Today was Teresa’s 55th birthday. My how the time flyeth!
I bought her some pink roses. And her workplace gave her some other flowers. We combined these, and it resulted in the rather fulsome bouquet, pictured above. This provided enough flowers for four different smaller displays throughout the house.
Breakfast in bed for ‘the other half’ is a tradition with us. Usually accompanied by a bucks fizz. Teresa likes two croissants, with bacon, fried onions and tomatoes, and a fried egg. Tea and plain orange juice round out the food and drink.
After a relatively lazy morning – although I did do a bit of tidying round the house – it was time for lunch. Lunch was moules mariniere, with garlic bread, and salmon and spinach on olive bread. Mmm… dee-lish!
Simple but hearty and tasty fare. The flowers, a candle, and other pressies make the rather cluttered table look pretty. Beady eyes might also spot some big reference tomes. I got those earlier in the week, off Freecycle.
In the afternoon we went to Ely, to have a wander round Waterside Antiques (a tradition for Teresa’s recent birthdays). I got her some earrings and a pretty little brooch, of her own choosing.
And to bring the main action of the day to a happy conclusion, dinner at The Lamb Hotel, in Ely. We traditionally eat at Prezzo in Ely on my birthdays. And Teresa almost booked us in there this time. But it turns out she could’nae ha’ done that, as it’s closed, permanently! Bummer.
The Lamb is a nice old fashioned Hotel with attached pub/restaurant. We’ve eaten there many times. I was going to have pasta. But Teresa persuaded me to join her with bangers and mash. And I’m glad. ‘Twas ver’ ver’ noice indeed!
Neither of us managed to polish off the whole meal. A glass of house red and a jug of water washed it all down. There was no room for dessert! Particularly as we had chocolate cake waiting ‘back at the raunch’.
‘Sparkles, spangles, Her heart will sing, Wearing baubles, Bangles and beads.’ Blue was the theme for this little lot. Really pretty!
The blue theme continued at home, with these cute miniature glasses, that Teresa bought years ago at an antiques place in Market Deeping.
After a long and fun-filled day. It’s up the wooden hill to Bed-fordshire, and a few hands of rummy, before lights out and off to snoozeville.
‘Did you have a good birthday, my love?’ ‘I had a brilliant birthday.’ Fab! Job done.
We owe Teresa’s ‘bruncle’, Daniel Samuels* a deep and heartfelt debt of gratitude (to be expressed as a consignment of real ale!), for lending us the wheels that enabled us to be part of Teresa’s cousin Oliver’s wedding.
* Bruncle: brother and uncle; uncle – Jean’s (Teresa’s mum!) youngest brother – but brought up, by Jean, as one of Teresa’s siblings!
We drove down on Monday. And stayed in a B&B, over a pub, in Hounslow. Thanks Teresa, for booking that. It was weird being in London again. Most of London is sooo ugly and depressing! Thank goodness we got out when we did.
That said, there are some really beautiful parts. And Oliver and Alexandra were getting married in one such area, Molesey, south west London, close to the Thames.
The wedding was held in St Barnabas Church, with a chap called Richard* presiding. Both Oliver and ‘Lexie’, as he calls her, are musicians and teachers. So, unsurprisingly, but nevertheless wonderfully, the music was great.
* Actually, no word of a lie, the Rev. Richard Biggerstaff… or, more familiarly, his eminence, the right Rev. Dick Biggerstaff!?
As the bride walked in, a guy played Bach’s famously beautiful Suite #1 in G major, on solo cello. Gorgeous! And the final piece, before everyone left the church, was Eric Whitacre’s I Carry Your Heart, sung by a small choir in the upstairs gallery. Beautiful close harmonies, with densely voiced chords.
After the ceremony, which was lovely and quite moving, there were tea and biscuits next door. And then we all headed to High Billinghurst Farm, Godalming, for the reception.
The reception was terrific. It was nice to get to know folk from both sides of the union, the Wellbournes, and the Sarkar-Samuels, and all their kith and kin! There was booze aplenty, including, rather unusually, a lovely single malt to toast with. And the dinner was a terrific Indian curry.
Oliver is, like me, a drummer. Sadly we had to leave about 7.30pm, in order to be home at a reasonable hour (got back at 10.30!). So I didn’t get to see or hear him play. But I did get to see his little jazzy ‘jelly bean’ kit. A Canopus snare, no less! Wish I’d have tried it out, to be honest.
Knowing we had a long journey home, I had to be very careful about my booze intake. Especially as there was so much. And all free! Thankfully I managed to be very restrained.
The wedding day was a mixture of sunshine and rain. Fortunately for Oliver and Alexandra the rain only intruded a little bit into their celebrations. Or at least that part of them we were at. Later on it rained really pretty heavily; for over two hours – so over two-thirds – of the homeward drive!
But we got home safe and sound. It was lovely to be greeted by Chester on our arrival! What a cutie.
My sister Abbie and her husband Dan have commissioned me to paint an artwork for their home. That’s so lovely! Thanks, guys.
I’ve been given some photographic reference. I won’t say what that is, nor will I show it. For me the idea with the abstract side of my work is to work from the real world away, into something more dreamlike, and poetic; evocative yet imprecise, difficult to pin down.
Sketch#1 was a first overall reaction to the photographic image. Whilst a lot is left out, it’s still quite dense and busy. So the next three sketches unpack certain elements.
Sketch#2 catches some of the organic green growth, a very small but visually potent or significant element in the overall scene.
Sketch#3 is the lighter stuff, the air and the water, the sun making strange reflections. This view is probably a second layer, to be rendered over Sketch#4.
It seems odd in retrospect that I’m ending where one might have thought I should start, with the hard, solid architectural stuff; the landscape itself, and the straight lines of the man-made stuff.
So it is that Sketch#4 might well constitute the basal architecture of this painting? It might be the first layer?
Here are the same four images as two double-spreads…
I like seeing these four images together… or should I be saying juxtaposed, for the cognoscenti? They are, after all, derived from the same source.
What might prove tricky – and it ought to be, frankly – is amalgamating (what a word that is!) all these extractions. Can it be done? Should it be done?
Anyway, these sketches are a first draft response to a recent commission. I’m hoping that this process will bring my art practice back to life. It felt good to be sketching again today!
We just finished what was probably one our quickest games of Scrabble a moment ago. And it marks a trio of triumphs for Teresa! Three times straight in a row, she’s beaten me.
We both love Scrabble, and mostly for the fun of finding the words, as opposed to winning or losing. Which makes it very relaxing and pleasurable.
That said, I think Teresa’s head has grown a bit since scoring her triple trouncing of yours truly.
On the way home from Hannah’s we stopped in at Season’s Garden Centre. A new business that’s recently appeared (after years of watching construction and wondering what was coming!), between Chatteris and Somersham.
I bought five daffodil bulb sets. Every year as the daffodils come out I long for more at home, in our garden. And slowly I’ve been adding to our meagre stock. But it seems to be taking forever!
My attempts with umbellifers, or cow parsley type plants, are faring even worse! Only the stuff nature plants flourishes. The two seed sets I’ve bought have yielded naught, alas.
I got four sets of cheaper generic narcissi, and one of a larger more expensive King Alfred variety. There are probably a similar quantity of pre-established daff’s in this particular border.
We don’t know what the little purple multi-flowers are. We’ll have to Google image search ‘em, I guess. Which Teresa has just done… grape hyacinths, apparently! Or muscari armeniacum!
Believe it or not this long thin flower bed has actually already been weeded a couple of times since xmas! Still haven’t mowed any lawn. Reckon I’ll wait till it gets a bit warmer first. Mind, it’s warmer outside right now than it is inside our home!
Looking after Hannah’s daughters, my nieces, Ali and Sofi, is a regular and very welcome routine that we have going on at present. It may not last long, as I know Hannah needs to change her work situation. So we’re enjoying it whilst it lasts.
I’m lending Ali a drum kit. It’s an old Premier, in pretty poor nick. it used to be my busking kit, when I did that, in days of yore! I think I need to upgrade the cymbals I’m loaning, as the ones on this kit are awful!
It’s nice teaching Ali. She’s a great kid, and a good drum student. Both Ali and Sofi are musical. Ali favours guitar and drums; Sofi, clarinet, piano, and now sax as well!
It’s pleasant to get out of our own environment. And it’s not too demanding. In fact it’s fun. I slept superbly last night, as well. Which is, at present, rather unusual.
We do breakfast lunch and dinner for everyone. Or rather Teresa does. I help out a bit sometimes (I even cooked a whole meal on the first visit!). But it’s mostly my terrific mrs.
Today I’ve been tinkering with a guitar. I used to do that quite a lot. But I’ve lost touch with ye olde axe in the last year or two. So much so, it’s initially frustrating, discovering how much I’ve forgotten!
But it comes back relatively quickly. Not that I’m great, on guitar. I was pretty competent at one point. But that was when I played daily, which I haven’t done now for aeons. Well, whatever, as folk say nowadays. I’d just like to get back into it a bit, and hopefully enjoy doing so!
It has to be confessed that I’m not having the best time of my life right now. I woke up, after some very interesting dreams, felt mighty sick. And pretty shortly thereafter, barfed.
I’m not sure the fish and chips dad and Claire kindly bought us last night totally agreed with me. But the neither am I sure that this was plain ol’ food poisoning.
I’ve been suffering from hyper anxiety and agitation just recently. And a disturbed mind can manifest in many ways physically (please note, this is not an endorsement of Louise Hay’s insane ideas)
I spent almost the entire day today in bed. Feeling thoroughly wretched. I had ‘cotton mouth’ the entire day, despite eating next to nothing and drinking lots of water.
There’s some shit going down in my life at present that I’m keeping to myself. Maybe just for the time being, maybe forever. But it ain’t pretty.
And today it culminated in a mammoth visit to the A&E at Peterborough Hospital. Mammoth in the sense we were there from 3.50-10.20pm… six and a half hours!
And, glory be to our ultra-capitalist society, not only am I there as an ill person, I also have the joy of paying £9 parking for the privilege of this exhaustingly long visit.
Our Tory Overlords sure know how to milk us Serfs.
But back to the Joys of Spring: acid-reflux, bloated stomach, wind. Eyes red and puffy from a mixture of disturbed sleep and all sorts of other shit. This weird upper respiratory bullshit that’s been bugging me now for three or four years straight!?
It’s enough to make one sooo miserable one feels compelled to write a musical, and make everyone else’s lives a misery as well.
It seems my cup o’erflo’eth with naught so much as bile. Will I even make it through this week? Past evidence suggests I will. But that doth not fill me with The Joys of Spring.
This is both a book review (my first zero stars one!) and a polemic, I guess. It also touches upon troubled familial relations.
Many years ago my mother gifted me a copy of Louise Hay’s You Can Heal Your Life. I read the first half, and found it asinine. But, in essence, I agreed with Hay; thinking positively is healthier than thinking negatively.
But the second half of the book? That was another matter entirely. And it is in that part of her ‘work’ that Hay’s true colours are shown to be, not to put too fine a point on it, a motley flag of insanity. Insane, and very dangerous for anyone taking her advice to heart.
I have, I suppose, some unresolved issues with my mother, around both the break up of our original ‘nuclear’ family. And, subsequently, being treated less equitably than other siblings. Re the latter; when my sister lived abroad, my mum visited Spain far more frequently than travelling the few miles to us (I’ll leave it at that, for now).
Anyway, back to the main topic of this post. Her having bought me this book, whilst in part motivated by good intentions, perhaps, revealed a deeper – I might say unstated, except it wasn’t/isn’t – view of her apparent opinion of my life circumstances.
What it boils down to is what is nowadays referred to as ‘victim blaming’. In this case it’s the ancient pre-scientific idea that illness is a form of punishment for ‘sin’, wrongdoing, evil, or just a bad attitude. Call it what you will.
When I first read You Can Heal Your Life I put it down in absolute shock, horror and disgust, when I read Hay’s moronic assertion that the disease Polio is caused by ‘Paralysing jealousy. A desire to stop someone.’ She has an A-Z, or, more accurately, an A-W, of similarly ridiculous ‘explanations’, for everything from Abdominal Cramps to Warts! [1]
The impact of polio on my family’s lives is huge. Polio killed my grandmother on my father‘s side, contributing to the consequent disruption of his life (he and his brothers were brought up in foster care, as orphans). Polio also disabled my maternal grandmother, meaning she lived her adult life on crutches, and eventually in a wheelchair. My mother had issues with family, quite possibly related again, in part, to the knock-on effects of this disease, running away from home very young (so I’ve been told), and ultimately into the arms of my father.
Does she really and truly believe that these two ladies got polio as a kind of cosmic or psychic punishment for ‘Paralysing jealousy. A desire to stop someone?’ Such views are horrific; they are obscenely offensive, and totally unfounded. The actual cause of polio is, as should be universally known now, a virus, identified in 1909, transmitted for the most part via water contaminated by human faeces. [2]
Something that struck me very forcibly when I decided to research this post is the total mismatch between endorsements and critiques in relation to Hay. Everybody , from Wikipedia’s entry on her, to the Guardian’s obituary, simply parrot Hay’s own completely unsubstantiated ‘personal history’. There’s no mention at all of any sceptical views of her anti-scientific ideas and claims.
I find this deeply shocking. Does her financial success make her immune to proper evaluation? Apparently so. The only objective or balanced critiques I could find were those of individuals, pointing out what dangerous nonsense she grew rich peddling, sometimes in the context of the death of a loved one who’d followed her crackpot advice.
It’s a great shame, I feel, that so many people – millions, perhaps, if sales of her stuff is any indication – are suckered into uncritically adopting her bullshit. Even if only thanks to the positivity aspect of her ideas. It smacks of a blinkered desperation. I can understand that. Having chronic ailments myself, I recognise that deep longing for some kind of simple solution to what might otherwise appear to be intractable problems.
It has been demonstrated – the placebo effect, for example – that the mind can be very powerful in relation physical health. But to adopt Hay’s alleged position (her own life needs to be thoroughly investigated, as to the truth of her own claims/actions [3]) is to fly in the face of the findings of all modern medical science.
It has been medical science, not New-Age quackery, that has dealt with my psoriasis and related arthritis, and manages both my physical pain and mental ill health. We can thank (or curse?) developments in public hygiene, in light of this hard won knowledge, for creating the conditions that have allowed for humanity’s demographic explosion.
I thought about giving this book half, or maybe even just one star, for the first part, about the benefits of positive thinking. But the issue is that these come attached to the second part, which, in my view, is poisonously bad. Evil, in fact. The rose here is attached to an enormous stinking turd that really cannot be ignored.
It has oft been said the road to hell is paved with good intentions. It’d be damning enough if one were to know how many desperately ill people have died as a result of taking Hay’s unfounded nonsense as truth [4]. That people will have died following her advice is sadly inevitable.
But, just as bad in my view, is the pernicious and completely bogus idea that illness is the fault of and consequence of the sufferer’s thoughts and/or actions. This adds self-righteous condemnation to the arsenal of the healthy, and unnecessary guilt and self-condemnation (how ironic, given the alleged healing of loving oneself Hay professes to peddle!) to the afflicted.
My mum needs both her hips replacing. According to Hay’s worldview this is somehow my mother’s own fault, on some negative psychological level: ‘Fear of going forward in major decisions. Nothing to move forward to.’*
This would be laughably preposterous applied to a car; do my tires regularly need replacing because, A) they have a ‘Fear of going forward in major decisions. Nothing to move forward to.’ Or B) due to physical wear and tear?
If your local garage mechanic said ‘You don’t need new tires, your tires just need to truly love and value themselves. Here are some affirmations for them to repeat.’ Would you pay them, or go back there in future?
In her lifetime Hay profited monumentally from peddling her dangerous brand of nonsense. Her personal claims are all totally unsubstantiated. And her broader claims fly in the face of medical science. Why – other than the toxic marriage of hopelessness to comforting BS – has she not been taken off her pedestal? It has to be the present day sanctification of success. She’s made lots of money, so she must be right.
* These quotes are lifted from the appalling second part of You Can Heal Your Life. It ought to have a Government health warning: New Age BS is no substitute for scientifically grounded medicine.
NOTES:
[1] Her ‘explanation’ as to the cause of warts would be hilarious, if it weren’t so frighteningly vacuous: ‘Little expressions of hate. Belief in ugliness.’ Her list reads like a dotty New Age analogue of horoscopes; arbitrary, open to wide interpretations, and based not on real knowledge of understanding underlying facts, but a vague even whimsical form of associative imagining. Warts are in fact caused by a virus. Not by the mind of a person who may have them.
[2] Tragically, under our current Tory rulers the potential return and rise of such diseases is being increased by the total disrespect shown to both the environment and the humanity it sustains, by their rampantly capitalist ideology. Brexit is part of this downward scramble towards private profit-motivated deregulation.
[3] As far as I’m aware none of Hay’s autobiographical claims, from the alleged facts of her childhood, to her ‘miraculous’ curing of her self from cancer are in any way reliably documented.
[4] I need to re-find the quote, but one of the few critical things I found about Hay included a comment from a bereaved man whose wife died whilst following Hay’s imbecilic ideas.
Looking after Hannah’s girls, Ali’ and Sofi’, my nieces, this weekend has been really good medicine for my troubled mind/soul!
The weather today alternated between gloomy grey overcast skies, with drizzling rain and bitterly cold winds, and rather pleasant sunshine! Luckily we got a bit of the latter whilst out.
I tried out a rather robust netting hammock, of which there are two. It’s fab! We need something like this in our back garden. Sooo relaxing!
The Northstowe park we went to has a kind of open-air public gym. I think all human habitations should have such municipal amenities.
For a while now Teresa and I have being doing alternate weekends looking after Hannah’s girls, our nieces, Ali and Sofi.
This weekend is a first, inasmuch as I’m looking after the girls on my own. Teresa decided to stay home and do homey stuff.
Hannah and the girls were having home-made pizzas. Even though I’d already had a lovely curry, with couscous, at home earlier, I had to have some home made pizza!
Ali disappeared off to her room for a video call, with her friend Ash, who now lives in New Zealand. Hannah, Sofi and I watched Austin Powers, International Man of Mystery. So silly! Mike Myers’ pastiche/homage to the ‘60s (transplanted to the ‘90s) is fab, baby!