To the Lighthouse and other places

A quick injection of colour to kick start 

a long overdue entry

on this blackest of November days 

with the clocks well and truly back.

At the end of October,

we climbed the Old Lighthouse at Dungeness

and saw the beautiful mirrored light at the top.

I'm very keen on this fool's Fair Isle wool 

and have embarked on a third hooded jumper for a grandchild,

in a size large enough to show off the colour variations 

to better advantage.

By way of complete contrast I came upon

this very old cemetery while out on a mundane errand

and was swallowed up by a wholly unexpected wilderness

only yards from a busy and nondescript street in south London.

(not our dog)

A graveyard of a different kind,

for Citroen 2 CVs inexplicably abandoned

and left to decay

on the banks of the River Rother.

Pictures from a trip to Spitalfields' Fournier Street,

could so easily have been scenes of decay

but houses worth £4000 in the 60s fetch millions now.

 That is the spiral staircase inside the aforementioned lighthouse.

Quite a climb but the view was worth it.

(only part way up)

The Royal Academy is exhibiting Antony Gormley's work.
The final piece Host was this room flooded with sea water.
As with all the pieces, my greatest interest was in fathoming
how they got everything installed.

It has been windy today

but not as windy as Tokyo.

Our son arrived in time for one typhoon

and was an old hand four weeks later

for Typhoon Hagibis.

The sun shone brightly the next morning

and we slept a little more easily that night. 

Spring corners

It has been the most remarkable year for Mimosa.

It must have been that early February warmth because

I have never seen it flower so abundantly.

I usually miss the moment when a few branches can be found at the florist

but this year it was everywhere, smelling of clean water.

This one was in a scrubby little patch next to some public toilets.

Bonnard had it outside his studio window.

This painting at the  Tate Modern exhibition

made a change from all the ones of his wives

stretched out palely in tepid bathwater.

Gorse and its coordinating This Way sign.

Purple leaved plum, now sadly blown about by recent gales.

Wild garlic.

Banner in a patch of rarely penetrating sunlight.

 A bold decision to paint this dresser top.

Previously preserved in all its knotty, stained, 

multi-nailed original condition for twenty years, 

because it somehow seemed necessary to respect its antique status, 

I suddenly saw it for what it was - ugly.

And it wouldn't be Spring (or Autumn) without observing

that the rainbows are back.

One thing and another

My headmistress had no suggestions to offer me for my future 

apart from occupational therapy.

I looked it up in the dusty Careers Room and saw that it meant basket making.

This may be why it has taken me 47 years 

to get around to making a basket.

I went on a one day course at Charleston Farmhouse

and came out with a willow  basket that now has pride of place

on the table, but I don't think I'll be making another one.

A visit to Eastbourne, 

the first place in the country to have an average age of over 70,

has persuaded me to buck up my ideas about the rest of my future.

Meanwhile gardens continue to delight.

My day lilies

and Sissinghurst's - 

only a tower and a flagpole missing from mine.

Seeking shade I lingered between high yew hedges

and sheltered in the gazebo,

away from those pesky strolling tourists.

I leave you with this three year old's depiction

of a sad fox howling at the moon.

Time to get the crayons out again I think.