august-september 2021 books…

Many Different Kinds Of Love (Michael Rosen): Rosen was ‘feeling unwell’ towards the end of March 2020… struggling to breathe. He was subsequently admitted to hospital, suffering from coronavirus. He ended up spending months on the wards – 6 weeks in an induced coma and many more weeks of rehab and recovery as the NHS saved his life. This is a beautiful, often harrowing, book of Rosen’s prose poems from that time… about love, life and the NHS. It underlines the severity of the virus (which obviously accounted for many lives), captures his struggles, the support from his amazing wife and family and, perhaps most of all, the moving coronavirus diaries of his nurses and doctors written when he was in his coma… personal messages from his nurses. Here’s just a brief extract from one of them (chosen at random) to give you a flavour: “Hi Michael. My name is Lizzie and I am your helper tonight. I’m normally a physio working in outpatients but I’m currently helping out in ITU during the Covid pandemic. I looked after you on one of your first nights, so it’s so lovely to see how far you’ve come… Thank you for all the lovely books and poems you have gifted us, ‘We’re Going On A Bear Hunt’ is one of my favourite childhood books! We have also laminated the poem you did for the NHS anniversary which is by your bed…”. I spent much of the first part of the book – which included these diary extracts – with tears in my eyes. Moving. Beautiful. A powerful celebration of the power of community and the importance of kindness in dark times.
The Old Man And The Sea (Ernest Hemingway): I read this book (first published in 1952) after watching a TV documentary about the author – I decided that I really SHOULD have read more Hemingway (this is just my third book of his). He writes beautifully. This is just a short novel (some 97 pages), but something of an acclaimed ‘masterwork’. It tells the story of an old Cuban fisherman; life has rather worn him down and yet he still dreams. Lately, the old man has endured 84 days without a catch (and much ridicule among his fellow fishermen)… but, today, will be his day. He eventually, single-handedly, catches an enormous fish (‘18ft from nose to tail’) but, in bringing home his trophy (tied to the side of his old skiff) numerous sharks attack and feast of the fish’s flesh – leaving him with just the skeleton of his ‘catch’ to bear witness to his exploits. He ends up winning the battle, but losing the prize. Poignant, powerful and profound.
All For Nothing (Walter Kempowski): This was our previous Storysmith bookgroup book. It’s set in rural East Prussia at the beginning of 1945. The Russian army is advancing and refugees are fleeing the occupied territories in their thousands – in cars and carts and on foot. It focuses (at least at the start) on life in the run-down grandeur of the manor house where the wealthy von Globig family seals itself off from the world and make no preparations to leave until a decision to harbour a stranger for the night begins their undoing. It took me a little time to get into this book (perhaps 80 pages or so?), but I then became completely captivated by the struggle for survival. People, with next to nothing, needing to ‘up sticks’ at a moment’s notice and join the endless lines of others participating in a tragic exodus. Reading the book at a time when similar events are being enacted in Afghanistan RIGHT NOW as people try to flee from the Taliban ‘takeover’ of that country made the events described in the book even more powerful and pertinent. This, Kempowski’s last novel (first published in 2006, with Anthea Bell’s excellent translation published in 2015), is a beautiful, forgiving, compassionate book which manages to look beyond the futile divisions people make between themselves (whether they be Jew, Nazi, peasant, aristocrat, Pole or foreigner) – whether they be victims or perpetrators. A brilliant book.
Dear Bill (Richard Ingram+John Wells): In the course of moving house, my bedside pile of ‘to read’ books has been secreted into one of several cardboard boxes… unfortunately, it appears that it’s going to take some time for me to track them down! In the meantime, I came across this book (first published in 1980 in ‘Private Eye’) of fictitious “collected letters of Denis Thatcher” to his golfing friend and decided to re-read them. They are very, very funny… but also a stark reminder of those depressing days when Denis’s wife ruled the land. Sadly, not a lot has changed over the past 40 plus years!
The Hare With Amber Eyes (Edmund De Waal): This is our next Storysmith bookgroup book (based on a biography theme). Essentially, it tells of master potter De Waal’s researches about how he came to inherit a collection of 264 netsuke (miniature sculptures originating in 17th century Japan in fine-grained wood or ivory to “reward touch and endure wear”) from his great-uncle Iggie. It’s a fascinating and elegant book that traces the netsuke’s journey through generations of De Waal’s remarkable family from Odessa to Paris in the 1870s, from occupied Vienna to Tokyo… and to London. The story (certainly for the early part of the book) drips outrageous wealth, privilege, influence and ‘Jewishness’ (barely does a page go by without some reference to his Jewish ancestry). But, by the end of the book, De Waal acknowledges that he no longer knew quite what the book was about – his family or memory or himself… or “still a book about small Japanese things”. It’s an absolutely fascinating and brilliantly researched book (and De Waal writes quite beautifully). Although, at times, I found myself struggling to pick my way through its complex trail - it took me nearly three weeks to read (a long time for me, these days) – there were also times when I was transfixed by the horror of what the family had to endure from the end of the 1930s, right through to beyond the end of WW2 (of course, I knew about the atrocious treatment of Jews under the German (and Austrian) Reich and yet, reading accounts of what happened to De Waal’s family, brought home the true terror of man’s potential inhumanity towards his fellow man. In the end, De Waal won me over. It’ll be interesting what my bookgroup makes of it all.

moving reflections…

I’m sitting on the balcony reading my book, a glass of white wine (I know!) in my hand, the sun slowly sinking towards the horizon and I think to myself: how lucky am I?! (A Louis Armstrong song comes to mind!).

It’s just over a week since we moved to the city centre and although it’s been stressful at times (I wouldn’t want to repeat it any time soon!), we’ve been remarkably fortunate that everything has worked out pretty well.
Living in the heart of the city comes with both positives and negatives (and we knew that before we even contemplated moving).

On the negative side: it’s much noisier and I’ve become almost blasé about hearing people making their way home at 3am – and always, it seems, with the volume turned ‘up’… laughing, arguing, shouting or, in one case, growling (a man attempting to perfect his loud growls in the middle of the night – something I personally don’t recall ever doing!). There seems to be strong desire for some motorbikers (always male) to ‘rev up’ furiously for absolutely no reason other than trying to attract people’s stares. Our apartment’s development (there are some 165 units scattered around the site) seems sadly lacking when it comes to recycling – it almost feels as if we’ve slipped back 20 years: there is a line of big rubbish bins in basement, but just differentiated into ‘paper+cardboard’ (mixed) and ‘everything else’… allowance for the recycling of plastic, glass, or tins (I accept that food waste might also be difficult, but absolutely nothing on that front either). I think we might be challenging this state of affairs over the coming weeks! And, of course, we also know we’ll miss our local Southville community and all the independent shops and businesses (but hey, they’re less than 30 minutes away).

But on the positive side, we have the harbour a four minute walk away from our front door; we have access to buses to ‘everywhere’ (with bus stops all within a 5 minute walk); we’re in easy walking access to so many places (Old Vic, RWA, Temple Meads station, Royal Fort Gardens, Queen Square, Watershed, St George’s, Cathedral, College Green, Saint Stephen’s church, Brandon Hill). I love waking up in the very centre of the city and also walking out of the front door and feeling ‘in the heart of the action’ (me? action?!).

Downsizing has been pretty challenging (and continues to be so). Friends, who have also recently moved, have told us that, even though we THOUGHT we’d downsized, we’ll have to continue the process once we’ve moved (and they’re SO right!). Our kitchen at Mount Pleasant Terrace worked brilliantly and so adapting to our ‘new’, smaller version is going to be very difficult (and will take some time to get it ‘right’). Both of our bedrooms are currently stacked around the perimeter with a multitude of large plastic boxes… the living room still has something like 37 boxes of books awaiting a home (ie. but we need to build shelving first!). There are DOZENS of pictures we ‘need’ to get hung. There are walls to re-decorate. Curtains/blinds to be hung. There are electrical alterations needed. There’s a new carpet to be ordered… oh, and a new dining table and armchairs… and additional wardrobe space. I could go on… and on.

In the meantime, we’re constantly wondering where we put things… Which unopened box? Which corner of what cupboard?
But that’s fine… we knew it would be like that. So, when it all gets a little too much, we simply wander out on to the balcony with a glass of wine and turn our backs on the chaos… and also acknowledge how lucky we are to have what we have (and each other).
Photo: view from the balcony looking at the development’s garden area (in the distance). 

goodbye arts trail at number40…

One of the saddest aspects of moving house is the realisation that we’ve held our last SouthBank Arts Trail at number40. We’ve opened up our studio on every arts trail weekend from 2004-2018 (we ‘missed’ the very first one in May 2003, which took place the day we put in an offer for the house!).
Over the years, Moira and I have welcomed the following 40 exhibiting artists (which somehow feels absolutely appropriate for number40!): Paul Brown, Wendy Calder, Jen Orme, Helen Brayshaw, Sharon Bishop, Dave Morgan-Davies, Chitra Merchant, Philippa Royle, Angela Saxbee, Hannah Hickman, Sarah Duncan, Anna Francis, Kay Morgan, Alexandra Higlett, Georgina Hounsome, Lucy Roberts, Tamsie Beith, Ruth Ander, Fay-Darling Peters, Maggie Smith, Martin Lintern, Damian Daly, Lucie Sheridan, Becky Burling, Melanie Wickham, Tessa McDermott, Shirley Smith, Deb Steele, Sally Medlicott, Ian Adams, Heather Newport, Chris Heaton, Nik Kalinowski, Jeremy Smith, Iain Ferns, the Plate-Painting-Lady (who joined us at the eleventh hour for one of our exhibitions, but we can’t remember her name!) plus, of course, the lovely Ruth Broadway, Hannah Broadway, Stuart Low and Felix Hayes.
It proved to be a very popular arts trail venue – so much so that we ended up welcoming over 700 people into our basement over an Arts Trail weekend!
Huge thanks to all those who contributed or visited over the years.
Lots of special memories.
Lots of very good times with lots of very good friends. x
Photos: These are just a very FEW of the photographs taken over the years… fascinating to see the broad scope of work included and also being reminded that our grandchildren have effectively ‘grown up’ over the course of our arts trail involvement!

july-august 2021 books...

Tales From Lindford (Catherine Fox): This is the fourth Catherine Fox book I’ve read over the past six years or so (Moira originally introduced me to her stuff). As with the previous books, it’s based in the fictional diocese of Lindchester and, once again, follows some of its beloved characters. It was originally written in real time (more or less) in the form of a weekly blog in the midst of the pandemic and captures the huge difficulties and challenges of 2020… starting with everyone celebrating the New Year with parties and resolutions and with “none of them aware of the trials and tribulations the coming months will bring – not least the horseman of the apocalypse who has set out quietly, with barely a jingle of harness, in a distance province of China”. Fox is a wonderful writer and she manages to convey the uncertainties of the incredibly challenging year with heart, humour and insight… as well as providing us with a compelling, powerful reminder of what we’ve all been through (and are still going through!) Ridiculously perhaps, she has the ability to make you laugh and cry, but also leave you with hope and a reminder of the goodness of people, even in the darkest times. I also love her political ‘digs’, such as this: “The Rule of Six kicks in this Monday. Gatherings of more than six (including babies and children) are banned, with the exception of schools and workplaces. Oh, and grouse shooting. If I were making all this up, I wouldn’t have risked that last detail, for fear my readers would never swallow such a clunky bit of social satire. But there we are.” Brilliant!
Just Ignore Him (Alan Davies): This is a memoir in which comedian/actor Davies confronts his past. It’s a difficult, brave but compelling read – with tender recollections of his mother (who died from leukaemia when he just six); about how he and his siblings weren’t told about her death (and decisions taken by the family not even to tell her that she was dying) but, even brutally, how Davies was sexually-abused (from when he was 8 until he was 13) by his domineering, controlling father (and sworn to secrecy). Although it contains patches of black-humour, it’s a difficult, painful read (although I easily read it within 3 days). Davies is at pains to emphasise that he didn’t write the book for himself as an ‘exercise in healing’… instead, for me, I think the very final paragraph of the last chapter sums up why I think you should read the book: “Above all, I have set out to tell you the things you don’t know about me, in the hope that one day, perhaps, you will feel able to tell someone what they don’t know about you.”
Instructions For A Heatwave (Maggie O’Farrell): I first read this book in 2013. I’ve read three O’Farrell books in total and loved each one of them. In her note at the end of the book, she refers to how the book came about and makes reference to the heatwave summer of 1976 (which is very significant for me as daughter Ru was born in the spring of that year!). She talks about how the heatwave had played an “important role in Britain’s collective memory of itself”… and it struck me that people would almost certainly be referring to the pandemic year of 2020 in a similar way in due course… AND I re-read it this year in a heatwave!! The book tells of a retired father of a complicated Irish family, living in London, who mysteriously disappears one morning… and follows his wife’s and his grown-up children’s actions to track him down. I was somewhat shocked at just how little of the book’s detail I’d retained (I recalled the basic premise, but the characters were far more real this time). I really enjoyed the book (even more so than last time); I love O’Farrell’s writing style, her characters and her ability to tell a good story.
Started Early, Took My Dog (Kate Atkinson): This (published in 2010) represents my last book to complete Atkinson’s excellent ‘Jackson Bride’ series (which, of course, I read slightly out of order!). Perhaps (even) darker than the other books in series… it deals with the bleak world of ‘lost’ women (and children – Madeleine McCann springs to mind); with the greed and power of men; with prostitutes; with ‘druggies’; and with thieves. Semi-retired private investigator Brodie is asked to try to track down the birth parents of a woman now living in New Zealand but, in the process (and in typical Atkinson fashion) his task is frequently overtaken by events - from both the present day and those from long-buried crimes of the 1970s – affecting the other ‘main players’ in the story. Once again (despite the bleakness of the plot), I found Atkinson’s dialogue and rhetorical whimsy wonderfully funny, poignant and appealing.    
Love (Roddy Doyle): This novel starts with two men meeting up in a Dublin restaurant. They’re old friends from schooldays (they’re now in their late 50s or early 60s perhaps); they’re both married and with grown-up children; their lives seem to have taken quite similar paths (albeit that one of them now lives in England). They start drinking… two pints turns to three, then five, then… as they set out on a journey to revisit the haunts of their youth. I like Roddy Doyle’s writing (his gift for dialogue is exceptional), but after 250 pages of this 300+ page book, I got very close to giving up in frustration! It was SO slow and SO repetitive! At times it felt like reading extracts from those old Ronnie Corbett sketches of shaggy dog stories – where Corbett was constantly finding himself waylaid as he meandered down completely irrelevant and obscure pathways! One of the men talked far more than the other (the quieter one becoming annoyed and frustrated in the process – because HE had important stuff to say too). The f-word is probably used twenty times on every single page (and probably more than that as the beer consumption mounts)… but THEN there’s the big reveal (*no spoilers* - so no details) and, it’s then, that the friendship’s true worth comes to the fore. It’s a very powerful ending – both thought-provoking and, for me, memory-provoking. I just wish that perhaps 100 pages of dialogue could have been omitted. 

june-july 2021 books…

When Will There Be Good News? (Kate Atkinson): My Atkinson reading festival continues! This is the third book in the ‘Jackson Brodie’ crime fiction series (although not a detective novel in the formal sense) and, once again, I absolutely loved it. Intelligent, funny, wonderful characters and enthralling plot. A six-year-old girl witnesses an appalling crime; 30 years later the man convicted of the crime is released from prison… I don’t want to spoil things for you, so I’ll leave it there. Having persuaded my Storysmith bookgroup to opt for Atkinson’s ‘Big Sky’ Brodie tale (a book I first read in January this year) for its next book (based on a ‘crime’ theme), I now need to start re-reading it in preparation for our next ‘session’.
Bloomsbury: A House Of Lions (Leon Edel): This book provides a detailed and fascinating portrait of the nine key individuals who comprised the ‘Bloomsbury Group’, namely: Maynard Keynes, Leonard Woolf, Virginia Woolf, Lytton Strachey, Clive Bell, Desmond McCarthy, Roger Fry, Vanessa Bell and Duncan Grant. American author Edel is clearly a very gifted biographer and the book is extensively researched (and in fact he’d previously met a number of the principle players or their relatives and published the book in 1979, when he himself was 72). At times, I felt that Edel was simply ‘showing off’ (too excessively for my taste) his extensive knowledge of his subject. I thought that he was overly condescending towards the privileged life of Cambridge upper-class undergraduates (all male, of course!) in the early years of the 20^th century and that he adopted a rather condescending view of women in general (even including Virginia Woolf and Vanessa Bell to some extent). Although I had previously read a number of books about Bloomsbury, this book provided fascinating additional background. An excellent book.  
Vanessa Bell: Portrait Of The Bloomsbury Artist (Frances Spalding): I absolutely loved this excellent biography (first published in 1983 and re-published in 2016). Yes, I appreciate that I’ve probably become excessively absorbed in Bloomsbury-related stuff over recent years (especially reading two lengthy, detailed volumes in the past month!), but it’s been a compelling journey. I’d been particularly drawn to the paintings by Vanessa Bell and Duncan Grant and this book provided fascinating insights into the work and lives of both of them (and the Bloomsbury group). Bell became something of a mother figure for the whole group and a catalyst for much of what the group came to represent. She walked an emotional tightrope in her relationships with her husband (Clive Bell), ex-lover (Roger Fry) and lover (Duncan Grant) and enjoyed a bohemian lifestyle of sexual freedom, fierce independence and honesty. As a painter, Bell was as radical as her sister Virginia Woolf the writer (Woolf described Bell as ‘the Saint’ for her practical sense of duty and organisation). The book has been compiled from letters and diaries (without letters, how much would have been lost!). It’s full of amusing and intriguing details: for instance, she wasn’t particularly political (although more left-wing than her husband)… and once asked the man sitting next to her at dinner if he was interested in politics… the man in question was prime minister Asquith(!); in 1925, after the lease on their Charleston house had been renewed, she had a studio added (“compared with the domestic proportions elsewhere in the house, this huge vaulted room offers both expanse and haven-like peace”)… the builder’s estimate was £250! A wonderful, intriguing biography.
The Leopard (Tomasi Di Lampedusa): The writer (1896-1957) was the last Prince of Lampedusa and the novel was published posthumously in 1958. It’s set in the spring of 1860 at a time when Fabrizio, Prince of Salina, still ruled over Sicily - albeit in “decadent and impoverished aristocracy, deaf to the upheavals of the world” (as I’ve seen one reviewer describe things)… but then Garibaldi landed in Sicily and the Prince had to decide whether to resist the forces of change or come to terms with them. It’s a renowned, highly-praised book with an impressive sense of long gone glory and an elegance of language but, I’m afraid, I really struggled to come to terms with it. Apparently, there’s a 1963 film of the book and perhaps, if I saw it, it might make me want to re-read the book. Not one of my favourite books of the year. Sorry.
Broken Greek (Pete Paphides): Moira recommended this (published in 2020). I’d never heard of the writer (apparently he’s had a career in music journalism… and he’s also married to Caitlin Moran). Although he’s 20 years younger than me, we share the fact that we both grew up in Birmingham. His parents moved from Cyprus to Brum in the 1960s in the hope of a better life (with no money and very little English) and opened a fish-and-chip shop in Acocks Green. Shy and introverted, Paphides stopped speaking from age 4 to 7, but he ended up ‘discovering’ pop music (‘Top of the Pops’, ‘Dial-a-Disc’) – which provided him with the safety net he needed to protect him from the tensions of his home life. It’s a long book (582 pages!)… which, in fact, only covers his life up to the age of 13 (so there might be more to come?). Paphides was (and probably still is) passionate about music and, even from an early age, spent all his pocket money on records. He’s a natural story-teller and I found his recollections of Brum (complete with doing an entire circuit of the number 11 bus route – just like my grandmother used to do!) and the trials and tribulations of growing up absolutely captivating. For me, it contained just a little too many musical insights and details (fascinating though they were), but this is a really very lovely book: tender, funny and overflowing in musical trivia and knowledge. I highly recommend it.
PS: I also re-read Kate Atkinson's 'Big Sky' this month (it's our Storysmith bookgroup's latest book).

Time for change…

Yesterday, the LibDems’ candidate, Sarah Green, won the Chesham+Amersham by-election by a staggering 8,000 votes (overturning a majority of 16,000 at the last election). The Greens were third, behind the Tories, and the Labour Party a disastrous fourth with a paltry 622 votes.
I know Chesham and Amersham from my days when I lived and worked in Buckinghamshire/Oxfordshire. It was seen as a Tory political stronghold… a seat that would ‘always be Tory’.
 
Well, I wrote the following ‘notes’ in my diary just over a week ago…
Despite their frequently appalling mismanagement of the Covid crisis, the UK government is still riding high in the opinion polls. At a time when the Opposition should be ‘making hay’ against a weak Tory government, its message to the electorate is frequently muddled and incoherent. Frankly, as a non-Tory voter, I despair at the prospect of yet another Conservative government (eleven consecutive years and still counting) but, as things stand, that’s what will happen.
Sadly, our political system does not work. Democracy is something of a farce. As things stand, given our ridiculous first-past-the-post electoral process (and where I happen to live), my vote doesn’t count. And, of course, any Party in power certainly won’t want to change a system that ‘works for them’!
 
Labour Party leader, Kier Starmer has come in for a lot of criticism (rightly in my view). As things stand, the pattern of recent years will simply be repeated: Labour loses the election; Labour elects a new leader… then Labour loses the election; Labour elects a new leader…
Something HAS to change.
 
Here in the UK, we’re some three years away from the next general election. In my view, ALL the opposition parties need to come together and form some sort of political alliance (a Rainbow Alliance?). There are lots of intelligent, gifted politicians (of all parties) who have the experience and desire to change things for the ‘common good’, but their voices are lost behind Political Party smokescreens. They count for nothing.
 
In my view, with the next general election taking place in 2024, all opposition parties need to agree that they won’t stand against each other at the next election. Drastic times call for drastic measures… the key objective needs to be to overturn (or at least reduce) the Tory’s current hold on power. It won’t be easy (understatement!), but the opposition parties need to agree which of them fights which seat in 2024 – in other words, a Tory candidate against ONE single opposition party candidate. Such arrangements will be incredibly difficult… local party structures will have to be severely compromised (but it will help maximise resources where they’ll produce most benefit). Crucially, the vital thing is that such compromises will take a little time to agree and organise and so this work needs to be started IMMEDIATELY.
As an important, tangent demonstration of this intent, Kier Starmer should IMMEDIATELY re-model his entire Shadow Cabinet – to incorporate MPs from the LibDems, Greens, SNPs, Plaid Cymru etc alongside Labour members.
But, hey, what do I know?
Photo: image from SkyNews.

may-june 2021 books…

The January Man (Christopher Somerville): Somerville and I have a number of things in common… we were both born in 1949 (albeit it that his roots are much posher than mine), we both have three daughters (he also has a son), we share a love of nature, we live fairly close to each other (him: Gloucestershire; me: Bristol) and ‘The January Man’ title of the book relates to the song he first heard sung by Martin Carthy in a Birmingham pub (the city of my birth). This book is something of a dairy of walks he’s taken across the British Isles over the course of a year (in all seasons). I really warmed to Somerville by the end of the book but, initially, I have to say I was somewhat underwhelmed by his gentle accounts of a number of his walks (which seemed to consist of little more than long sentences describing all the trees he’d seen… and all the wildlife (especially the birds – and insisting on trying to describe the sound they made in words!). Far, far more interesting were his accounts of how, in his father’s later years, the two of them had gradually found a way of relating to each other – thanks to what became their fairly regular walking trips together (very poignant) – and also the incidental people Somerville met on his walks. However, I YEARNED for some maps outlining the walks described (all the book had was a single, small-scale map of the British Isles with ‘arrows’ pointing to each of the 17 walk locations)… I didn’t exactly expect a collection of Wainwright hand-drawn maps or anything particularly sophisticated(!), but I really did feel that this was a huge omission. Nevertheless, in the end, I very much enjoyed this evocative, heart-warming reminder of how lucky we are to live on these wonderful isles.
The Death Of Francis Bacon (Max Porter): I love Porter’s writing… but have always struggled to come to terms with Bacon’s art. This brief book is something of a brave experiment. Porter describes it as his attempt “to write as painting, not about it”. At the age of 15, in one of school art projects, Porter was pre-occupied by Bacon’s work (and pre-occupied by the business of writing about art). Francis Bacon died in April 1992. Against his doctor’s advice, he took a trip to Madrid to visit his last great love, the young José Capelo, the subject of his final triptych of paintings. A few days after arriving in the city, Bacon, aged 82, was taken by ambulance to a convent hospital, suffering from familiar kidney and breathing problems. For six days until his death he remained in intensive care, looked after by a nun called Sister Mercedes. In those six days, Bacon (an atheist) received no visitors and, with limited Spanish, spoke only a few words. His body was cremated two days after his death, according to his wishes, at a municipal cemetery, without ceremony or mourners – almost anonymously, in utter silence. Porter explores the mental state of an incredibly complex man, on his deathbed, through an attempt to convey the spirit of his paintings, his style, through words. I’ve only read the book once (so far) – it’s just 74 pages long – but I have to admit that I struggled with it. Despite its poetic/lyrical language, much of the writing went ‘over my head’. However, I did think it conveyed a real sense of a man on his death bed, trying to come to terms with his imminent death, essentially alone… conjuring/creating painted images in his mind of violently distorted bodies that are themselves seeming to represent isolated and tormented souls. I think I need to read the book several times before I begin to understand and appreciate it… but, over the coming months, I’ll keep trying.
One Good Turn (Kate Atkinson): Continuing my journey of consuming Atkinson’s Jackson Brodie novels! As you might recall, Brodie is a divorced ex policeman and now retired private detective and, in this story, is visiting Edinburgh with his girlfriend Julia (featured in the first novel), who is appearing in a Fringe production. People, including Brodie, are queuing for a lunchtime show witness a brutal road rage incident – an incident that changes the lives of many. Atkinson is a brilliant writer. She’s able to concoct a complex, page-turning thriller but, at the same time, combine it with wit, humour and thoroughly-believable characters. I absolutely loved this book and, despite the fact that it’s over 500 pages long, consumed it in 3 days. Can’t wait to read the next one!
Eric Gill (Ruth Cribb+Joe Cribb): Shockingly, Eric Gill (1882-1940) was a sexual abuser of his own daughters and so, inevitably, this scandalous behaviour colours our views of what many regard as one of the great British artists of the 20th century. Nevertheless, I’m a great admirer of Gill’s work and this short, illustrated book (some 112 pages) provides a useful reminder of his genius as a letter cutter, wood engraver, sculptor and artist. He was a man of contradictions; he was a Roman Catholic; he had a strong attachment to the Arts and Crafts movement; he was a vociferous advocate of Distributism (a back-to-the-land socialism); he was a disrespector of authority; and sex was a central force in many of his private and public art, his writings and his daily life. This is an excellent brief summary of both his wide-ranging work and his life.
Brown Baby (Nikesh Shukla): Essentially, this is a love letter from a father to a daughter. It’s a letter of hope, of fatherhood, of family, of grief, of race, of wrongdoings in the world, of passion, of justice, of politics… and of pride. It talks about what it’s like growing up being ‘Brown and British’ – about growing up as a brown child when the majority of her neighbours are white. It doesn’t shirk away from the difficult, frustrating stuff. Shukla’s writing has raw honesty that I found quite tender and moving… and also brilliantly funny. He now lives in Bristol and I’ve heard him talk a couple of times at our local Storysmith bookshop (he’s quite an inspiring character). I thought this was a beautiful, brilliant book… I loved it. Thoroughly recommend it.

moonlit: ru’s solo exhibition at the devon guild of craft

Moira and I (along with Han+Fee+Ursa) went to see Ru’s ‘Moonlit’ solo exhibition at The Devon Guild at Bovey Tracey, Devon yesterday.
It was simply stunning… beautifully conceived and brilliantly presented; thoughtful and thought-provoking.
It’s about the daily ritual of noticing, recording and making and how this can “foster mindfulness and an appreciation of the quiet transformation happening around us” – and captured using the physical acts of stitching, binding, folding, printing, collecting and preserving.
There are a number of inter-connected themes, including:
1. Individual stitched moons in sync with each moon’s phase (384 nights/13 moons);
2. Hand-stitched ‘Silver Lining’ coat based on the ‘Buried Moon’ folktale (the silver lining coat whispers protection and courage – and, hidden from view to all but the wearer, incorporating stories and poems stitched into the lining);
3. Messages in bottles - a veritable museum of (nearly) lost and (not quite) found objects capturing and preserving small fleeting thoughts/fading memories/mundane conversations/everyday stories/wishes+secrets/words of wisdom;
4. Printed feathers, including ‘Like Pigeons For Home’.

So much to absorb and ponder.
It all feels quite magical (and it is).
 
The exhibition lasts until 11 July (the gallery is open Wednesdays-Saturdays, 11am-5pm each day). If you get a chance to see it, I strongly recommend that you do so!
You can find out more about Ru’s work on instagram @ruth.broadway and @rubypaperparade
 

april-may 2021 books…

The Honours (Tim Clare): Another Storysmith bookgroup book (first published in 2015). This month’s theme was ‘fantasy’. The book’s cover blurb describes it thus: “1935. Norfolk. War is looming in Great Britain and the sprawling country estate of Alderberen Hall is shadowed by suspicion and paranoia. Alderberen’s newest resident [she’s 13 years old], Delphine Venner, is determined to uncover the secrets of the Hall’s elite society, which has taken in her gullible mother and unstable father”. Well, let me start with something positive… I DID manage to finish the book… just (it’s over 400 pages and, about a third the way through it, I remember exclaiming “Oh, for goodness sake… get ON with it!!” out loud!). Frankly, I found it tedious and very unconvincing. It certainly didn’t have a distinct 1930s ‘feel’ to it all as far as I was concerned (in terms of descriptions or language). I warmed to Delphine as a character - despite her ‘plucky teenage heroine who was good with guns’ persona ! The plot is imaginative, elaborate (and, to my mind, extremely unconvincing) and involves bat-monsters (among other things)… and, in my view, in desperate need of some ruthless editing. Of course, given the glowing endorsements from the book’s various reviewers on its cover, I seem to be the only person who found it, let’s just say, ‘extremely disappointing’. It’ll be interesting to hear the viewers of the other bookgroup members (later note: in the event, half loved it and half thought it was ‘ok’).
The Way Of A Pilgrim (RM French): This is our next Bloke’s Books book (you might even recall that Franny - in JD Salinger’s “Franny and Zooey” - was obsessed with the book?). The events relate to Russia of the 1850s, prior to the Liberation of the Serfs (the English translation was first published in 1930). It doesn’t really relate to a geographical journey (although the pilgrim’s original intention had been to travel from Irkutsk to Jerusalem – a journey, according to Google, of over 4,500 miles!) so much as a spiritual journey (in fact the Book’s Russian title may be literally translated: ‘Candid Narratives of a Pilgrim to His Spiritual Father’). It’s a story of an anonymous, mendicant pilgrim (described in the introduction of my edition as someone “endowed with a simplicity and wholeness which are rare in any epoch”) learning and practising (and sometimes teaching to others) a way of praying (‘continual prayer’). I found the book rather charming in its way… of how the pilgrim found a ‘spiritual father’… of how he came to learn the ‘prayer of Jesus’… and of his own study of “The Philokalia” (the title of the great collection of mystical and ascetic writings by Fathers of the Eastern Orthodox Church over a period of eleven centuries). At times, I felt it resembled the words and practices of ‘The Desert Fathers’ (ascetics and monks who lived in the Scetes desert of Egypt from the third century AD) – but, clearly, I’m no scholar of such things(!). Obviously, it’s difficult to compare Russian peasant life of 170+ years ago with that of today’s secular western society but, nevertheless, the book left me feeling that the pilgrim and I were in vastly different leagues when it came to spiritual practices, attitudes and devotion (in football terms, I’m in a non-league division!). Reflective and thought-provoking… (my edition contains a follow-up “The Pilgrim Continues His Way” – but I’m really not sure I’m up for it… certainly not immediately).
Big Sky (Kate Atkinson): This is my first ‘Jackson Brodie’ detective novel (ridiculously, I didn’t even know that Atkinson wrote crime stuff)… and I really enjoyed it. It’s clever but also very funny (I loved the dialogue and the writing style). It’s set in a seaside village in North Yorkshire. The book begins with Brodie (former-police-detective-turned-private investigator) involved in gathering proof of an unfaithful husband for a suspicious wife… but a chance encounter with a desperate man on a crumbling cliff (and who seems determined to jump) leads him into a sinister, terrifying world of trafficked women (who, of course, had been promised exciting hospitality careers in London etc… and certainly nothing to do with sexual abuse, drugs and entrapment). I was a little surprised that Brodie wasn’t more of the central character in the book – he was in competition with two female police officers and a ‘trophy wife’ (not Brodie’s) – but that was absolutely fine. It turns out that we already have the four previous ‘Jackson Brodie’ novels on our bookshelves (thanks to Moira!)… so they’ve been added to my bedside table pile accordingly!
Fun Home (Alison Bechdel): Our Storysmith bookgroup book for May (theme: graphic novel). I think this is only the second graphic novel I’ve read (Persepolis was the first) – apart from Si Smith’s brilliant books. The book takes the form of a memoir of Bechdel’s family life but, principally, about her father (and his strange/strained relationship with the author’s mother and with the rest of the family). Born in 1936, he was the director of a funeral home in the US (‘Fun Home’ refers to the family’s name for the funeral parlour), a high school English teacher, an icily distant parent… and a closeted homosexual (involved with some of his male students a babysitter). He died in road ‘accident’ (but with speculation that it was suicide), aged 44. Bechdel herself came out as gay in late adolescence. Telling a memoir in graphic form (especially with such brutal honesty) might seem a little odd and yet it works rather brilliantly – the pictures frequently managing to incorporate details and nuances that perhaps ‘normal’ description might have missed. It’s a somewhat dark and bleak book at times and yet it’s also very funny. Bechdel clearly had a complex yearning for her father and, ultimately, with their mutual love of literature and their homosexuality, their relationship did come to a redemptive conclusion. It brings a whole new meaning to authors having to edit their books (words AND pictures!). Excellent book.
Case Histories (Kate Atkinson): Having just ‘discovered’ Jackson Brodie novels (see above – ‘Big Sky’), it seemed only natural to start reading the very first one of the series. Brodie, private investigator (here, Cambridge-based), finds himself trying to get to grips with several apparently unconnected unsolved mysteries which have a common theme of ‘lost girls’ – missing, murdered, raped, abandoned, runaway. It’s a deceptively complicated read with utterly believable characters (especially Brodie himself). It’s brilliantly crafted and takes you through a whole series of different emotions involving death; despair; thwarted love; personal eccentricities; truth; goodness and, crucially, (wonderful) humour. I read it in just two days and found it almost impossible to ‘put down’! Absolutely loved it… can’t wait for the next one!

april 2021 books…

Wintering (Katherine May): I borrowed this book from Ru. The book’s cover has the additional sub-title of ‘the power of rest and retreat in difficult times’. It’s been on my bedside table for a little while and I thought I ought to read it before winter is fully behind us. Essentially, it’s a poignant meditation on those empty or bare periods of life, when we need to stop and ‘repair’ ourselves (easier said than done?) and to accept that we need to learn to revel in those dark, colourless, cold days. It clearly wasn’t written with a pandemic in mind but, in many ways, her observations about winter provide useful advice for coping with Covid (eg. “we may never choose to winter, but we can choose how”; resorting to ‘guaranteed’ comfort stuff, like re-watching films or re-reading books). As far as our own Covid lockdown is concerned, the book made me wonder if some of us (certainly me) have become aware of our thoughts and coping strategies, but perhaps not noticing others? It contained lots of ‘food for thought’, but I found the following particularly thought-provoking: “ancient folklore… offers us a cyclical metaphor for life, one in which the energies of spring can arrive again and again, nurtured by the deep retreat of winter. We are no longer accustomed to thinking in this way. We are instead in the habit of imagining our lives to be linear; a long march from birth to death in which we mass our powers, only to surrender them again, all the while losing our youthful beauty. This is a brutal untruth”. It’s a wise and comforting book (beautifully-written and frequently amusing) and a rather lovely reminder that winter can be ‘open season’ for new ideas and challenges; of the pleasures of cold weather; and slow days.
English Pastoral (James Rebanks): Rebanks’s book ‘The Shepherd’s Life’ was the first I read this year… and I immediately predicted that it would turn out to be my ‘book of the year’. Well, having just read Rebanks’s ‘English Pastoral’ (published in 2020), I now wish to modify my original prediction! I absolutely loved this book… it’s a story of an inheritance (his grandfather taught him to work the land ‘the old way’) and of how things have profoundly changed in his own lifetime and how so much has been lost (men+women had vanished from the fields; the old stone barns had crumbled; the skies had emptied of birds etc). This is a book about what it means to have love and pride in a place and how, against the odds, it might still be possible to salvage what might have been lost. He’s hugely critical of the pitiful price farmers get paid for their products; he despises the political attitudes of the 1980s; he despairs of how corporations are now ‘in charge’ of everything. It’s an honest, frank, frequently funny, eloquent and also a passionate ‘song of hope’. It’s a beautiful, uplifting, emotional ‘read’ (but, hey, I cry at anything!). Quite brilliant.   
We’ll Always Have Paris (Emma Beddington): Moira recommended this memoir to me. I’m a great lover of Beddington’s columns in The Guardian/Observer. She writes beautifully… and seems to have an effortless knack for words; she is highly intelligent (first class History degree at Oxford); she’s a qualified lawyer… and she IS very funny! As a teenager, she decided that when she grew up she was going to be French(!)… free and solitary; sitting at pavement cafés (surrounded by Gauloise cigarette smoke). She DID end up in Paris, but found life far from easy, following her mother’s untimely death. Eventually, her dream DID come true - she found herself with a French boyfriend and two half-French children… but it also brought its fair share of problems (I’ll resist filling in the details – I don’t want to spoil things for you). At times, Beddington is laugh-out loud hilarious, but she also has the wonderful ability of writing with utmost honesty and sadness. She’s frequently very hard on herself (but we’re all flawed) and there were also a fair few times when I found myself feeling that she was just being too selfish (it seemed to me that she ‘wanted it all’)… and yet, by the end of the book, she’d completely won me back. I loved the book… (and cake features very prominently!!).
The Authenticity Project (Clare Pooley): I think I first saw a write-up of this book in The Guardian (or maybe not?)… where it was described as something of a “wonderfully warm, feel-good novel”. So I thought it sounded like the book one should read in the midst of a depressing pandemic! The book’s cover blurb describes the ‘action’ thus: “Julian Jessop is tired of hiding the deep loneliness he feels. So he begins ‘The Authenticity Project’ – a small green notebook containing the truth about his life. Leaving the notebook on a table in his friendly neighbourhood café, Julian never expects Monica, the owner, to track him down after finding it. Or that she’ll be inspired to write down her own story…”. Well, I really enjoyed it (it’s a very easy read) – even if I didn’t really think that Julian would be the kind of person who might have set the book-thing in motion, as it were. In some ways, the novel reflects the author’s own life – apparently, she wrote a hugely popular blog called “Mummy Was A Secret Drinker”. It’s a lovely, encouraging book and well worth reading – it’ll make you feel happy.
A Still Life (Josie George): This is a pretty remarkable memoir. The 36 year-old author – a single mother with a 9 year-old son (and a mobility scooter!) - has struggled with a hugely-debilitating illness for 30-odd years. Doctors are mystified as to what’s wrong with her. There are times when she’s too weak to leave the house; there are times when she can’t even crawl across a room of her tiny, old terraced house (let alone climb the stairs on her knees to the loo). The book alternates between the story of her ‘past’ and a journal of the ‘present’ – complete with all the frustrations about coping; about the unhappiness; about all the restrictions and uncertainties; about government cuts and living on ‘next-to-nothing’… but also about the special people in her life; about learning to live with solitude and stillness; about noticing nature and beauty… and about the JOYS of her life. It’s an inspiring book (but also a book with which I struggled at times… the apparently endless stream of frustrations and problems can be difficult to take!). She’s an excellent writer. It’s a hugely frank and honest book that underlines the importance of “nurturing what we have”. There were times when I felt she was just incredibly naïve and impulsive (and frequently someone who ‘wanted it all’, irrespective of the practicalities)… but, as she acknowledges towards the end of the book, we “need to forgive our younger selves” (and also just to “keep on challenging”). Frequently (ie. for days on end), her ‘world’ is limited to just her tiny house; the community centre in the next street; and the 10-minute ‘walk’ to her son’s primary school. Much of the book was written from her bed (“I’ve spent the best part of 16 years here”) and over the course of a year (starting January 2018). The book was published early in 2021… one just wonders how difficult life must have been - and presumably continues to be - for her (as someone who is obviously ‘clinically extremely vulnerable’), and her son, during the past year of the pandemic – when the community centre has been closed and when travel restrictions have been in place. A very important, candid, intelligent account of what it’s like to struggle with an invisible, unforgiving illness at a time when those in power seem to find it easier to simply ‘turn a blind eye’ towards financially and practically. 

drinking with my dad on his 100th birthday...

Today is my Dad’s 100^th birthday. He died nearly 30 years ago, in 1992. I’m now older than he was when he died. He was a very good father – even if he and I didn’t see eye-to-eye on a whole range of things (race and politics, in particular – subjects I ended up realising were best avoided). I’ve been thinking of him a lot this week and am very conscious that some of our ‘best times’ were when he and I (just the two of us) were able to chat over a pint (or maybe two!) of beer ‘down the pub’ when we lived in Oxford and Thame.
So, today, I want to try to imagine us meeting up in the pub for a couple of beers (both of us in our 70s??) and chatting/catching up(?) about the important stuff in our lives…
 
There are so many regrets (from my side). My Dad died from lung cancer (within six months of diagnosis). In his last few months, I wanted to talk to him about his life (his memories, the joys, the regrets)… but, sadly, we didn’t get to do this (was that my fault or was it just that it was too difficult for him to actually TALK about such stuff?). We’re very fortunate to have some of his letters/notes expressing thanks to people who’d been important to him and reflections on what he saw as the important things in life (kindness, nature, beauty and a thirst for discovering new things). I had wanted to drive him to places (ideally, just him and me) that he’d loved and for which we both had particular memories (when he was still vaguely fit enough to do so) – like the regular family picnic spot by the river at Aston Cantlow, near Henley-in-Arden, or the Flagpole (or “Tadpole” as younger family members called it!) on Cannock Chase or Llanrhaeadr or Bispham… so many places. But he just wasn’t up for it.
I found the whole experience hugely frustrating and saddening… and it now all feels a bit of blur? Did I try hard enough?
(Looking back, I think I was perhaps trying to prepare MYSELF for grieving him and now feel somewhat guilty that I had tried to press him too much on such matters).
 
My Dad was born in Birmingham and came from a working class background (two older sisters and a younger brother). He was a print compositor and a lovely, kind, gentle man (but actually also quite shy). He married my Mum in March 1948 and I was born in February 1949, so they didn’t have much opportunity to ‘let their hair down’! He was quite an intelligent man who, I think, was very conscious of his working class background. As I grew older, I felt he was almost embarrassed by what he saw as his lack of education (although, of course, he would never have admitted this). Whenever he wrote a letter, they frequently ‘read’ overly-formal/flowery and regularly contained words which weren’t quite used correctly (and he wrote LOTS of letters - of complaint to the Council or of appreciation to Hollywood stars and the like!). He was a strict disciplinarian and could be pretty obstinate at times (surely not something I’ve inherited from him?) and his favourite family saying was: “If I say ‘black’s white’, black’s white”! 
 
But, hey, back to the pub…
There’s so much to talk about. I’m so proud of my family… and so, of course, I want to tell him that Moira and I will be celebrating our 50^th wedding anniversary next year – and how wonderful it’s been to be married to her. I want to tell him about my architectural practice (he knew I’d become a partner in 1979)… and he’d probably be shocked to learn that I’d retired from architecture at the age of 55 (ridiculous!)(and that I went on to work in a school for 6 years supporting and mentoring pupils). I want to tell him about how wonderful his granddaughters (who were 12, 14 and 16 when he died) have ‘turned out’. As someone with an art ‘background’, I know he’d be absolutely thrilled to know that Ru and Hannah have made illustration/design/print/graphics their careers… and, as someone who loved the use of words, he would be thrilled to learn that Alice is a published author (I remember him challenging himself to learn new words/meanings on a daily basis via the ‘Reader’s Digest’)(He was very fond of words - but hardly ever read any books, from what I remember?). I want to tell him about the six great-grandchildren he never met… and about their humour and all the ‘stuff’ in their lives (I can imagine him just smiling and gently shaking his head with pride… and with a ‘who’d have thought?’ expression on his face). I want to tell him we moved to Bristol in 2003. I want to tell how lovely my brother is… and how proud he’d be of him.
 
But, crucially, there are SO many things that I want to ask HIM about. So many questions:
I want to ask him about his relationship with his father. It seemed to me that, although it was good relationship, they weren’t particularly close (or perhaps that’s simply my perception?)(I certainly think he was closer to his mother). I want to ask about his father’s working life and what he knew of his general family background.
I want to ask him about Vittoria Junior School of Arts+Crafts, Birmingham (now Birmingham School of Jewellery). This was my Dad’s school from the age of 13 until (we think) he was apprenticed to Dams and Lock (printers) at the age of 16. The new school had been opened in the (then) factory building at 84 Vittoria Street in 1890 as a school for the jewellery and silverware industry - housing up to 460 boys from the age of twelve and a half years. We don’t really know how or why Dad (as a working class youngster) attended this school. Was it because his father had been a “jewellery worker” (according to the 1911 census)? The Birmingham Jewellery and Silversmiths Association had been keen to set up a school for the industry and so perhaps they had encouraged attendance by boys of their own workers? Presumably he walked (or cycled?) the 2-3miles to school each day?
I want to ask him about his relationship with his siblings. Clearly, his sister Olive was his favourite sibling. It always seemed to me that he was very much in her shadow – she had a much more affluent life-style – big house, car, nice holidays etc. I wanted to know how he felt about his gay brother (when did he realise… or did he?)(I don’t think the subject was ever really mentioned as far as the rest of the family was concerned?).
I want to ask him about his teenage years and adulthood. About growing up in Handsworth; about his time in India during the war; about life after the war (rationing, moving into Westbourne Road, ‘Aunty’ Ella); about his closest friends (did have any ‘close’ friends outside family or people from his RAF days?).
I want to ask him about his working life. Was he happy in his career? Would he have liked to have pursued a different career path? Did he regret leaving Dams+Lock when he did? Other job choices/decisions (eg.not moving to Norfolk in the late 1960s, I think?, when he had a job opportunity to do so). His ridiculous daily routine (when he was at Dams+Lock) of returning home on the bus from town (plus walk, 20 mins), eating his meal (20mins) and busing back into town (20mins) all within his ‘lunch hour’! 
I want to ask him about his happiest/funniest memories. Meeting Mum; family life (or not!); his Ford Anglia; places such as Llanrhaeadr, Blackpool, Llangranog, Australia… and other holidays etc etc? Supporting the Albion (and travelling to many of their away games in later years)(and having two sons who became Villa supporters!). The great times they had in their caravan at the site in Bromyard. Silly things that happened in his life. About the time when he brought home a Yugoslavian man for some lunch (Dad had found him rather lost, confused and hungry near Snow Hill Station and invited back for a meal – and me being introduced to him as a ‘German-speaker’ because German had been on my school timetable for the previous 6 months – needless to say I was of very little help!). About the time he brought home singer Danny Williams (‘Moon River’ UK number 1 record in 1961!) who he’d found outside our local ‘Plaza’ (he was due to appear there that evening, but no one had turned up to let him in!)… and how we chalked his name on the chair he’d sat on!!
I want to ask him if he had any regrets? In an ideal world, would he have delayed having a family for a year or so?
I want to ask him about his lung cancer. I want him to know how frustrated we all were… and how sad those last few months were (for us and, no doubt, for him). If he had his time over again, would he want to do anything differently in those final days (illness permitting)?
 
Oh, and of course, there are one or two ‘other matters’ I think Dad would be interested to hear…

• We have two (or three?) computers in our house.
• There’s this thing called the internet which allows you to ‘access’ information using one’s computer instantly… news, weather, sport, history, politics and lots, lots more (Dad would have absolutely loved the internet!).
• People no longer bother to have ‘land line’ telephones… virtually everyone has their own ‘mobile telephone’ (and their own individual telephone number) which enables them to receive and make calls from anywhere in the world.
• There’s some technology called GPS (Global Positioning System) which can track your location anywhere in the world… people have systems in their cars, their mobile phones and their watches. GPS helps you get where you are going, from point A to point B.
• There’s technology that enables you to get maps on your mobile phone (and in your car!) and which also provides interactive panoramas from positions along streets throughout the world.
• People are now able to speak to AND see their friends/colleagues via their computer/phone screens (anywhere in the world)… at no extra cost.
• There are now driver-less cars (although I’ve not been in one!).
• We have a Climate Crisis which threatens the future of the planet (attributed largely to the increased levels of atmospheric carbon dioxide produced by the use of fossil fuels).
• We’re currently struggling to come to terms with a pandemic virus which has killed some 130,000 people in the UK in the past year (and some 3million deaths worldwide).
• Of course, I could list a multitude of other changes and developments…
• Oh, and the Queen is still on the throne!

SO much to chat about and debate. If we’re not careful, we’d find ourselves discussing the banned subject of politics… oh, and ‘Black Lives Matter’!!
Probably best just to talk about sport… I think it’s his ‘round’!
Photos: Mom and Dad (1947?); Extract (page 15!) from one of Dad’s letters/reflections, written dated 21 February 1992 (5 months before he died); Dad and me (1949).

march-april 2021 books...

Born To Run (Christopher McDougall): This is our next “Bloke’s Books” bookgroup book. As the title suggests, it’s about running. The author, who is a runner himself, sets out to find Mexico’s Tarahumara Indians, reputed to be the “world’s greatest distance runners, who can go for hundreds of miles without rest while enjoying every minute of it” (according to the book’s blurb). The Tarahumara tribe run virtually barefoot and part of the book deals with anthropology to running shoe design - looking at running in hunter/gatherer societies right up to the “modern money-making machines of Nike” (Nike comes in for a LOT of criticism!). A small group of the world's top ultra-runners (and the author) make the treacherous journey into the canyons to try to learn the tribe's secrets and then take them on over a course 50 miles long. Once I’d finished the book, I decided to check out some of the reviews: “A bible for the barefoot running community” (Ben Fogle); “A really phenomenal book” (Jon Stewart); “Inspiring… destined to become a classic” (Sir Ranulph Fiennes). Well, while I found some aspects of the book interesting (especially some of medical insights and the running endurance of the Tarahumara), I’m afraid it was definitely NOT my kind of book! I found the writing style absolutely appalling. Much of it consists of made-up/surmised conversations, thoughts or descriptions… I could quote endless examples, but here are just two minor samples: “Dr Bramble then took a closer look at the skulls and got a jolt. ‘Holy moly!’ he thought. ‘There’s something going on here’…” or “’Whoa, whoa, hang on,’ Fisher interjected. ‘You sure you’re fast enough for these guys?’ ‘You’re not doing me any favour,’ Shaggy shrugged. ‘Who else you got lined up?’ ‘Yeah,’ Fisher said. ‘Okay, then.’ And just as he’d promised, Shaggy was hollering and waving by the aid station the next afternoon when Juan and Martimano came running into the 50-mile turnaround…”. Yes, it’s a passionate book about running… but, frankly, as far as I was concerned it was a book for ‘running geeks’ and definitely not me.
Hamnet (Maggie O’Farrell): This is an extraordinary book. It’s a fictionalised account of Shakespeare’s son Hamlet, who died when he was just 11 years of age in 1596. Four years later, Shakespeare wrote a play and gave its tragic hero a variation of his dead son’s name. The central character of the book – given the name Agnes – is Hamnet’s mother… the playwright’s wife. Shakespeare himself is never referred to by name, merely as ‘her husband’, ‘the father’ or ‘the Latin tutor’. In fact, in their small local sphere it is Agnes who is the celebrity, known in the town for being a somewhat mysterious, gifted herbalist – it took some time before Shakespeare had started to become recognised for his writing in London… and for his growing reputation to percolate ‘up’ to Stratford. It must have been a hard time for Shakespeare’s wife and his children… O’Farrell describes the playwright’s visits home to Stratford from London as occurring only perhaps two or three times a year. The heart of the story focuses on grieving for a child (especially at a time when disease was rife and childhood death common) and I found the episode of Hamnet’s illness and his mother’s and his sisters’ anguish immediately following his death incredibly moving (and quite beautifully written). I’d previously read two other novels by O’Farrell (‘Instructions For A Heatwave’ and ‘After You’d Gone’) and look forward to reading others in the future. A very impressive book.
The Land Where Lemons Grow (Helena Attlee): This is my Storysmith bookgroup’s latest book (on the general theme of ‘travel’). Attlee has been a regular visitor of Italy’s loveliest cities and landscapes for over 40 years and has written books, magazine features and led specialist tours there for many years. As the book’s title implies, this is a book fundamentally about Italy’s citrus fruit. It’s much, much more than just a travel book… it’s an evocative combination of nature, gardens, science, food, recipes, business, geography, history, places and people. Italy is perhaps my favourite country in the world and, so, at a time when none of us can travel, this gentle, fascinating, colourful book was, for me, a rather lovely substitute. Attlee is an excellent writer and her knowledge of Italy (and, in particular, its gardens and citrus fruit) is extensive and fascinating. The details are almost academic in nature and yet she’s able to mix them with a story-teller’s magic. It painted a wonderful picture of the landscapes of the Italian Riviera, Tuscany and Sicily… but they were brought to life by her accounts of the people she met en route (and their ingenuity and determination to succeed against the odds). I suspect I might be in a minority when it comes to our bookgroup, but I loved this book!
There Are Places In The World Where Rules Are Less Important Than Kindness (Carlo Rovelli): I read, and was impressed by, Rovelli’s “Seven Brief Lessons on Physics” some 4 years ago. He is a theoretical physicist with a wonderful communicator and gives explanations of the most complicated theories in simple, everyday language. This book comprises nearly 50 newspaper/magazine articles covering a wide range of subjects – from classical philosophy, the meaning of science, the role of religion, to the nature of black holes (and much, much more). Philosophy is a common theme in the book and I have to admit that the understanding of philosophy is something I struggle with consistently. So, while many of the essays were well above my ‘head’ (eg. dealing with such matters as ‘Aristocle the Scientist’, ‘Do Flying Donkeys Exist?’, ‘Dante, Einstein and the Three-Sphere’… not to mention the three articles about Black Holes), there were also many of them that I found both fascinating and thought-provoking (eg. ‘Certainty and Global Warming’, ‘Why I am an Atheist’ and ‘A day in Africa’). Compelling, thought-provoking and very readable.
Wilderness Taunts (Ian Adams): This is the book (by my great friend Ian) I’ve been using for my daily reflections during Lent. It’s the second time I’ve used it. Among other things, it deals with the challenges of trying to maintain a sense of being hopeful individuals in a demanding world. The reflections and taunts are frequently harsh and demanding… and, for me, in my own current ‘spiritual wilderness’, hugely testing. I can’t say that they have ‘renewed my faith’, but they have provided me with perspective and fresh insights and, crucially, a sense of hope. Ian is very good with words(!) and has a writing style that I find hugely effective and appealing.

so what now?

Yes, I know, I’m one of the very fortunate ones.
Moira and I have both survived Covid (thus far!). No one in our immediate family has been struck down by the virus (although three of them tested positive and went through a fairly difficult time). None of our close friends has died as a result of the virus. As far as we know (but it’s obviously early days), none of our close friends or family members is suffering from ‘Long Covid’.
We have a house. We don’t have a mortgage. We have a loving family. We’re both retired, so don’t have any jobs worries. We’re not rich, but we have enough to enjoy our simple lifestyle. We’re relatively healthy (give or take the odd ailments of old age). We’ve had our first Covid vaccinations.
People will look us with envy… those struggling financially; those who don’t have a proper roof over their heads or who live in cramped accommodation; those juggling jobs with family life; those in abusive relationships and so on.
Although the past year has been very difficult for us, Moira and I have coped well. We’ve managed to establish various routines and ‘projects’ which have helped us through these uncertain times. We went into self-isolation (on 18 March) before the government introduced its lockdown#1 measures. Within the first few weeks, we had already ‘steeled ourselves’ to the prospect that the pandemic would continue to affect our lives well beyond the Autumn and resolved that we needed to focus on ‘getting through to March 2021’… which we did/which we have done.
Well done us!
So what now? Despite the fact that we’ve all started to focus on ‘roadmap’ dates issued by the government – which effectively (fingers firmly crossed) allows everyone to return to some form of ‘normality’ by the end of June (ie. in 3 months’ time) – I have to admit that I’m struggling somewhat. I’ve been so focussed on getting through until mid-March 2021 (ie. a whole year after the start of lockdown#1) that I’m really not sure where to go from here. Yes, I can’t wait to hug family members and friends again… to sit in a café again… to take bus and train journeys again… to enjoy chunky chips and a glass of red at the Watershed before nipping into the cinema… to spend a day watching ‘proper’ cricket… and all those other simple pleasures… and yet.
 
There’s a massive part of me that has been taken back by it all.
I think I’ve grown ‘old’ over the past year – both physically and psychologically. I really don’t want to drive any more (I’ll probably continue to use the CarClub – but only very occasionally). Frankly, I don’t want to gather with lots of other people… I will resist (with certain key exceptions ie. drawing-related!) the temptation to join committees, groups or organisations… opting out will become my default setting. I no longer have the desire or energy to do many of the things I took on in the past. I intend to keep my head firmly below the parapet.
This might all sound incredibly negative, but it’s not meant to be. I’m still enthusiastic about the things I enjoy doing and being part of (and the people)… and I still have a strong sense of optimism about the new, ‘unknown’ things that I’ll be exploring over the coming months and years.
So, the above represents something for me to reflect on (and perhaps change my mind about?)… I simply felt the need to write down my current thoughts (just for me).
Who knows, perhaps I’ll think differently in six months’ time? Perhaps this is just a reaction to the wide-ranging uncertainties we have all experienced over the past year?
Photo: The two ‘lockdown books’ – essentially just visual diaries - I produced covering the past 12 months.

one year on...

This photograph was taken exactly one year ago today.
Iris and Rosa used to come round for tea/supper on Mondays and Tuesdays and so 17 March 2020 represented quite a watershed moment. It was our last face-to-face mealtime together (mealtimes were always a time of much banter and laughter!) before Moira and I went into self-isolation/lockdown.
For how long would we need to be in lockdown? In due course, the government advised me (as someone who was classified as “clinically extremely vulnerable”) that this situation was likely to last until the end of June. A year on and that photograph STILL represents the last time we gathered together at mealtime.
Rather out of character for me, last March, I started writing a daily diary… and have continued to scribble stuff every day (usually inconsequential rubbish… with the VERY occasional reflective insights!). Looking back to that time, I recall several of the things Moira and I discussed. Like everyone else, we didn’t know what the future held… We were (and continue to be) hugely concerned for the well-being of our family (how would they cope financially/job-wise/health-wise etc?). The sad realisation that it might be several weeks or months (or even years?) before we would be able to hug our family and our friends again… and even the sobering fear that we might have already hugged them for the very last time? Who knew?
Everything was uncertain.
We hadn’t been here before.
One of the most significant things that Moira and I discussed was the awareness that it would be crucial that WE cared for EACH OTHER (in the fullest sense). That might sound a little trite, but it was something we both felt very strongly about. We needed to encourage one another; we needed to ensure that we got plenty of ‘fresh air’ and to walk regularly (we genuinely feared that, at some stage, the government might confine us to our house and garden); we needed to be gentle and kind to each other; we needed laughter and conversation.
Looking back over the last year (and I’m the first to acknowledge that huge uncertainties remain), I think Moira and I have coped really well. We both feel somewhat privileged – we had a roof over our heads; we had space around the house which meant we weren’t ‘in each other’s faces’ all the time; we were both retired – so no job worries; we remained pretty healthy (despite our ageing bodies!); and, crucially, we had each other.
We established various routines… and our chats over our daily morning coffee became really quite important. We’ve always been able to talk to each other freely, but I think we’ve talked to each other much more over the past year (in a good and encouraging way!).
Obviously, we’ve REALLY missed not being able to meet up with the rest of the family (it must be 15 months or so since we were last in Lancashire to see Alice, Dave, Mikes, Dan+Jemima) – although, with Ru, Stu, Iris+Rosa and Hannah, Felix+Ursa all living in Bristol, we have at least been able to see them occasionally in the front of the house or at the harbourside etc. Technology, of course, has been a crucially important substitute (despite its frustrations)… many of us had never even heard of ‘zoom’ before the pandemic!
I definitely feel as if we’ve ‘lost a year’ – our grandchildren are a year older in their young lives and we’ve effectively missed it. This may seem rather ridiculous, but Moira and I both agree that this year has seen us become ‘old’… which feels a little sad. 
Given what has happened over the past twelve months, none of us quite knows what the future holds. Hopefully, the vaccine will provide some stability and ensure proper recovery. Perhaps, over the coming months, we’ll be able to ‘start planning’ again… arranging meet-ups with family and friends; enjoying simple pleasures of meeting up in cafés, restaurants, theatres, cinemas and sports stadiums; and even contemplating holidays!
But I also passionately hope that we do NOT return to ‘how things were before’.
I hope we’ve learnt to respect the environment.
I hope we’ve learnt to respect (and reward) the vast array of workers who undertake all the crucial, ‘small’ jobs that have proved so vital over these past months.
I hope that sufficient resources will be allocated by the government in the connection with mental health and welfare in general.
I hope that we’ve learnt NOT to accept a government who is prepared to ‘reward’ its friends and its financial-backers without accountability.
I hope that we’ve learnt the importance of kindness, respect and fairness.  
Everything is still uncertain.
But perhaps there IS light at the end of tunnel?

Fingers crossed.