Yoohoo!

Well, I was waving as we flew over our own little patch of countryside but I suspect my hero was already busy getting on with his long list of things to do whilst he’s home alone.  Though I scrambled to the nearest window to take a quick photo, in no time we were away and out over the Atlantic and we settled into that no mans' land of eat-snooze-read-listen.  Only in the last minutes of the flight did a conversation with the woman sitting in “my hero’s seat” reveal that she too inhabits that little green patch in the photo above.  From the next village in fact.

Once in the city, a quick shower was in order – I’d have preferred it to have been just the bathroom kind but the heavens opened and right on time, a slightly damp-around-the-edges Jordi appeared from the deluge outside.  We made our way by hot and sticky subway to the Canal St station and, for the first time, noted the artwork – NYC stations are great places to see public art and though “The Gathering” gave me the creeps (I have a real thing about birds), I thought it clever.

No two birds were the same, they were grouped in realistic poses and I was keen to move right along!

Anyway, Purl was calling and with the rain still tipping down outside, we were glad to take refuge in this haven of colour and texture.

Such fun to see the real life samples from the website.  Purl is such an inspiring place.  Interesting too, to see that they are promoting rather more traditional needlework techniques of late – I suppose everything that goes around comes around, eventually.

Did we buy?

By now I was feeling peckish and it was time to find the other reason for heading down to this part of town.

My NYC Moleskine “bible” has a new addition – the Cubana Cafe on Thompson Street,  not only delivered food which hit the spot but also delicious mojitos.  Well, it was Happy Hour, wasn’t it?

The work starts tomorrow!

Got everything?

• cool, cotton clothes  - yes
• comfortable shoes – yes
• chargers and adapters – yes
• crayons – yes
• builders scrim…?

Yes, of course I’ve got the builders scrim.

I’m off to New York this morning for my digital printing class.  See you later!

Friday supper, 2011 style

We’ve always been pretty hot on eating meals at the table.  None of those tray-top takeaways here, where places to takeaway are just too far to…well…bring it home hot.  Now there are just two of us at home, however, we have developed a bad habit of watching TV as we eat our evening meal, in particular.  Often it’s the first chance to catch up on the news, other times it’s simply that there’s a programme we’d like to catch, which was the case this evening, when Simon Hopkinson was on TV.

Simon has long been a favourite.  We are fans of the small, simple “roast chicken”  paperbacks and frequently refer to his “Week In Week Out” as well.  Bibendum has provided some of our most memorable meals (hasn’t it, Mary?) and as a result, as we enjoyed our supper this evening, we were also enjoying the preparation of Fish Pilaf.

But this is the 21st century, isn’t it?  And surely, no-one would be surprised that an iphone was on hand, complete with QR reader app, ready and waiting for when the dish was complete?

And being “that” kind of household, that a digital camera was also nearby, to be able to record that moment when the iphone was held to the screen, to capture the 2D barcode in an instant?

Resulting in the recipe being there, ready in the twinkling of an eye; so quickly it even took my hero’s breath away.

There.  You didn’t really think he was so easily impressed, did you?

However, one of us is an old hand when it comes to 2D barcodes and is secretly rather thrilled that the rest of the world is finally catching up.  Except I’ve moved on to this

Details here.  Download the free Microsoft tag reader for your smartphone and hover over the colourful square above.

How clever is that?

Advice for a wet Sunday

Don’t go to the V&A.

My hero was meeting some of his online chums at the weekend, to go to a Prom concert in the Albert Hall, so I cadged a ride and nabbed a couple of tickets for the last gasps of the Cult of Beauty exhibition about Aestheticism at the V&A.  I’d read mostly good things about it and looked forward to an afternoon of interesting and thought-provoking art in the company of a friend who knows way more about such things than I do.

I met my accomplice and following tradition, gathered the photographic evidence of possibly the one and only occasion during the whole time we were there that we were not elbow to elbow with the world, his wife and his family.  Because, of course, it was a horrid, wet, Sunday afternoon and the V&A offered a free, dry and warm place to take the family.

Normally, we’d go straight to visit the fashion and textiles, but they’re closed for renovation right now.  Following the advice of a young member of staff, we decided to head up to the Performing Arts section, intrigued by his recommendation that “there are some things worn by famous people up there”.

 

To get to that part of the museum, we took a route through the contemporary jewellery, my eye being caught by this gorgeous piece of Lalique’s work.  The further from the hub of the shop and cafe we went, the quieter it became and our tenacity was rewarded by an almost empty gallery of theatrical bits and pieces.

Empty except for a woman taking endless shots of items in glass cases using the flash on her camera.  Irritating.

But this was a fascinating collection of this and that – hard to follow in some ways, because the exhibits were displayed in themes rather than chronologically.  But having the luxury of time and space to look closely at some things and walk straight past others, we did exactly that, noting the exhibits referred to by our friend downstairs: outfits worn by Elton John, Edna Everage, Mick Jagger and Adam Ant amongst others.  We took a close look at some of the theatre costumes, weighing up the requirements for costumes to be washable, well-constructed with necessary details visible from the back of the stalls.  I loved the little notebook full of sketches for stage sets, all annotated on the opposite page.

Oh, and there was Kylie’s dressing room, complete with soft toys, half a dozen pairs of shoes and a whole raft of makeup. (Did I tell you that I sat next to her at Heathrow, once?  That she was tiny, looked utterly exhausted but smiled the whole time in spite of constant requests for autographs and photographs…I decided to leave her in peace and resisted!)

My favourite exhibit of all was this notice, pinned to the theatre door by the long-suffering manager whose patience has been tried just once too often by the unreliable Mr Berry. 

I wonder what happened to him?

By now, it was time to make our way down to the exhibition space used for temporary shows and, contrary to the hope offered when I booked the tickets (“Oh, you’ll be fine – there’s plenty of availability”) it was a sell out.  All day long, a stream of people had passed through those doors into that stuffy little exhibition space and by late afternoon, it was not exactly the most comfortable of places to be.  My patience was wearing a little thin, my intolerance of those exhibition-goers who, having acquired an audio tour gadget, clamp it to their ears and become totally unaware of the rest of the world was soaring to record levels and seeing the first few paintings reminded me that I am really not at all fond of the pre-raphaelites.  Reading some of the commentary (when I could squeeze myself into a position to be able to do so) it all seemed rather self-indulgent, I thought.  Having said that, there were some beautiful decorative pieces, the overall “look” of the show was great and the fine art v decorative art conversation both interesting and illuminating.

But oh my, the people.

Time to go!  Thankfully, not to a restaurant packed with tourists or to a place  like the V&A cafe where the number of people with trays of food was rather larger than the number of tables at which they could sit.  I was lucky to enjoy the comforts of home,  to share the Sunday roast and extravagant pudding in the most generous and charming company before making my way back to meet my hero for the ride home.

Back in the groove

The fun has lingered a little longer but finally, we’ve come back down to earth.  We spent Monday pottering around London and drove home late afternoon with a stowaway: Mary.  Well, of course, all surprises were out by then, so I didn’t need to ask her to hide in the boot or anything and simply announced that, by the way, we have a houseguest for a few days!

How lovely to have her company for a little while longer, to have the excuse to have a morning in Tetbury instead of doing washing and catching up with work.  St Mary’s Parish Church (top picture) was looking lovely in the sunshine, but by the time we came out again, the clouds had covered over the blue sky and the best part of the day had gone.

We admired the painted bunting on the shop window, thinking that it was even more effective than the real thing.  Very eye-catching!

Further down (?up) Long Street is the most amazing florist where I could spend all morning.  Magical!

Then, spending only a few minutes in the Highgrove Shop which is a shadow of its former self, sadly, and well on the way to becoming a National Trust clone, we turned the corner and spent rather longer in the bookshop and Bristows, a gem of a treasure trove which has been surprising us as long as we’ve lived here.  Full to the brim with exotic textiles, furnishings and all kinds of ephemera, it’s always been a delight to drop in – who’d have thought those magnificent wood panels were in a Cotswold garden?  Finally, gathering bread from our favourite baker and something for tomorrows lunch from our favourite butcher it was time for home.

Sadly, Mary had to head for the airport whilst we had an invitation to tea.  Though our small friends had shared in the London-based fun, they invited us to an after school treat and having said – real, this time – farewells to Mary, we enjoyed lovely sandwiches and cakes and an all-round jolly occasion which was the grand finale to the birthday surprises.

We’re now back into our groove and a few sunny days have brought out another bunch of small friends who seem to have made our garden their chosen playground.  It’s a few years since we saw a group of foxcubs like this and watching them chase around the garden in broad daylight is fascinating.  I’m not sure our neighbour’s chickens feel quite so comfortable, though.

As for me, it’s back to work, with three full days in a row.  I’ll squeeze in a little culture this weekend, though.