Apples that are crabby
Whilst I do like a bit of urban life, just like being awake, it isn’t something I want to do all the time. After many, many years of living in or close to tiny towns, I feel fully ruralised so to speak. Urbanity has, of course, its pros and cons, in all shapes, sizes and persuasions but they tend to be more obvious than in a rural setting.
As I write this, I am sitting in a surprisingly quiet spot in the middle of Reading, where the only thing I can here is a faint whisper of air-conditioning. I am in the cinema, awaiting the start of “The Giver”, scribbling away before the lights dim. Still being old-fashioned at heart and in homage to the effort that my parents put in to teach me, I am writing in one of my many notepads with a pen acquired from the hotel I stayed in a couple of weeks ago when I went to see Kate Bush (in concert rather than for dinner or a quick chat). I’ll transfer and edit it later in my flat. I suppose I could be typing direct into my tablet thingy now, but that just seems the wrong thing to be doing in a cinema, surrounded as I am by exactly, er, no-one else.
The unexpected peace gives me a welcome chance to mull over last weekend. Silence apart, a greater contrast you could not wish for. I went with thesnailofhappiness to Denmark Farm for their Cake and Craft afternoon. Although I did knit a square for the snail’s Masterpiece, I intended to do some different craft but also participate in some cake eating.
Denmark Farm has wonderful forest to walk in, allowing one to ponder everything from whether nature needs to be taken to task for starting Christmas even earlier this year:
Holly Prickles, er, Batman!
to more esoteric things:
Inspiration from Nature #88: Viking Helmets
My intention (apart from cake eating) was to go to the wonderful roundhouse and have a think about stuff for my next novel, currently about 75% finished and not progressing. After about an hour of blackberry picking and photography, I did finally sit in the magical space that is the roundhouse, pen poised over notepad much as I am doing now. Around me, the sound of the season turning inspired me to… well, take a picture of the door into the roundhouse, because tilted over it looks like a face.
It’s watching you…
I never said I was going to be grown-up about this, now did I? Then I realised something even more profound:
BoJo the Roundhouse
The roundhouse appears to be turning into Boris Johnson!
I hastily left and returned to the main centre for more cake. Imagination can be a curse sometimes!
Back to the present, and one other person has joined me. I just hope this film doesn’t require audience participation*…
* Turns out it didn’t. A better script perhaps…