Not that I understand art or anyfin BUT there are five different kinds of grey over the Pacific today.
Since I wrote that sentence nightime has dscended faster than a gymslip going over an eager school girls head.
I know it’s all to do with the Equator but if you’re not careful the day has gone and there’s nothingt left but rum cocktails and coconut chicken by candlelight.
I can just about make out The Isle of Chora now and it aint even time for the 6.00 clock news.
This morning we had an electricity cut thus leaving us without a kettle and water, since the water pump is run by the local leccy board. It did feel a little like camping in Dimchurch only with a view of the Ocean .
Month: October 2010
Twinkle Twinkle Little Star
Last night the rain started in the wee small hours. I was reading and Jim was trying to make friends with a tree frog that had inadvertently got himself stuck to our bedroom floor.
A spider was busy spinning its web in the bathroom, an assortment of flying green crickets kept plopping on my head.
I turned the fan on, an old fashioned three armed jobby that hangs from the ceiling like a Graham Greene novel. Stieg Larssons scenarios meant that I had a recurring doubt that at any moment the fan would whirr itself out of the roof and land up on our heads. So I got up and turned it off.
Jim slept through my see-sawing in and out of the bed. Into the bathroom to check the spiders progress, back under the beige macrami throw, off with the fan, under the throw, on with the fan, under the throw, into the bathroom, under the throw, off with the fan, back to bed, by midnight you would have thought I was exhausted.
Not so….
Good Eggs
Dear All, I would love to publish photos but I DONT KNOW HOW. The old git says he will teach me how to do it when we return to Blighty. Until then you will just have to use your imaginations….
It’s 10.41 your time and late afternoon ours.
We have just driven back to the villa, covered in sand, cool box covered in sand, tortilla chips, covered in sand, water bottles covered in….well you get the picture…we arrived at Carillo beach by 10.30. 150 feet of sand before you get any of the Pacific on your toes, and then it’s warm and shallow.
A curved bay with not yellow, powdery sand but a gentle grey vulcanic sand that is soft enough.
Rain Stopped Play
I cannot lie after two rums – with fruit juice – I am utterly unnecessary.
The Pacific Ocean is calm athough the rain continues to come down in buckets, then spades and now in splishes and sploshes.
I resorted to trousers, B’s socks, a t-shirt and a big sweater, The old git put on his holiday jumper, and the child put on a thick cardigan that made it feel like we were on vacation in the Alps. We are all sitting round the big table, the candles are lit, the crickets are chirping, the waves are lapping, and the chicken is marinating.
There is a full moon tonight at 9.36 so I am reliably informed by Freddie, our man from the hood, that after this moon summer begins…..I bleedin’ well hope so, I haven’t travelled 5,000 miles to sit in damp clothes whilst the howling monkeys bellow for some sunshine, we could have stayed in Blighty. Okay there aren’t any monkeys in England, alright only the ones in Westminster,.,.,
Baby It’s Cold Outside
When the man started talking to me at 7.00 I was confounded by his intrusion, I then realised it was the radio.
As the story unfolded I marveled at the excellence of humanity, a whole country behind a handful of Chilean miners. The President, money, time, ingenuity, compassion, hope, love, all being lavished on a group of grubby workers. I lay in my bed wondering whether we would do that in our selfish country?
Climbed out of bed, forsook my meditation, and siddha paste, forsook my mung bean soup and herbs, and jumped into my clothes instead.
I left the flat just as THOUGHT FOR THE DAY was beginning.
Sewing my Wild Rice
I woke up this morning with my left , lower, back muscle in spasm. There are thems that say its the stress coming out. There are thems that say its the detoxing. There are thems that say its because I fell on my left hip with such a force I have buggered me lumbar. There are thems that says its because I am going on holiday on Saturday and I’m letting it all hang out – they must have seen my little red bikini -. whatever thems that know say it don’t ‘alf hurt mum.
So I wandered around the flat this morning putting in washing, emptying bags, paying bills, and then my lovely roomie came in. We sat and talked as she spread a banana on two crispy rice cakes.
She left for Brighton and I decided to go onto the Kings Road to the bank and to buy a replacement bikini, back pain gel for my painful back and hair gel for my growing barnet.
The lunchtime weather was perfect for a gentle stroll.
Meals on Wheels.
Phoned the bank to check out we had travel insurance.
Having given the wrong security details my call was blocked. A very nice Scottish lad helped me out. Resetting the security number and advising me not to use birthdays or anything sequential I resorted to my mothers Co-op number from 1956…
Then I meditated in the bathroom with a pile of onion and garlic paste plastered on my belly.
Flat Out?
There’s an undulating discomfort in the bottom of my belly, and it’s not the mung bean soup, it’s the thought I will have to give up my lovely flat.
‘It’s only a building.’ says George.
‘Don’t get so attached.’ says Monica.
It’s time to re-group, move on, take stock.’ says Roberto.
‘You’ll be in your lovely cottage with Jim,’ says Marie.
‘But the man who is tired of London is tired of life.’ say Ben.
So what’s my problem then? If it is time to move on, change, give up the ghost, look to the future?
There’s always Grouchos to stay in if I need to be in London. There’s also friends, family and a host of boutique hotels that will be willing to take my nightly rate. BUT I love my mad flat and anyway it’s not the giving up of the apartment that hurts but the reality of the move. Seven years of books, cd’s, furniture, paintings, tables, chairs, bedding, weights – yes weights – shoes, clothes, toiletries and memories.
If you are what you think then if I keep thinking that the flat will remain in my life will it?
If it’s time to move on, how will I know?
At what point is holding on giving up?
From fasting to slowing…
I fasted yesterday.Not for religious reasons but because I am getting my body used to cooked food again. I have been totally raw since April first, no joke let me tell you. But over six months it has done wonders for me. Now I need to introduce a cup of coffee here, a plate of rice and beans there, a pile of chips, or soup made with lentils and coconut.
My ten day cleanse is an Ayurvedic tradition, and I love it. Four days of mung bean soup, one day of fasting, and five days of mung bean, rice and vegetables. I feel a little unsteady on my pins, but in a nice way.
The notion of dieting is beyond me now, at my age eating for the soul means I may get to see my grandchildren if the biological daughter ever decides to lay down her musical instruments and find a father for her unborn eggs.
Spicing up my life
First there was the dresser.
Then there was the pantry.
Today I set about spicing up my life. I bought three little boxes and two mug type containers.
Stripped one cupbarod of Macadamia Oil, Sesame Oil and Vegetable Oil – the sell by dates were SO last century.
Then I emptied the spice cupboard of dead dill, overwrought baking powder and several jars of ineffectual spices that wouldn’t put any hair on any chests that I know.