detect all the bloody ‘A’ words in my own passage, never mind avoid them. Luckily Grammar-Wizard-Liz was on hand to help. And look you– two have slipped in there without a by-your-leave! When Talk moved to gerunds I must admit I glazed over somewhat. I remember the word being bandied about in Latin classes thirty five years ago but hadn’t the energy to delve deep enough to resurrect my (even then) sketchy understanding. What I did find useful, however, was linking the use of the ‘A’ words to pace. That was very interesting and is a lesson that won’t leave me. (it’s scarred me for life…) I jest. It was great! Honestly.

I took the next session, my butt happily ensconced on the ‘cushion of power’.

Blogging. And as you can see… I know all about it (haha!) It was an interesting discussion and I’m sure I learnt more than I taught anyone else. It would have been easier to demonstrate if we’d had an internet connection, but most peeps seemed to enjoy it and some blogging virgins are now keen to have a go. So… Job done.

Lunch: Yum.

Afternoon. Torrential rain and slate grey skies… again… so more writing and sharing and talking and just a wee bit of snoozing. In my defence, it was warm and peaceful and cozy, the sofa was really comfy, and thinking about the ‘A’ words had been quite taxing…

Supper: Baked Potato Fest. Double yum.

Two thirds of our party sadly left due to work commitments in the morning and we said our goodbyes. While the remaining six of us sat at the table chatting and drinking we were shocked to realise that the lid of cloud had lifted revealing an azure sky, intense as a mediterranean beauty. I dashed out and took some pics, which I share with you here.

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Last night. Ahhh. Most enjoyable due to the hilarious and informative conversation, ladies… Quote of the weekend… What’s said in Middle Stanley remains in Middle Stanley, so… my lips are sealed. I tottered off to bed with a smile on my face and joy in my heart.

What a wonderful world.

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