My Love Is Like A Red, Red Rose

Sky over Somerset Levels; Jane Coleman

Cumbrian Beck: Eleanor Culliford

Old Tidal Mill; Gillian Cole

Dear esteemed readers, apologies for yet another vanishing act. I’ve been super-busy; as you can see Alara products have all been repackaged, and I’ve added 3 new products: Rose Geranium*Myrrh facial oil, Lavender*Sandalwood facial oil, and Palmarosa*Frankincense facial oil. I’ve also been wrapping up at work to prepare for taking time off; I just returned from New York, more of which anon. The website is also being updated. Apart from that, I’ve been doing nothing in particular 🙂 I was absolutely exhausted by the time I travelled, hence the lack of posts. This post should have gone up just after the bank holiday. My lovely niece and I had a blast in Somerset that weekend. First up was a visit to an exhibition of work produced by the Combe Florey Art Circle in Bishops Lydeard. The quality of the work was a pleasant surprise although I had a feeling that it would be good – Jane Coleman (or the cloud guru as I like to call her) is a friend whose work I like very much. Examples of their work will be featured in this and upcoming posts. If you wish to invest in some good artwork, get in touch with them at Combe Florey Village Hall, Combe Florey, Taunton, TA4 3JD. Tel: 01823-432442. There are some excellent pieces that can be purchased for the same price as a mediocre print in London. They also had some luscious-looking cakes, but that is by-the-by; my critical integrity has not been compromised, we didn’t have time to stop for cakes.

Thorn tree; Chalice Well, Glastonbury

Menu@Macho Berry Cafe, Glastonbury

Citrine earrings, Silver Scene, Glastonbury

Next stop was Glastonbury. This was my third visit, and no, the all-too-elusive Excalibur was nowhere to be found. Drat, double drat, and triple drat. I still expect to be crowned as the once-and-future king, gender be damned. It’s only a matter of time. Slight digression; my niece instinctively called a female Arthur, Arthurina, just as I had. Nature or nurture? Whichever, genetics is a wonderful thing.

I nearly killed myself staggering up the Tor, and I went the so-called ‘easy’ way this time. I am ridiculously unfit. It was hilarious watching the little children skipping up the hillside, well, like kids, really 🙂 while their red-faced parents gasped for breath like fish out of water. Some were even struggling to breathe coming down the hill, which was a bit much! The view was worth it, as usual. The whole of Glasto is amazing. I wish I could have seen it when the levels were covered with water- Ynys Wydryn, the Glass Isle. That would have been a sight worth seeing. We also went to Chalice Well which was as peaceful as always, and yes, I did drink the water. If the Holy Grail is buried there, then obvs, I will partake of the water from that spring. I also walked in the offrun of the Vesica Piscis for about 30 seconds before I had to get out; I’ve never been in such cold water my entire born life and I’ve paddled in the North Sea, fool that I am. This was despite the ambient temperature being in the upper 20s. Forget Excalibur. If you can bathe in that water for 2 minutes, you should be crowned king or queen. Yikes.

We also looked at the Christmas Thorn tree which flowers biannually at Christmas and Easter, apparently unlike other such trees which only flower once a year. I love this legendary stuff. But is it just a legend?………. We’d been to buy plants earlier for my rejuvenated garden so we were high on the smell of sap and pollen. More prosaically, thank God for antihistamines! We wrapped up by wandering around the town. My niece got very excited at ‘Burns the Bread’. Yep, weirdo Londoners. She bought what felt like 40 kilos of bread, and a Glastonbury pasty. She wanted to know what made it a Glstonbury pasty. I told her that it was a pasty made in Glastonbury. When she asked the lady at the counter, she was told exactly the same thing, but with a bit of Glasto magic added 🙂 It was delicious BTW. I was more enamoured of the beautifully-made Citrine earrings in the window at the silver shop. We wrapped up with an amazing waffle & coltted cream ice cream combo at Mocha Berry cafe. I loved the ‘Executive’ dish on the menu. Glastonbury? Well worth a visit. Don’t forget to look at the Combe Florey Art Circle paintings. Toodle pip.

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Bank Holiday Awesomeness

Apologies for having gone AWOL for a while. I’ve been so busy, it’s unreal. If I tell you that I haven’t even had time to finish the newspaper every day, those who know me would faint from the shock. Yep, it’s the first cogent sign of the coming apocalypse; veritably worthy of its own Bates cartoon. The only time off I’ve had was the bank holiday which was actually quite groovy as we say @AlaraApothecary. It was my nephew’s birthday, and they got his cake from Violet. Gasp! Amazement!! Yes indeedy, the very same Violet who is baking the ROYAL CAKE (definitely needs capitals) even as we speak (definitely needs bold font). Many more exclamation marks.

The Famous Cake

If you don’t give a damn one way or another, why, you must be a Londoner 🙂 Not that Violet needs any more publicity, but that cake was delicious. Her buttercream is a bit dodgy, I could still differentiate sugar crystals, but the cake itself was a wowzer. I got a party pack to bring home, sat down the next day, made a nice cup of tea, opened the foil….. and found barbecued chicken. I could have cried. If one of the partygoers pulled a switcheroo on me, I’m going to hunt that sucker down.

Bank holiday highlights apart from the party…… The guy with a huge beer belly outside the Devonshire Arms next to Camden tube station. Logo on his T-shirt? ‘South London Scum’ Now, that’s class, that is. He was accompanied by four equally gorgeous pals flaunting their bellies with their unbuttoned shirts. It was so funny, I nearly crashed the car. Other highlights included watching Londoners turn to the sun after 6 months of deprivation. It should be our motto: “Londoners, 50% sunflower, 50% lizard, 100% sunworshipper”. Some hardy souls were disporting themselves on the South Bank ‘beach’ as per my pics. Personally, I’d rather go to the source and drink a pint of Hepatitis B viral particles. Saves time.

Went to the Tate Bankside. Amazing, as usual. I’d forgotten that Boccioni’s beautiful Unique Forms of Continuity in Space is there. The last one I saw was in MOMA. I love that sculpture; my heart rate actually increased as I happened upon it unexpectedly. I think I need help.

Best new find? Cildo Meireles’ ‘Babel 2001’. It’s perfect. You have to experience the installation in situ. It’s unusual to find a recent work that is so clear in concept and execution. Frankly, the notes on the wall should be removed. I’m with Mattise who said, ‘artists should have their tongues cut out’. If you have to explain it to me in 500 words, you haven’t done your job. Go and see that installation, NOW. It’s really good. Other faves… El Anatsui’s ‘Inksplash II‘, that gorgeous Gerhard Richter painting ‘The musing of my mind‘, the Bridget Riley ‘To a summer day 2‘ artwork,  André Fougeron’s ‘Atlantic Civilisation‘, Victor Vasarely’s ‘Supernovae‘, Carlos Criz-Diez’s ‘Physichromie no 113‘. When modern art is good, it’s very good indeed. However, my newest crush is not in the Tate. Step forward Ndidi Ekubia. Her silverware is astonishingly beautiful. If I ever find some loose change behind the sofa…..

Have a wonderful, beauty-filled week.

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Salone Baloney

I was going to write about the highlights of the premier interior design show, Salone del Mobile, in this post. Turns out there were no highlights. Dull,dull,dull——the lack of inspirattion and paucity of ideas makes me want to smack my head against the nearest wall. If I never see another blasted chair inspired by mid-century furniture presented as thnough it were the acme of artistic endeavour again, it won’t be a day too soon. And please, no more blasted grey. We live in northern climes; there’s enough grey overhead to be going on with. Ye gods and little fishes, it fair makes me want to weep. Over-react? Moi? But seriously, what is all this rubbish? And to add insult to injury, they present this stuff as if they are showing Michelangelo’s latest sculpture. It is entirely sick-making. The few standouts that I’ve seen so far are: the ever-reliable Jaime Hayon’s new rugs for Ninamarquina, the Polifemo cabinet by Elena Salmistraro, Coral Bed by Andreas Varotsos, Painting (screen) by Alessandra Baldereschi, and Long Cabinet by Nika Zupanc. Everything else is either old news or should be used as firewood. Where is Girolamo Savonarola when you need him? It’s just really disheartening to see the big companies giving the resources to the same old, tired gang of idea-free designers when there are a gazillion unrecognised young artisans turning out really good work that is generally ignored.

Rant over. Instead, I’m going to tell some tasteless jokes. AlaraApothecary: reducing the world’s IQ one person at a time. Here goes:

A fifteen year old Amish boy and his father were in a mall. They were amazed by almost everything they saw, but especially by two shiny, silver walls that could move apart and then slide back together again. The boy asked, “What is this Father?” The father (never having seen an elevator) responded, “Son, I have never seen anything like this in my life, I don”t know what it is.” While the boy and his father were watching with amazement, a fat old lady in a wheel chair moved up to the moving walls and pressed a button. The walls opened, and the lady rolled between them into a small room. The walls closed, and the boy and his father watched the small numbers above the walls light up sequentially. They continued to watch until it reached the last number, and then the numbers began to light in the reverse order. Finally the walls opened up again and a gorgeous 24-year-old blond stepped out. The father, not taking his eyes off the young woman, said quietly to his son… “Go get your Mother.”

A man in Scotland calls his son in London the day before Christmas Eve and says,“I hate to ruin your day but I have to tell you that your mother and I are divorcing; forty-five years of misery is enough.” ‘Dad, what are you talking about?’ the son screams. “We can’t stand the sight of each other any longer” the father says. “We’re sick of each other and I’m sick of talking about this, so you call your sister in Leeds and tell her.” Frantically, the son calls his sister, who explodes on the phone. “Like hell they’re getting divorced!” she shouts, “I’ll take care of this!” She calls Scotland immediately, and screams at her father “You are NOT getting divorced. Don’t do a single thing until I get there. I’m calling my brother back, and we’ll both be there tomorrow.Until then, don’t do a thing, DO YOU HEAR ME?” and hangs up. The old man hangs up his phone and turns to his wife. ‘Sorted! They’re coming for Christmas – and they’re paying their own way.’

Have a wonderful week. Toodle pip.

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The Sun Has Got Its Hat On

How marvellous is it to see some sunshine. I finally realised that I have a Vitamin D deficiency by using simple deductive reasoning- the sun came out and  a lot of the malaise- like symptoms I’ve had since October started to resolve. When I told everyone I was going to Italy for the sunshine last November, well, they scoffed. Turns out my body was talking to me all along. Now to see if I can get a holiday to the Seychelles on the NHS…..

It struck me this weekend that most of the stuff that makes me happy is really simple: I met some friends and went shopping, bought two ceiling pendants for a tenner each ( I absolutely loathe the art-deco style ones I’ve had for soooo long. They had to go!) I couldn’t have been happier if I’d bought one of those beautiful Lindsey Adelman lights. I even left the lights on just to look at the lovely diffused effect. My electricity provider is thrilled 🙂 The sunshine has been so lovely that even the drive along the M4 was amazing. Beautiful shades of green and that lovely yellow from the fields of rapeseed. It was well worth the resultant mainlining of antihistamines. Then I dropped in to see my ex-neighbour who told me many scurrilous tales about fellow Chiswick residents. Some of them were even true. She is just about the funniest person I’ve ever met. Would love to share the stories but for sure, I’d get sued.

My favourite story so far this week? The National Trust has issued merchandise to mark the centennial of the suffragette movement. What sort of items have they produced as keepsakes? Tea towels. I nearly choked on the grape I was eating. Someone at the NT has an excellent sense of humour 🙂 Cue well-deserved feminist outrage. The best bit? The spokesman (person??) said, ” Tea towels have always been part of our souvenir offer as decorative comemorative items – they aren’t always about drying the crockery” You tell  ’em, pal. Nothing says ‘female empowerment’ like a nice, pastel-coloured teatowel. Except maybe a really lovely ironing board, or a nice set of chains and shackles to go with the commemorative kitchen sink. You’d need a heart of stone not to laugh. Have a terrific week my dears, as long as your hubby has given you permission to do so. Toodle pip.

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plus ça change

I was going to make today’s post a diatribe about the iniquities of our leaders and the wickedness being perpetrated in Syria but quite frankly, I believe that my poor readers need a break from contemplating the parlous state of human interactions. I am no peacenik, in fact I’m notorious for wading into battle when provoked but I struggle to see the point of raining missiles on the heads of the poor Syrian people who have surely suffered enough. Why the megalomaniac superpowers are choosing to fight a proxy war in Syria is a complete myustery to me. If we really believe that Russia is a pestilential rogue state that we as the world’s policemen must deal with, put your money where your mouth is. Direct the Hellfire missiles at Moscow and St. Petersburg. When they retaliate by levelling St.Albans, Bordeaux, or Cincinnati and we meet that consequence with a needs-must shrug, then I’ll really accept that we believe in our actions. It doesn’t seem to matter who is in power, we end up with warmongering psycopathic behaviour. All this aggresion based on a level of ‘facts’ and ‘evidence’ that would not secure a shoplifting conviction in any court of law. The argument seems to be ‘ Assad is highly likely(!) to be using chemical weapons even though he has all but won the war, and the Russians are helping him in ways we can’t prove. I know! Let’s bomb the Syrians. That will put an end to this nonsense.’  It is all inexpressibly depressing. Sorry, turns out I couldn’t help the diatribe after all but it royally ticks me off. This is what Syria used to look like before the sons and daughters of Belial decided to destroy it:

In a bid to cheer us all up, I will move to the much saner world of design, where coffee tables cost £10,000 and beds are £25,000. OK, maybe not so sane after all. Salone del Mobile is about to kick off, hurrah and huzzah. In that spirit of creativity and exuberance, today’s images include the oh-so-beauteous pendant light by Chiara Colombini, street art by Vhils, a mental gold kitchen by Stine Goya of Reform, and Fabio Novembre’s art furniture. Brought a smile to your faces I hope. I look forward to updating you on the wild fruits of designers’ imaginations as Salone goes on. I leave you with some poems to cheer us all up. Have a lovely, peaceful week:

The Orange

By Wendy Cope

At lunchtime I bought a huge orange
The size of it made us all laugh.
I peeled it and shared it with Robert and Dave—
They got quarters and I had a half.

And that orange it made me so happy,
As ordinary things often do
Just lately. The shopping. A walk in the park
This is peace and contentment. It’s new.

The rest of the day was quite easy.
I did all my jobs on my list
And enjoyed them and had some time over.
I love you. I’m glad I exist.

 

I Am My Own Grandpa
By Moe Jaffe & Dwight Latham
It was many many years ago when I was twenty-three,
I was married to a widow, she’s as pretty as can be.
This widow had a grown-up daughter who had hair of red,
my father fell in lover with her, and soon these two were wed.This made my dad my son-in-law and changed my very life:
My daughter was my mother ’cause she was my father’s wife.
And then to complicate the matter, though it brought me joy,
I soon became the father of a bouncing baby boy.This bouncing baby then became a brother-in-law to dad,
and so became my uncle, though it made me very sad,
for if he was my uncle then he also was the brother
of the widow’s grown-up daughter, who, of course, was my step-mother.

Father’s wife then had a son who kept them on the run.
And he became my grandchild, for he was my daughter’s son.
My wife is now my mother’s mother, and it makes me blue,
because although she is my wife, she’s my grandmother, too.

Now if my wife is my grandmother, then I am her grandchild.
And every time I think of it, it nearly drives me wild.
For now I have become the strangest case you ever saw.
Husband of my grandmother, I am my own grandpa.

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