The boyfriend has decided that he needs to take more exercise. This means that we now spend Sunday mornings going on increasingly long bike rides in the countryside surrounding our house, which is great and I'm all in favour of that kind of thing. It also means that he feels the need to buy lots of new sports equipment and clothes, so he can look the part even if he isn't quite as fit as he'd like to be.
So we found ourselves in the section of TK Maxx called "Technical Clothing" (I do so love TK Maxx... I don't know if this is true of all branches, but our local one has an entire rack devoted to kaftans) and he decided to buy a top. It was not just any top. It looked like one of those natty airtex numbers that used to be compulsory for school P.E. classes, but it promised so much more. It would stop you feeling sweaty. It would let air flow freely around your underarm area. It would look good even after vigorous activity. Unfortunately the one thing it wouldn't do was take itself from the dirty laundry hamper and put itself in the washing machine, so when he got it covered in bike oil over the weekend I ended up trying to get it clean again. I checked the label to see what temperature it was supposed to be washed at and it said "wash when dirty." I couldn't help thinking that this was truly a garment designed for a man.
Monday, April 23, 2007
Monday, April 16, 2007
War Art
The BBC News "In Pictures" section is currently featuring some of the work of Michael Fay, a U.S. Marine and official "Combat Artist". He's been to Afghanistan and Iraq and created sketches, paintings and sculptures depicting what he's seen there. Whatever views we each hold about those particular combat zones and the presence of America within them, the fact that there are stories there that need to be told is something which we cannot deny. Acts of creative witness are fundamentally necessary.
I have kept a picture by the World War I artist C.R.W. Nevinson by my computer for the past eight years or so - "Bursting Shell", created in 1915. It's an inspiration. It gives me something to think about. It shows a rainbow star of colour and disjointed fragments of trench supports looming out of the dark, trying to represent something terrifying yet strangely beautiful. There is a vast body of war art by Nevinson, most of which does not see the light of day very often. A few years ago the Imperial War Museum in London put on a retrospective of his work. He also painted a series of studies of industrial Britain in a construction boom, with cranes and tower blocks. Out of the march of progress, the emergence of mechanised warfare and the sheer out-of-controlness of what humans can do to each other and the world around them, he found something that he felt he could document in art. Work like his, and that of Michael Fay, adds a powerful dimension to our collective memory. It enriches and illuminates the key aspects of history that we absolutely must reflect upon and that we certainly must never forget.
Michael Fay "In Pictures"
I have kept a picture by the World War I artist C.R.W. Nevinson by my computer for the past eight years or so - "Bursting Shell", created in 1915. It's an inspiration. It gives me something to think about. It shows a rainbow star of colour and disjointed fragments of trench supports looming out of the dark, trying to represent something terrifying yet strangely beautiful. There is a vast body of war art by Nevinson, most of which does not see the light of day very often. A few years ago the Imperial War Museum in London put on a retrospective of his work. He also painted a series of studies of industrial Britain in a construction boom, with cranes and tower blocks. Out of the march of progress, the emergence of mechanised warfare and the sheer out-of-controlness of what humans can do to each other and the world around them, he found something that he felt he could document in art. Work like his, and that of Michael Fay, adds a powerful dimension to our collective memory. It enriches and illuminates the key aspects of history that we absolutely must reflect upon and that we certainly must never forget.
Michael Fay "In Pictures"
Friday, April 06, 2007
We'll always have Paris
I've just returned from a wonderful holiday in Paris with the boyfriend - our first proper holiday in many years. We rented an appartment in the Latin Quarter, bought fresh croissants for breakfast daily, climbed the Eiffel Tower, saw the Louvre and generally had all sorts of little adventures. As we had no internet access in Paris I couldn't blog from there. Consequently I have many stories to tell, but I don't know where to start, so I think I'll just drop them into the blog as and when they crystallize into appropriately sized little tales. Watch out for them - a sort of "narrative confetti".
Returning to mundane English life has been surprisingly difficult. On Monday morning I found myself craving a chocolat chaud, but I didn't just want a hot, sweet drink. I wanted to walk into a cafe and sit down at a table, have a waiter wish me good morning, take my order and bring my drink. I wanted to sit and watch interesting things happen outside as I enjoyed my hot chocolate. Somehow waiting in line at my local Starbuck's wouldn't have cut it. By Monday evening I started to wonder what to get for dinner, having been used to the boyfriend popping out to get fresh veggies, cheese and fish most evenings from the market outside our holiday flat, or to us stolling round the corner to a little bistro for a meal. Then I realised that we had to get in the car and drive to Sainsbury's. To add insult to injury, Sainsbury's was full of drunken teenagers because of the school Easter holidays. This didn't improve my mood. Some of them were singing "Vindaloo".
Now it's Friday and things are almost feeling as if I've never been away. The challenge, of course, is to maintain some of the relaxed, cheerful holiday escapism in everyday life. So next time I absent-mindedly say "merci beaucoup" to a cashier in a shop, I'll allow myself a wry smile and a momentary dream of Paris... and start to plan my next trip.
Returning to mundane English life has been surprisingly difficult. On Monday morning I found myself craving a chocolat chaud, but I didn't just want a hot, sweet drink. I wanted to walk into a cafe and sit down at a table, have a waiter wish me good morning, take my order and bring my drink. I wanted to sit and watch interesting things happen outside as I enjoyed my hot chocolate. Somehow waiting in line at my local Starbuck's wouldn't have cut it. By Monday evening I started to wonder what to get for dinner, having been used to the boyfriend popping out to get fresh veggies, cheese and fish most evenings from the market outside our holiday flat, or to us stolling round the corner to a little bistro for a meal. Then I realised that we had to get in the car and drive to Sainsbury's. To add insult to injury, Sainsbury's was full of drunken teenagers because of the school Easter holidays. This didn't improve my mood. Some of them were singing "Vindaloo".
Now it's Friday and things are almost feeling as if I've never been away. The challenge, of course, is to maintain some of the relaxed, cheerful holiday escapism in everyday life. So next time I absent-mindedly say "merci beaucoup" to a cashier in a shop, I'll allow myself a wry smile and a momentary dream of Paris... and start to plan my next trip.
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