En vacances

à toute à l'heure.

Here's an idea

why don't we

completely empty the sitting room

and put all the furniture 

in here

to take our minds off washing and packing for a holiday.

The nectar bar is open

The marjoram has flowered

and with its flowering has come a cloud of butterflies -

in bird watching parlance:

lbjs

(little brown jobs)

The bees like it too.

I'm glad to see a bee.

They can't be taken for granted anymore.

Interiors

 I breezily assured Paul that I could tell him 
what I wanted to have done 

in the sitting room by the end of the week.

I waved a hand at the walls and said,

'Whitish matt',

then at the woodwork and said,

'Whitish eggshell.'

I glanced at the 

carpet and faltered.

Really it was time it went.

'Neutral?' I muttered.

'I'll get some samples.'

But the alcoves either side of the fireplace

have always been my personal experimental canvas.

They have been shocking pink.

At present they are teal.

And now Alice's blog has given me ideas.

I want hand painted birds,

trees and flowers

on a buttery yellow background.

This isn't something that can be rushed.

Perhaps this isn't even the right house.

 I am paralysed by indecision

and Paul wants answers.

I do what any right minded person does

when faced with too many paint charts, wallpaper books

and carpet samples :

I make raspberrry ripple icecream

( aka blood and bandages)

and in my delirious state 

believe I have created a rather splendid paint effect.

Is it time for marbling to make a comeback?

Essential maintenance

We're having a bit of decorating done.

If only our exterior had deteriorated as artistically 

as these railings at Ham House,

I'd have been tempted to leave well alone.

Now I am wondering if I can face emptying the kitchen

of pots and pans

so that Paul can get in there while we are away.

He has offered to tend the garden too

but can he be trusted with the topiary?

A few raspberries

We went raspberry picking today.

Got carried away.

Picked and picked,

punnets.

Needed a plan.

Raspberries

and redcurrants

made three 

jars of jam.

Add sugar and puree

500 grams;
some for a raspberry ripple ice cream,

some for raspberry Bellinis.

Remember the Summer Pudding option
and macerate a few with blackcurrants.

Freeze a tray for later in desperation.


Wash pots, trays, pans, blender, jug, sieve, plates, 
bowls, spoons, spatulas.

Wipe up stains on books, walls,

surfaces, floor, face.

Memo to self:
Enough is as good as a feast.

Free gifts

for the Coffee Lady,

from Pookie in Search of a Home,

by Ivy L. Wallace.

These have not quite succeeded in conjuring up 

the feelings that I remember

but now I think of it,the colours are reminiscent 

of those magic painting books 

which only needed water.

 I must see if they still make them,

to add to the gallery of childhood memory triggers:

the smell of trolls, Pez machines, raffia, plasticene,

vanilla sugar, pineapple chunk sweets,

dolls that need a post to themselves,
 Something to Do, Sunny Stories, 
Milly-Molly-Mandy, The Bobbsey twins, 
Lord of the Rushie River... 
(the books need another post too),
ships in bottles,ivory handled penknives,
brown gingham, 
violet scent and Lily of the Valley,

and most potent of all Aqua Manda soap
which I haven't smelt since I was sixteen.

Linings 2

I have a new ironing board cover.

It's white.

So far, so mundane.

But before I fitted it, I took the old beige one off.

Underneath that was a large flowery cover.

Underneath that was a small flowery cover.

Underneath that was a geometric patterned cover.

And underneath that should have been

a  secret envelope full of crackly money

like this:

because of this story.

 Linings have always held a special fascination for 

this closet exhibitionist.

(Pun not intended.)

Let's take a stroll through the coat cupboard

on a drizzly grey reversion to a typical British summer's day.

 Persephone Books had my number when they

introduced their silky grey jackets

with beautiful endpapers

taken from contemporaneous textiles.

The matching bookmarks are a

bonus hidden pleasure.

Perhaps the equivalent of a matching handkerchief

or hair ribbon.

Showtime

The phormium ,

sprawling

in a neglected spot

by the fence

has quite unexpectedly,

seized centre stage.

I was transfixed.

Our favourite walk summer blockbuster

A hot Saturday filled with fretful neighbourhood noises

and the detritus of recent decorating work

prompted a late decision

to head off to our favourite walk.

It is a long drive, but the promise of skylark's song

instead of screaming children,

the honeyed scent of downland flowers

instead of barbeque fuel fumes, 

and a whispering wind,

instead of whining strimmers 

was promised.

But our favourite walk had a strange new story to tell.

As we approached,

a fine grey mist drifted across the view.

It thickened.

Muffled.

Stilled.

Chilled.

(We wished we'd brought jumpers.)

Leached.

Obliterated.

 Now look east.

Paragliders are hurling themselves into the blue.

Oblivious.

Follow them.

Better?

Look back.

Look up.

Watch the light show.

Look down.

Look North.

Eat here.

Wait for

the happy ending.