in the Life Class, which was divertingly chaotic. I'd booked a pregnant female model for this evening's class but she couldn't make it, so one of the office staff agreed to fall asleep and let us draw her, I put some Agnes Obel on the music box and it was lovely.
The Man has been filming jaguars in Costa Rica, standing far too close while they suck the heads off gigantic flipping turtles. He was also nearly squeezed to death by a giant boa constrictor but he returned alive to Bristol last week. I was missing
him and missing being at home so I took a break from studies to go and make dinners, do laundry and
sniff the Bristol air.
Our home has been
languishing emptily but now we are joined by two new female housemates:
Lu is Chinese, she is studying how to prevent landslides, this is
research commissioned by the controversial Three Gorges Dam project. Our other housemate Sarah is employed as a danger-aversion-person by EDF who are building a controversial nuclear plant near Bristol.
been instructing Lu in the art of moth-combat and the need to shake
woolies out on a regular basis, the idea of clothes-eating-moths horrifies her far more than the prospect of nuclear explosions, snakes, jaguars or landslides.
a chap was selling premium dairy products; hand churned butter, fancy milk and ... buttermilk. Proper buttermilk is so difficult to find that I'd forgotten about it's existence. I was sort of excited to see this rare thing but couldn't remember why.
Seeing my hesitation the dairyman handed me a leaflet with suggestions for how to use buttermilk, then he said
one of my customers drinks it but you're not supposed to do that
I was directed to a bar along the waterfront and across the park. It was almost empty, a blazing fire blazed in the middle of one wall, two young men were behind the bar trying to work the till. The bar room contained a dozen assorted wooden kitchen-type tables and chairs, the only other customers were two women and their gentleman friend.
I finally got a pint and took it to a seat at one of the large tables, shortly afterwards the other party got up and assembled themselves in coats and scarves. During this disruption they asked me if I lived nearby, we had a short exchange and they left.
Five minutes later one of the women ran back in and asked if she could join me. We entertained each other for the next half hour. My New Best Friend is the twin of the other woman, I shall call them Sybill, the other twin had lived in the neighbourhood longer and knew more people - this was a good opportunity to even things up a little.
We arranged to meet, me with both twins the following week. That was yesterday. The experience was like a being in a story co-written by Lewis Caroll, Edward Lear and Mervyn Peake
The first thing I had to be made aware of was size, they were identical and both the same size they said, so they could wear each others clothes but they also pointed out that one was taller with a much longer body and exceptionally large hands and feet, we stood and compared all these things. They felt that they were so identical that the large-handed one differentiated herself with a fat bow on her head.
The large-handed twin was by far the bossier - as she questioned me she would stop to wave her enormous hands in the air and cry
My darling we have absolutely NOTHING in common!
Their lives revolve around omens, they each have their special sign to look out for, the small-handed Sybill looks for things with vertical lines and the large-handed Sybill looks for horizontal lines, this system is used for every important decision; for example when they need to know to trust an estate agent - they look at the pattern of his tie. This and numerous other examples were given to show how well the system works.
We are planning to go to the cinema together soon We are very critical yes very critical
we used to work in the cinema industry as extras so we know a lot about it
we've been directed by ... who's that actor who's now a director?
(many names are tried out) Clint Eastwood yes him we are very critical and we don't like much and we don't like much food no we're very fussy we're terrible to eat with
Chumpy turned up just slightly late for our class this week, there was a lengthy explanation about how he'd been too absorbed in his book and missed his bus stop then he went and made himself a cup of tea and was just about to get on with modelling when he noticed a small pile of cheap out-of-date biscuits in the kitchen, someone had put a sticker on for anyone who wanted them to take them . . . we waited while Chumpy found his coat and filled the pockets. . .
I've been staying in Dulwich (pronounced: dull itch) which is on the way to Penge, a place that also sounds like a medical symptom in this case maybe a pain/twinge, as in:
I can't do that - it makes my knees penge
The Putney heating is still broken so I jumped at the opportunity to look after a cat-in-a-warm-house last week but alas I have now returned to the Putney fridge.
In the Mortuary
I've been running the Life Drawing classes. I had a special one on Saturday - after a day spent marching against Drumpf I had to rush eastwards only just making it to the mortuary in time to set up for the Birthday Party Life Class. The model I shall call Chumpy, an excitable man who was already naked and waiting for me in the kitchen, there were things to be done before the guests arrived and every time I looked around Chumpy was doing something dangerous while naked - he had to be ordered down from a stack of chairs that he'd decided to clamber onto (he wanted to pin bunting up), then he cut his finger. When he'd done bandaging the finger he started blowing up balloons, it was during this episode that he managed to hurt his eye. The class arrived and the host wore gold shoes with flashing blue lights, he handed out artist berets to his 30 friends along with Champagne and fizzy jelly sweets. When I finally got the class settled with crayons and paper, I asked Chumpy if he could start with a simple kneeling posture which he did by attempting a sort of upside down pretzel shape - knocking over a cup of water as he fell.
I've got Chumpy again next Thursday but after that I get a Ballerina.
I'm on the top deck. Sitting across from me are two boys aged around twelve years old and a chic young woman who might be their big sister or aunt, they are talking and laughing and sound like they come from south London, she says:
There's this stuff called escargot, it's snails eggs and people eat it
it's like caviar which is fish eggs, you eat hens eggs, what's the difference?
is tough and is a difficult concept for a child, my niece (age 5) and nephew (age 9) lost two grandparents last year, the 9-year old was beside himself with grief and decided to do something about it by raising money for Cancer Research and have a bake sale. He wrote to various supermarkets and packaging companies to ask if they'd donate ingredients and other things he needed. The local vicar said that he could hold the sale after Sunday service just before Christmas and my nephew posted about his endeavour on facebook (via his mum).
Orders came flooding in and by the end of the church porch sale he'd raised £700 which is bloody impressive.
this is the boy 4 years ago making a Star Wars birthday cake.
My 5-year old niece is still trying to work out what 'death' is and is currently doing a star jump after every time she crosses a road, shouting triumphantly with every leap
I drove the Man to where his filming crew, a big pile of suitcases and a bus were waiting for him to start a journey to Costa Rica where they will make another film about animals.
Today at 5 am I drove Kanako to the airport so she could start her journey back to Japan, we did a lot of crying and then I went home and cleaned our empty house and then I filled the car with logs and jumpers and cake and drove to London.
I drove to Putney, to the house I am taking care of during school term time - the house with the Rude Mad Man next door. Currently it is also the house-with-a-broken-heating-system-until-a-Man-comes-to-fix-it.
we are making sure that we have exchanged as much vital information as possible. I have introduced her to oxtail and steak-and-kidney and she has discovered English sandwiches and jam rolypoly for herself. On Christmas day we did crown-wearing at dinner.
Yesterday we held a conference
have you had mince pies?
yes at least seven pieces they are very delicious
Christmas cake was missing from the list but luckily we found some that I hadn't eaten yet, we also covered bramble jelly, fried christmas pudding, sponge cake and marmalade.
We moved on to some Japanese essentials
1) Dried firefly squid tastes densely old fishy and gluey, the tentacles have a nice crunch but the wings and body have the texture of a plastic blister pack - this aspect is a bit sore on the mouth.
2) The Japanese winter sock routine involves four pairs of exquisite white socks, the silk and cotton socks with toes - footgloves - first put on the silk then the cotton. Then the silk foot mittens then the cotton foot mittens until you have a pair of very fat and warm feet.
This is the secret to being able to continue wearing little thin flattering easy-to-move-about-in clothes on the top of your body in winter.
3) The Japanese omelette is a delicious and beautiful thing.
Put a fish-and-seaweed teabag in a cup, pour on a little hot water, add this infusion to eggs in a bowl and beat with chopsticks.
Heat a little vegetable oil in a frying pan (at this point my drawing skills fail)
Pour some of the fishy egg in the middle section of a pan, muddle it around until set then add a small pool of egg mix to one side, as this part sets the middle section can be rolled onto it then you can lay down another side section of egg and roll again, if you add seaweed at each part the omelette spiral becomes more evident and very beautiful. The end result is a fat egg sausage to be sliced up like a Swiss Roll
is a journey that takes one hour and a half, this is just to get to the beginning of London, if you want to get into the centre of town the bus takes at least another hour to get through the traffic.
Like most sensible passengers I get off the bus at the beginning of London and take the tube
I got on the bus at Bristol on Monday and the driver said You going to Victoria?
I said, Yes but I'll get off at Hammersmith (with all the other passengers)
You're supposed to get a ticket to Hammersmith and you're supposed to pay more to do that !!!!
The whole week went the way of Alice in Wonderland
After Blind Ken started questioning me about my appearance I became aware that another person was in the house, Ken kept leaving the room to squabble with someone that might have been a housekeeper - should she use a supermarket voucher to buy milk or fish? He'd say what he wanted, come back to where I sat and bring our conversation back to my piratey teeth then he'd change his mind and leave the room again to tell her to buy fish ... or milk.
Clearly she could have been more use in the room to tell Blind Ken if I also had an eye patch and a parrot but I never got to meet her.
In the afternoon I met Ken who is blind and would like someone to go and read to him now and again.
Ken asked me to describe myself. After I'd said that I was a fairly average sized sort of woman I felt I ought to try and think of distinguishing features, I described my hair which went down well, then I said that children tend to notice my gold tooth and that I supposed it made me look a bit swashbuckling.
I had a vegan breakfast in Whitby then got the train ... seriously double ... no treble beans ... five hours later I could still feel the gas bubbles travelling up my back and coming out of my collar - goodness knows what the other passengers must've thought
the river is tidal - twice a month it comes in over-the-road high so I need to keep wellies handy.
The football grounds mean that I can sometimes hear lovely chanting from the terraces but I also need to be careful about when I attempt public transport.
Last match day I was on an empty tube then suddenly an entire stadium of people poured into my carriage. Sandwiched tight between roaring and singing men was actually quite fun - like a really loud lullaby but then I was coming to my station and said 'excuse me I need to get off' but my feet were a bit lifted off the floor and despite having people trying to propel me from behind I wasn't getting towards the door so they decided to see if they could 'crowd-surf' me me over the top but they were mainly very tall men and it was apparent that I was going to get slapped in the face by dangling handstraps and also I had quite a big handbag which would cause friction and might be undignified - so I declined the offer and went along for a few more miles and several refrains of Lord of the Dance
Their initial investigations were conducted by inviting me over for drinks and 'nibbles' which was ok, Brenda might be nice but I couldn't tell over Gary's braying. We're British so I had to 'tit' their 'tat' - I asked Brenda to join me in town for supper and Gary decided to join us because he's the sort of man who never misses an opportunity to behave like an arse in public so we had a ghastly time - I nipped over to the front desk and paid the bill before we'd finished eating so I could get home as quickly as possible - I'd hoped they'd noticed that we weren't getting on and we could quietly (Britishly) leave it at that.
... but that isn't to be, I have been included on a very long email list for a twice-weekly 'round robin' update of Gary's latest literary reviews, views on modern music and news of their various family activities
The house-owner had mentioned that if the front door was left open the next-door-neighbour-in-his-dressing-gown was liable to run in, pelt down the hallway, out the other side and leap over the fence into his own back garden.
I'd figured this could go either way - scary or entertainment - I reserved judgement.
Chatting with this neighbour and his wife last night I realised that they were trying to decide if they wanted to be friends with me, I'd told them that I normally live in Bristol:
near Aldgate East - a woman was coming towards me through scaffolding poles that were taking up the pavement and the roaring traffic was way too close. She looked like she lived on the street and as she was coming straight for me waving a hand that held a polystyrene cup in one hand and clutching a handwritten sign slightly scrunched in the other I guessed she was going to ask for money. We were in a noisy stream of people when she was in front of me I stood still to hear what she was yelling while waving the begging note and I saw the money note and everyone was bumping into us she in a dizzy mix of shock and delight
THAT GUY THAT GUY HE GAVE ME TWENTY POUNDS - THAT GUY JUST GAVE ME TWENTY POUNDS - TWENTY POUNDS!!
we high-fived and she went on her way trying to tell as many people as possible
I also went to See Things but I was poorly so only got as far as the roller and a bowl of chips before retiring to the bed of my tiny rented apartment.
Here I gained an insight into another answer of how Parisian women stay so remarkably slim:
A very small kitchen plus an enormous fridge. Only a very slim person can get into the kitchen with the fridge and then the tiny space between body and fridge only allows access to a small amount of food, the bigger you get the less food available - a perfect feedback loop
it's a fashion hotspot - this photograph is a typical example of daywear in Putney
Today I walked out in one of my Frankenstein jumpers - an orange one. I had stopped at a frantically complicated traffic junction - a car braked hard in the middle of the intersection, the driver wound down the window and, amid a torrent of honking, asked (in a way that sounded like she did actually want one) where I got that jumper.
is to walk along the Thames foreshore at low tide - apart from being outsidey and seasidey, it's as social as you want it to be and the beach is full of exciting things - it is an excellent sort of party.
The foreshore is basically a long established rubbish dump that gets turned around twice daily in the Thames washing machine. I frequently meet people* who show me astonishing treasures that they have found on their beach walks.
I'm a beginner and my eyes aren't in yet so I'm still at the stage of being in awe at driftwood and old bones, I'm also keen on the phenomenon known as 'Thames Spuds' - my photo shows one very rude example - soft London bricks that become 'pebbelised' in the churning water
*people who forage along the foreshore are known as 'mudlarks'
and life will be complicated for a while as I shuttle between a south London house with no pets and the ongoing north London house of marauding all-shapes-and-sizes cats.
both homes are loaded with terrors - in trying to balance which is the most terrifying I came up with a point system:
cats that I need to keep alive - 50
pirate cats that want to come in and pee on my stuff - 20
shaky stacks of stuff that could avalanche at any time - 20
knobs and handles that drop off when I touch them - the toll so far includes the fridge handle, 2 X light switches, 2 parts of the lavatory flush system and the lavatory seat which is trying to make up for it's wobbliness by being fluorescent - 20
levels of extreme unhygienic uncleanness that I keep noticing in my peripheral vision - 50
terror toll = 160
super neat squeaky clean (like in a hospital) - 50
highly burglarable - 50
a neighbour who is prone to run through the hallway and jump the fence into his own garden in his dressing gown if the front door is left open - minus10
there is no kettle here: the hot water tap does that function and will spurt steaming-boiling water if you use one hand to pump the middle of the tap three times then twist the pumpy thing while holding a mug under the spluttering stream of lava - 500
Fred and Ginger are prize-winning visions of sleekness their home is full of toys and play towers
Fat boy and Fluffy are the hobo cats who live outside - Fluffy is timid and has a very tiny head on her fat grey body, Fat Boy is her father - an enormous tiger-striped champ with a broken ear, his wide eyeballs give him an air of shockedness
I have been instructed to take care of all these cats - there is an entire room full of food for them including a fridge and a freezer packed with prime cuts of beef and chicken from the butcher.
This is Black Pete, the one-eared neighbourhood pirate cat - we are all scared of him