grit's day

Two straight morning hours in the garden, starting The Great Winter Progress. 

Sunshine, 8C degrees, beating heart, full bin, perfect. 

Sto imparando l'italiano, lentamente. 

Iere, Mnc - lei è una buona amica - ha cucinato il risotto nella mia cucina. È stato fantastico! Ha vissuto in Italia per due decenni! Parliamo italiano. Io, lentamente. (E male.)

Oggi è il mio turno con un libro.

And I had fun, playing with my phone camera settings.

On the minus side, when I hang around at the back, staring intently at my phone, it looks like I'm an irredeemable addict. Tsk. Youth of today. 

I got into the Secret Maps exhibition at the British Library! Ordinarily I wander in on a whim, but today the entrance queue was round the shop. It was a full-to-capacity, one-in, one-out.

Amongst the crowds I did manage to snap one of my favourite maps - Glebe, Number 6, Smallburgh, Norfolk. Dated 1582.

Also, the exhibition closes in 24 hours, which might account for the queue.

For Death of Gesualdo, 'a theatrical concert fusing music, puppetry, and tableau vivant'. Fantastic! I am reminded to put St Martins back on my Things-to-do-in-London list.

And more out-of-focus photography...

The last few weeks have been challenging. But today I decided to do things I love! Like walking in the rain. What could be better? (Maybe I'm variety outdoors British.) I love the constant scattering of raindrops and cold wind on my face - bright and breezy, I'm alive! I have no need of a brolly. It wasn't up to the job anyway, so I photographed it as it fled the scene.

Thing out the house! 

Victorian Log Book. From the local School, to the local Museum. 

I am ashamed to have it; it was loaned years ago for educational research. Lacking lettering on a spine, it was swept into the Borges Bookcase, where three centuries of papers, leathers, canvas boards and curling corners intermingle. I am slowly advancing into the shelves.

Anyway, the local school log book, heavy on scripture lessons and discipline, now has a safer home.

Just for a few minutes, in Ampthill Great Park.

This year, my death-cleansing continues. The most useful advice I've yet received on this ritual is One Thing a Day. One thing out the house every day. The list this year includes a fabric throw, canvas box, and 100 photographic slides, including gun boats used in the Cod Wars of 1972. Let's hope the Icelandic Archives love them.

Also, I forgot to photograph them before they left. But I found this on the floor, so it'll do instead. It might be tomorrow's Thing. A Thing can be big or small, room-changing, or never-will-miss-it. A paperclip to a wardrobe. That helps.

I'm with Shark today. Everyone else has gone. 

We go on this walk and I tell her about the young woman I saw in Tesco on Christmas Eve. She was wearing a flawless drawn face with perfect coiffured hair, dressed in boots and unwrinkled pyjamas. Held in smooth hand with tapering fingernails before her, was a phone, picture-perfecting her steady walk through the harassed crowds. Her face, expressionless. The rest of us, exhausted and spent, making way, clutching our grubby last minute parsnips and cheap brandy sauce. 

I say to Shark I find it dispiriting that our cultural life seems to be no more aspirational than to be an influencer with a marketing plan. Then we're all running along, threatened with the miserable lives we are destined to have, if we should fail to 'live our best lives' and 'curate our authentic selves'.

I ask Shark, 'What will you do when you get back today?' She answers after a slight, thoughtful pause, 'Draw a goldfish.'

There's hope for humanity, yet. 

Family outing to see Avatar. The new one. The script is terrible. Don't go for that. It was so bad, at one point I felt the balance of my mind become disturbed. 

I cheered up a bit when I'm told that my script score of -10 was fair. People don't go to Avatar for the words apparently! They go for the spectacle. And American violence. Guns and fist fights.

Well, we got some great discussion from it, so not all bad. About the Romans, the process of film making, the emotional management of audiences, CGI and the role of writers. We covered good ground in a two-hour autopsy.

The photo, by the way, is not the Avatar audience. The screening was well attended, and I have my limits when it comes to crowd scenes. I took this photo some time ago when I was the only one in the audience.

I bought a pair of green velvet curtains for £2 from a car boot sale about ten years ago. 

They were hanging in the garden room for years, then spent four years in a cupboard. 

Today I cut up the second one to stitch it to the first, to turn a six foot curtain into a ten foot curtain.

The electric sewing machine spat out the velvet, so I complained for an unproductive time about things like Nap and Frister Rossman 1974. Then I gave in and hand sewed the lot. Here it is. 

Achievement looks like this.

This, earthworks at Shenley Toot, location of motte and bailey castle remains. I'm happy with the story that it dates from twelfth century battles between Stephen and Mathilda. (Living in revenge against the opinion that MK is just another new town.)

Illuminated my micro dressing room with fairy lights instead of overhead light. (Neither photographed.) Also, decided to paint the walls pink. Low bar for achievement today. Maybe it's a necessary step.

 Shopping, mostly for essentials.

 Shopping, mostly for essentials. Like crisps.

Crisps! Ahhh, why resist their crunchy charms?

I love them. 

Emergency curtain stitching, resulting in shonky mess. I'm consoling myself, over the hacked-up discarded theatre curtains I saved from a skip, that at the very least, they hold the house warmth, and they provide the black-out required for my Dark Academia office. Also, they do provide the back-drop for this bright, bright moment of happy figurines to contrast my melancholic death aesthetic.