jane brocket

how to fill a lazy day

 

The Road to York through Sledmere (1997) by David Hockney

:: Have a cup of tea and read the newspaper in bed and enjoy the sun before everyone else is up and before it mysteriously disappears at 8am never to reappear for the rest of the day.

:: Sit on the settee in your dressing-gown reading a crime novel while eating toast and Marmite. I read a gory murder only once in a while and A Small Death in Lisbon not only meets the requirements of 'gory' and 'murder', it also delivers on interesting Portuguese background detail. I really don't know how I can read such stuff and eat quite tranquilly.

:: Watch the most wonderful programme about David Hockney while knitting with a very bright pink wool. A Bigger Picture is brilliant - beautifully filmed and edited, and the artist and his work are both fantastically colourful and larger than life. Very definitely worth catching before the watch-by date expires.

:: Progress to watching the cricket while eating the best yogurt in the whole world (admittedly a more likely pairing than crime and breakfast). Rachel's Greek Style Coconut Yogurt is thick and coconutty and the colour of cricketers' whites so the two go perfectly.

:: Decide that your hair desperately needs cutting (it does - you can't see clearly beacuse your fringe is covering your eyes like a Scottish long haired cow)/you want to read a few magazines in peace. Come back able to see the mess in the room where three teenagers have apparently been camping for the last few days. Decide to pull the (bright pink) wool over your eyes this time because it's a lazy day.

:: And now the lazy day is changing into a lazy evening. My plans include finding out what goes with well with Thai green curry, but there's no rush...

parallel lives

Today is the official publication day of my third book, and it has set me thinking about the parallels between my three books and my three children.

I came to motherhood relatively late. I knew I wanted children from a very early age but when I was told that I had a less than 5% chance of conceiving naturally due to the damage caused by peritonitis when I was ten, I thought it would never happen, so I pursued a career in the wine trade even though I was never fully resigned to the idea of childlessness. When I did have children it was due to the wonders of modern technology; in 1992/3 IVF was still pretty unknown and unusual and I am incredibly lucky to have been one of the early successes. And we really went hell for leather and had three in the space of thirty-two months (boy/girl twins and a surprise bonus baby). And the wait was worth it.

I came to book-writing relatively late, too, though thankfully there is no upper age limit on becoming an author, as Mary Wesley and Diana Athill have shown. Although I considered becoming an author was the ultimate working achievement from the moment I learned to read, I never for one moment thought it would happen. So I pursued a career in the wine trade (and believed I was resigned to the fact that the writing bit would never happen). When I did become a writer it was due to the wonders of modern techonolgy; in 2005 blogs were still quite new and I was lucky to hit the whole marvellous,  creative, world-expanding, creative phenomenon at a great moment (I still think it's the only time I've ever been on-trend). And, once I started writing books, I really went hell for leather and have now had three books published in the space of twenty-one months. I even have two books that are fraternal twins (Cherry Cake and Ginger Beer and Ripping Things to Do are both rooted in children's literature) and a surprise first title in The Gentle  Art of Domesticity. And they were worth the wait.

So today is a big day. I feel I can sit back for a moment and contemplate the fruits of my labours. Three funny, interesting, entertaining children who drive me mad and make me laugh and are getting ready to go out into the world on their own. Three books that are, thankfully, off my hands when they go out into the world on their own, but whose post-publication lives I still follow with just as much hope and anxiety. As does, Simon, who has shared in all of this and made it possible.

But from now on, the neat baby/books parallels no longer apply. I may have stopped at three with the babies (I did not want to push my amazing good fortune any further), but my bookish offpring continue to grow in numbers. I've written book no. 4 and am just starting book no.5 and I have several other books in the pipeline plus any number of book proposals in my mind. 

And now I think it would be very nice to lie down and have a little rest while my head whirls. But one of the not-so-little babies has to go rowing and instead I shall gaze at the river and marvel at  the way some things turn out.

'commercially available'

 

When I wrote about 'commercially available' alternatives to home baking in my last post, I admit I wasn't feeling too enthusiastic about the whole idea. It was more a matter of trying to look on the positive side of not having an oven for a couple of months while the old kitchen is being ripped out and a new one installed.

But I've been miraculously cured of my pessimism today. I had lunch in Bea's of Bloomsbury, the most delightful place on Theobald's Road, just round the corner from the street where Bricks and Mortar, an excellent Persephone book, is set, and not far from the characterful Lamb's Conduit Street where you will find Persphone Books. I can think of no better additions to a Bloomsbury morning or afternoon than cakes from one and books from the other.

And not just any old 'c0mmercially available' cakes either (just as Persephone books aren't quite your Mr Kipling-style books). I brought these home for my cake-deprived offspring (I feel like a mother thrush bringing little tidbits back to her nest for her little chicks all waiting with their beaks wide open). They look good and taste delicious. I see that Bea's is also offering a special summer picnic selection to take away and  it includes a cupcake and a guide to the local parks so you can go and find somewhere in literary and legal London, sit in the sun or under an umbrella, read, eat and soak up the wonderful atmosphere that is the capital in summer.

And to think I was about to write off 'commercially available' baked goods. It's like writing off summer in England in June. You simply want to be proved wrong.

literal holiday

At last, after months of deadlines and tremendous pressure, I am on holiday from my normal everyday life. I have no kitchen, no oven, no dining room table (or dining room, for that matter), and no deadlines until the end of September. What I do have is: three children at home, a lot of knitting to tackle, an ever-growing pile of books to read, some time on my hands. And it feels great. The only downside is that we can't bake, but this could be the excuse to either give up baked goods (ha) or test out commercially available versions (more like it).

I am very excited about my literary holiday. I'm tearing out all the summer reading recommendations in the newspapers, filling my Amazon basket until it's bursting, searching my bookshelves for the titles I've been saving for this moment, and scouring abebooks and Oxfam shops for good second-hand books. I can't decide whether to start with classic, light-fantastic PG Wodehouse or Agatha Christie, or to get stuck into thrilling Raymond Chandler or Robert Wilson, or travel widely with books about Palm Springs architecture and Manhattan architectural walks, or just ease myself into my holiday with a small but carefully selected choice of Japanese craft books (just arrived via the excellent Pomadour's Craft Cafe as recommended by Juju at the recent knitting weekend).

Ah, such luxury.   

i say so myself

It's so British, isn't it, to say something with confidence then qualify it with a self-deprecating 'though I say myself', as if making a little apology for having been so bold. As in, 'my quilt book is going to look really lovely, though I say so myself'.

But really and truly, and without a hint of apology, my quilt book is going to look really lovely. I know this for sure because I have been at the photo-shoots (we had the second one last week in an amazing location and with a very wonderful photographer/stylist duo) and I have seen the photos and I am thrilled.

And I say so quite happily.

(I styled the above when the professionals weren't looking.)

 

back in the saddle again

I'm listening to Gene Autry singing Back in the Saddle Again and imagining how it would be to knit while riding a horse - in a gentle John Wayne-swaying-into-town motion rather than at full gallop, you understand. These musings and croonings have been prompted by the feeling of pure pleasure to be knitting after a long period of quilting. I have a new a new pair of socks on the go, I'm knitting all sorts sorts of swatches and I have a whole book synopsis full of ideas and plans. And it's good be wielding my needles once more, even if it's if only on the settee in front of Wimbledon (hasn't John McEnroe mellowed and improved with age?) and not in the wild west. Yes, I'm definitely back in the softly upholstered, very comfortable knitting saddle again.

soft fruit, soft light

Every so often a summer evening produces the most wonderful quality of warm, soft light. I happened to pass a bowl of fruit in such a light, with the nectarine aglow.

And in a different position a minute or so later, all the fruit looked as though it was lit from within. Pretty much as I feel on such lovely evenings.

more good things in lisbon

:: It is no coincidence that this photo is identical to one I posted a year ago. How I could I go to Lisbon and not take the train to Belem in order to enjoy a pastel de nata (unbelievably good custard tart) - or two, even - in the most famous custard tarterie in the country? Definitely 'vaut le détour', as the Michelin Guide would say if it had its priorities right.

 

:: It may also not be a coincidence that I saw tiles to match the pasteis de nata and café crockery across the road from the Confeitaria. Lovely. 

:: The flower-beds of Belem are full of pale blue-violet agapanthus...

...that match the facade of a hotel in Lisbon. Never underestimate nature's own colour-schemes. Or the power of a custard tart to lure you into making a return visit to the city.

:: I watched Casablanca in my hotel (everyone wants to get to Lisbon in the film but more for the passage to freedom than the custard tarts) with a 5cl miniature bottle of tawny port. It's scandalous that such a lovely drink can be put into such tiny vessels. Good job they sell it in grown-up sizes, too.

cherry-picking lisbon

When you have just two nights in a place, you have to do some cherry-picking to make sure you spend the time wisely.  This week in Lisbon I whittled my choices down to:

:: eating the wonderful cherries that are in the shops at the moment. Cherries are my favourite fruit which is a bit of a pain as they have such a short season. So I was delighted to arrive at the height of the cherry season. Morellos are also on sale (they have an even shorter season than sweet cherries) and I did think about taking some home but didn't know what the line on importing cherries is, and I didn''t fancy confessing in a police interrogation that I was a cherry-smuggler in order to feed my clafoutis addiction.

:: walking and walking to look at outstanding examples of twentieth-century architecture, mainly from the 1930s to the 1960s, but this kiosk from the 1920s caught my eye.

:: admiring the artistic arrangements of the grocers. This one (where I bought my cherries) had only fruits in golds/oranges and reds/pinks and was utterly beautiful. 

:: luxuriating in real warmth (up to 35 C) and connecting the climate to the amazing flowers growing all over the city. Fabulous bougainvillea (above), huge plantings of pale blue and white agapanthus, clumps of canna, and oleanders in full flower.

And more...

knit, knit, knit

There can be few nicer places to knit than the beach. When I was reading children's books as research for Cherry Cake and Ginger Beer and Ripping Things To Do (I can't tell you how much I love, love, love that cover) it was fascinating to see how many mums and grannies and nannies knit at the seaside while children splash and swim and do handstands and build sandcastles and eat ice buns.

My favourite mention was in The Family from One End Street (one of the best books I read as a child, with beautiful illustrations by the author but my copy had a different pink and white cover) when Mrs Watkins takes Kate Ruggles and assorted friends to the seaside. She 'settles herself comfortably against a breakwater with a bag of bull's eyes and her knitting' and then spends the whole day making her entry for the 'All England Mammoth Knitting Competition for Mothers' while nodding absently to the children and letting them play as they like. 'She certainly was the ideal chaperone!' 

Well, this weekend I had the seaside, the yarn, the needles, the chocolate satins and the sherbet lemons and strawberries, and a lovely group of knitters, and I think we all nodded absently a lot of the time. We could have leaned against the breakwaters with packed lunches, but didn't need to as we had comfy chairs, a deck, and tea and cake whenever we fancied.

And there were colours and flowers (including the amazing clematis above) and inspiration everywhere I looked.

And a few glasses of wine as the sun went down.

We may not have reached competition levels of knitting, but we all enjoyed a glorious weekend. I came back bursting with ideas for the knitting book (which will be the sister of the quilt book) and full of the joys of seaside knitting.