Back to the beginning

I’ve just finished this rather compelling book and now think I need to go right back to the beginning and read it again.

Libya

When we travel, we try to gather an insight into wherever we are, going beyond the simple tourist sites and learning more about ordinary life and culture.  Travelling to Libya last year, we felt that we’d gone some way to achieve this and came home with a different image of the country and its people from the one we had previously.  As a result of this, the ordinary people of Tripoli are very much on my mind this morning. 

I believe the BBC correspondent was standing not far from this spot this morning, outside the elegant hotel where we spent a couple of days.  He described the events going on around him to the sound of shells and gunfire.

I wonder what’s become of these people?  Where is the young woman who stopped to wish us welcome to her country, to thank us for visiting and to hope that we enjoy our stay?  Where are all the refugees from elsewhere in Africa, that were welcomed into the country as part of the regime?  Where are all the families in the marketplace, the young women we met whilst visiting the museum, the charming young man we met at Leptis Magna and his family?

What’s happening in those delightful newly-restored buildings in central Tripoli, where hopes were high for a tourism revival and confidence in the future was placed in beautiful small guesthouses like this?

But uppermost in my mind this morning, what’s become of our dear friend Mohammed and his family?  The incredibly well-read man who made us laugh with his comparison between the Sahara and Weston-super-Mare and who taught us a great deal about life in Libya and the world in general, seen though very different eyes? 

Sad to say, I have no idea.

See more of our photographs of Tripoli and beyond here and hope that all will be well.  Read the blog posts of our incredible time in Libya starting here and hope that, sometime soon, we’ll be able to go there again and feel that Sahara sand between our toes

because really, it’s a long way from Weston super Mare.

Saturday

It’s a funny old day today...it doesn’t know if it’s going to rain or if the sun’s going to shine. Can’t settle. Neither can I!

We went to Uncle Tobe’s funeral yesterday, in Cheltenham and parked in the small car park beside a gravestone marked “Brian Jones”.  In front of the stone there was a tupperware box with something inside and of course, I had to take a closer look.  Sure enough, it was the grave of one of the original Rolling Stones and someone had left a book in his memory there by the headstone.

The funeral was, well, a fitting tribute to a gentleman of 98 years old.  Sad, but a chance to meet other members of his family and to chat and reminisce. 

We arrived home to find the tree surgeons had opened up some pretty large spaces in the old walnut tree which has been overhanging our garden room rather precariously.  They’ve been working for several days now in rain, wind and short bursts of sunshine and have finally done what they can to keep this particular old thing in relatively good shape.  Not only did they take away all the dead wood, they’ve also cleaned our paths and terrace at the same time – bless them.  One less job for us to do – hooray!

It’s clear from the garden that the season is changing already, though.  The scabious are over, leaving these lovely seed heads behind.

Our pink and blue garden is slowly transforming into the orange and blue of late summer and though there was a great deal of warmth in the ten minutes or so of sunny spell we had just now, the grass is wet and there’s a bit of a chill in the air first thing.

By the kitchen door, these lords and ladies are putting on a great show, too.

There’s a remarkably healthy crop of apples and we’ve enjoyed some luscious greengages for lunch.  Edward’s been home this weekend for the funeral, so he’s been out there with a bowl or two and the kitchen is full of fruit which needs attention.

Speaking of fruit, these two small wild strawberries won’t make a meal but they did snap me out of the melancholy mindset at last, by reminding me of this little treasure.

Given to me by the children of Flaxton (scroll down to see a picture of this tiny village school) at the end of my idyllic, final teaching practice in the summer of 1977, the year of the Queen’s Silver jubilee.  We’d had a picnic on the village green to celebrate the jubilee on a beautiful Summer’s day, attracting the interest of the cows nearby, much to the children’s amusement.  With just a handful of children in the infant group, taught in the hall just down the street and about a dozen juniors in the building shown in the photograph, this was just about the best way to spend a couple of months I could think of.  The little piece of Wedgewood china is a lovely reminder of happy summer days!

Late Summer

When we planted the new lavender border in our garden, the grower advised pruning “8-8-8”, that’s to 8 inches on the 8th of the 8th month.  This year, it was still in full bloom on that date and so we were a little later than the 8th cutting it back.  In fact, my hero did it yesterday whilst I was gallivanting around the capital.

We had quite a lot of trimmings; definitely enough to share.  So this afternoon, our friends came over to make some lavender bags and rattles.

 

Making a lavender rattle is easy and a great way to use a few lavender stems from your garden.  I’ve uploaded a tutorial here for you to download.

Crispin the bear came too but he didn’t seem to be terribly interested in joining in the fun.

In a couple of hours, we’d managed half a dozen rattles and four lavender bags – enough for grannies and friends with a couple left over to keep.

You wouldn’t believe how calm we were by the end of the afternoon…

Another world

I was on the 7.05am train yesterday morning, on my way up to London to spend a day listening to the presentations of some young and rather inspiring professionals.  It’s the third or fourth time I’ve joined this group of people and as well as finding it incredibly interesting, I always hope that I’ll be able to make an effective contribution to the decision making process.

The best bit is that the meeting takes place in an area of London I’d otherwise overlook; the streets behind the old Army and Navy Stores on Victoria Street, the area around Westminster Cathedral.

Just a step away from the busy street lies a mostly residential area filled with charming red brick mansion blocks, quiet thoroughfares with little patches of garden and small surprises in the form of contemporary glass extensions and  preserved old house frontages.

I stopped to take a photograph of this lovely grille outside one of those apartment buildings, attracting a questioning look from the two builders sitting on the steps drinking tea.

But how could I pass this by?

When the “work” of the day was over, I hot footed it over to Selfridges where I met our boy for a delightful couple of hours in the most civilised of circumstances.  Yes, there’s an iphone in his hand, but it’s mine as he rapidly demonstrates his mother’s incapacity to cut and paste address details from a text message to the contact list.  I’m fairly sure I could have done it but it was one of those moments to sit back and enjoy; to accept his offer of help gracefully and watch; to feel thankful to be able to savour some time in his company over a glass of something delicious.

What a lovely day.

Because, of course, it will soon be Christmas.