Why do toadstools grow so close together?

They don't need mushroom.

I'm getting on splendidly and have made much more room

in the desk drawers and filing trays.
I dealt with stationery today and found some useful stamps.

There are 29 partially filled notebooks to face up to tomorrow.
I never got on with Filofaxes but
I do love a good notebook.
Annie drew my attention to these some while back.

I'll make room.

Just a Song at Twilight (The Remains of the Day)

Not quite twilight but a mystical quality about the light
which puts me in mind of a song.

I was taught to sing this as a party piece when very young.

 I would be brought forward for visitors, to stand pigeon-toed

and squirming to warble the melancholy chorus which for

some reason I thought was all about traffic lights.

It came in useful many years later when the demand for a 'turn'

was sprung on me at a supper party.

Kazuo Ishiguro was one of the transfixed guests on that occasion.

Out of sight

but never far from my mind,

the contents of the drawers,

(that lampshade's got to go)

(Sorting papers: Rule of Thumb: Discard Everything M.K)

Edited to say that these above are now Drawers of Joy.
You may take that quite literally.

(sweet and innocent but stuffed)

(this has a matching set on the opposite side),

shelves,

(mostly Northern husband's, further shelf not visible - untouched),

(mostly mine - hugely reduced),

cupboards,

(this above is possibly the scariest in terms of content),

(shelves above not visible),

(particularly deceptive this one as we sit on it daily

but inside there lurks a huge selection of board games

that nobody ever wants to play).

Where was I?

Piles and stacks,

(Marie has joined the stacks),

and suitcases,

of Doom.

And that's without showing you the Garage of Doom
 the Greenhouse of Doom
or the Desk of Doom at which I sit to pen
my Useful or Beautiful blog.
So there we have it.
Keeping it real.

Advent calendars

If you are in need of an Advent Calendar I would urge you to

visit, either in person or online, The Medici Gallery.

It was Frances who so kindly escorted me to this shop

on her recent visit to London.

This is typical of the generosity of spirit that shines from her blog

City Views, Country Dreams and it was a pleasure 

to be able to spend some time with her at the nearby V&A last week.

The selection was truly sumptuous.

The shop is crammed with cards and calendars

and you would be sure to find something to your taste.

What made the whole experience so much more fascinating

was that I got into conversation with a smiling lady called Christian,

who was also choosing Advent Calendars for her eleven grandchildren.

It emerged that she was not just any shopper,

but a descendant of Eustace Gurney, who with Philip Lee Warner

founded The Medici Society in 1908.

As we browsed she told me more about her 
family's involvement with the business.

When still a young woman, her grandfather sent her to Berlin

where, if I have this right, she unearthed two Rembrandts

which the company then had reproduced for sale to the general public.

They also had to rights to reproduce Dame Laura Knight's work

and I have a very early print of Spring, labelled the Medici Society

by appointment to the late King George V.

I wrote about it the mystery attending it here.

As a small child she loved to visit the house of Muriel Dawson in Invernesshire.
There were animals to play with and Muriel would sketch her for her paintings.
She thought that this one, which we found in the rack,
might well have been her.

One of their most popular artists was Margaret Tarrant.

So much so, that she was made a shareholder in 1938.
To my delight I found a poster of one of her paintings
which I had on my wall as a child.

I used to count these fairies instead of counting sheep
if I couldn't get to sleep.
And now it is reframed and ready for my grand daughter.
Luckily at the moment she doesn't seem to have any trouble
getting to sleep.

Free gifts

The tide rolls in and it flows out.

November days fly by.

We are discussing a present-free Christmas,
or at least a new approach,

 before we are gripped by the annual compulsion

to rush about replacing the stuff that we have so assiduously tried

to reduce in the last few months.

Has anyone else gone cold turkey?

Reflecting

on this book :

A new attitude to stuff and
what to do about it.

The charm of the picturesque

A reviewer* of the Edwin Smith exhibition had this to say,

They are 

'images that offer succour to the soul.'

His pictures,

'evoke feelings of nostalgia, longing and charm of the picturesque,

whose hold only seems to tighten amid ever increasing

social, economic and environmental change'.

*Owen Hopkins Apollo.

The photograph as a tribute

The man who lives in his eyes is continually confronted with scenes and spectacles 

that compel his attention or admiration and demand an adequate reaction.

To pass on without pause is impossible 
and to continue after purely mental applause is unsatisfying: 
some real tribute must be paid.

Photography, to most of its addicts is a convenient and simple means
 of discharging these ever-recurring debts to the visual world.

Olive Cook

Olive Cook was an art and architectural historian

married to the photographer Edwin Smith.

RIBA is currently showing a collection of his work from their archive.

If you are interested there is a great deal more about the couple here

and the exhibition here.

Things to do on the beach in October

Gallop.

Make a dog happy

by throwing pebbles for him to chase.

Bird watch.

Wish you could say you'd seen a Bar-tailed Godwit.

Find and pocket a useful Duralex tumbler.

Seek shells.

Marvel at the tenacity of Marram grass.

Watch the river flow into the sea.

Wonder what these razor shell initials stand for.

Find industrial archaeology.

Find beauty in debris

but wish there wasn't so much of it.

Admire the geology but stay away from the foot of the cliffs

because you've seen the rock fall without warning.

Stand and stare.

Wait for the sun to break through.

Stay as long as possible.

Watch the beach empty.