Fig-on-Thames

Dear Liz,

Thank you for bullying me into posting again.  Well, to be fair it wasn’t bullying, more of what one might call gentle prodding, but it did the trick and here is something to tide you over until I write the next proper post.

Contrary to popular belief, I have not dropped off the face of the earth, nor have I forgotten all about everybody, I’ve just been a lazy and inconsiderate poster. I have done a few things that might interest you between my last post and this one, including a trip to the Temple Festival in January.

The Temple Festival was an open house put on by the Middle and Inner Temples one weekend to celebrate their 400th anniversary. It was a fascinating glimpse into their respective histories and almost made me want to be a barrister. (Note the almost. I am still not so sure about the whole appearing in Court business.)

I even went to a wig presentation:

Who knew wigs were made specifically for each individual head? It makes sense, of course, but imagine the artistry and the amount of work that goes into each one. There apparently is still a thriving wig industry in London. And since then I have actually seen some wigs doing duty in Court, proving that they are still firmly in use (well, in some courtrooms anyway - apparently the judges’ dress codes in Civil and Family courts are changing and the wigs will be phased out). I must admit I kind of like the wigs.

Liz, I will try not to be such a stranger and to post properly from now on. I won’t promise a posting schedule, but here at Fig-on-Thames we will try to implement some sort of reader satisfaction scheme anyway (in other words, actually giving said readers something to read).

As well, Merry (belated) Christmas and happy whatever other holidays you happen to celebrate around the end of December.  Somewhat unexpectedly, I flew home for Christmas, where this wildlife was lurking behind seasonal greenery on my parents’ front porch:

The reindeer (isn’t it fantastic?) is courtesy of my very resourceful grandfather, who made it out of driftwood.  Of course, this is the resurrected version, as last year it was unceremoniously ripped apart by this critter: 

named Alfie, who weighs about as much as I do.

 Alfie owns my sister and was the centre of attention at Christmas morning breakfast.  But really, how could someone that large and that cute not be the centre of attention?  His smaller brother Atom (who, though smaller than Alfie (which is not difficult), is possibly the largest and most lovably lumpy cat I have ever known) put in an early bid by picturesquely sleeping among the presents underneath the lit Christmas tree, but gave up the effort soon thereafter when we became too noisy and exhausted him.

 Back in London, I am now in the horrifying world of No Internet Access - or No Internet At Home, which is much the same thing - and am posting from the temporary haven of a Starb*cks.  Until my Internet access does come through, my posting will be sporadic at best so please be patient.  For your entertainment in the meantime, I can perhaps persuade you to visit the blogs in the sidebar, which are vastly more entertaining and updated far more frequently than this one… 

Here is a sight I enjoy every morning as I cross the Millennium Bridge - St. Paul’s all pink and yellow in the morning sunlight. No matter what I am thinking about before I set foot on that bridge, it completely slips away as soon as I see this - it just demands to be noticed. Unfortunately I won’t get to see it much longer as I have found a place to live in north London which I am moving into on Friday, so will have to find new gorgeous sights on my morning walk…

I have a confession to make.

I am not a fan of modern art.

That is, I am not a fan of abstract, two-dimensional modern art.  I tend to like things that are textural, three-dimensional, or involving a play on light or perception…but too often these are the exception to the modern art rule - at least the art that ends up in big galleries.

I actually like to think I know a reasonable amount about art in general.  I can differentiate between my Impressionists and Expressionists, and can more or less tell a Rembrandt from a Vermeer.  I adored the Rodin Museum in Paris.  But there is something just too abstract about a lot of 20th- and 21st-century art - I find that I have to think too hard to figure out what it means.   (Maybe the trouble is that I always like to know what things mean.)  Basically, if I have to read the gallery notes in order to determine what I am looking at, the artist has lost me already.

So you can imagine my trepidation when faced with the fact that the Tate Modern is only a 10-minute walk away from my current accommodation.   Based on that alone, I knew I had to go there - but I went more out of obligation than eager anticipation, and was fully prepared to not be enthralled by what I saw.

Imagine my surprise, then, when I saw the beautiful, ephemeral, inspired and entirely unscripted Ash Wednesday.  Or the strangely unsettling, claustrophobic murals of Mark Rothko.  Or this:

Can’t tell what it is?  Look closer - it is a giant crack running the entire length of the colossal Turbine Hall, reaching to the very foundations of the building. More precisely, it is Shibboleth, by the Colombian artist Doris Salcedo.  You can click here to find out what the artist meant to express.   But as I was walking through the hall, what I found more interesting was how people were interacting with the artwork.

There were those who wanted to walk the length of it, those who jumped over it, those who sat on the edge to take photos of the chasm itself, those who stuck their feet in it to see just how far they could go.  Every visitor seemed to have a different experience.  Which was fascinating to me, and which proved that indeed, art is, as they say, deeply personal.

Call me crazy, but I just can’t stay away. I went to Borough Market again on Saturday and this time found an entire section of market that I hadn’t even seen before.  If I wasn’t a Borough convert before, I am now. One booth, included here especially for my grandfather: This booth belongs to Richard Haward, who is a seventh generation oysterman from Mersea Island.   I didn’t try Mr. Haward’s oysters on this occasion, but you can bet that I sure will soon (though really, nothing can compare with Denman Island oysters). And look, this week’s mushroom selection included white truffles: Needless to say, I did not purchase any white truffles, but I did purchase Bulgarian mushrooms, which even came with authentic gritty Bulgarian dirt on them.  Gotta love the EU: I also found Trethowan’s Gorwydd Caerphilly, where they were giving out tastes of their incomparable cheese.  I had never tasted caerphilly before and I think it may just be a new favourite.   Now I just must go and visit their cows. Finally, I just had to buy more of the pot de creme that I tried last week.  I admit that my curiosity was piqued primarily because of Pim’s post of a couple of months ago.  After I read it I found myself wondering what confiture de lait was really like, so imagine my excitement when I found it at Borough.  Well, it was so creamy, so luscious, so delicately milky-yet-slightly-sweet, that I had to have more this week. Now, just so you aren’t under the mistaken impression that I do nothing but wander around markets all day, I do have an eye for other things, and here is a view I see every day on my route between work and my temporary apartment (or should I say “flat”): Mmmm, London eye candy.  

To begin with, you are all going to have to put up with stream-of-consciousness blogging for the time being since I have not resolved the paragraph problem. But who knows, maybe it can become my trademark.  (Update:  My dear friend Felicia is helping me out with this little issue and hopefully you are now reading this in properly paragraphed format!)

 In any event, I am now in London after a mostly eventless trip on Thursday. Having said that, I would like to ask the people seated in row 35 to either learn how to keep their toddler occupied or take a freighter next time. For those of you who think I am being insensitive, this was not a small baby with learner parents, but a two-year-old who screamed relentlessly for hours and then was airsick along with its mother, several times. I would hope that by the time a child is that old, its parents know how to communicate with it and can at least persuade it not to scream endlessly like that. If I hadn’t known better I would have thought the poor child was in physical pain.But here I am, staying for now in Southwark in this apartment (excuse the messily overflowing suitcase and the flying monkey on the table):

I took advantage of my location yesterday by visiting Borough Market, of which I had heard many great things. I was not disappointed. For those of you in Vancouver, this place is like Granville Island Market on steroids. I saw this: and this:and (be still my beating heart) this:

Look at all those different kinds of mushrooms. Just look at them. It is enough to send any foodie worthy of the name into ecstasies. I was tickled by the thought that they had just wafted over the Channel rather than travelling thousands of miles to be eaten, as they would have been in Vancouver. Half of these mushrooms I had never even seen before. If the mushroom season lasts long enough, I intend to eat my way through them.

As it stands, this was my Borough Market haul:The cheese is a fabulous cheese that I hadn’t tried before, called Langres. No kidding is it strong-smelling, as the article notes, but my goodness, is it ever heavenly. Did you see my Old Cotsold Legbar blue eggs?A couple of them made a very nice omelette tonight.

To finish up, a photo from my excursion today, which involved walking to Covent Garden and back (with several stops along the way):An acrobat at Covent Garden Market. Those of you who are observant and have some knowledge of London will comment, quite rightly, that it is a long way from Southwark to Covent Garden (and back). All I can say is, I will feel it tomorrow.

Just to see if I could actually figure out how to upload photos, here is the one I promised earlier showing my sad-looking house A.P. This is all made possible thanks to the British High Commission, which has made it necessary for me to leave Vancouver on Thursday rather than Wednesday, the stress involving which really required some heavy avoidance, aka blogging. I’ll get out somehow.  P.S.  I still can’t seem to figure out how to separate my paragraphs.

Those of you who know about this blog already have been (I hope) eagerly awaiting this first instalment (well, at least one of you has bugged me about it).  If I haven’t told you about this blog personally I don’t know how you found it, but I hope I don’t disappoint.  In any event, thank you for being my first readers. My recent doings can really be summed up as sitting tight and waiting.  It all started with packing up my house, which was traumatic enough.  (This is where I would show you a telling photo of the interior of my house A.P. (After Pack) if I could figure out how the heck to upload photos.  You’ll have to wait.)  That was originally intended to be followed by a brief period of blessed inactivity during which I would wait patiently for my work permit to arrive from England and upon receipt of which I would leap onto the plane with ample time to get settled in London before starting work.  The whole idea was that I would be unemployed for no more than 2 weeks. What has actually happened is that I have been imposing upon the good graces of friends and family for 3 weeks while (a) the work permit wended its weary way from London to Victoria, (b) I freaked out upon seeing what had to happen next, i.e. obtain an Entry Clearance which would take another week, and (c) said Entry Clearance was duly applied for and processed.  This morning I finally received notice that the Entry Clearance has been approved and is now making its way to me in Vancouver.  All going well, I should be on the plane to London next Wednesday or Thursday, but I do not wish to tempt fate by discussing it too much. One fortunate side effect of all the waiting around is that I have done (for me) a fair bit of knitting, including finally finishing the Tilted Duster (Interweave Knits Fall 2007), which I finished with two gorgeous pottery buttons from Scott Beardsley on Denman Island and have since been wearing almost non-stop with much pleasure.  I had to add a snap at the bottom of the collar in order to stop it from gaping and ruining the line, but otherwise was quite pleased with the pattern.  I think that the model in IW is actually wearing a version that incorporates decreases in the neck, though - if you look at it, the neck fits quite closely, but if made according to the pattern, like I did, the neck is far from close-fitting.  If I had my sewing machine and was a little more fussy I would cut open the neck and sew a dart into either side of the neck, but it is just fine the way it is and said sewing machine is in a ship somewhere travelling down the Pacific seaboard.  I also finished a Christmas sewing project which will remain anonymous for now, and am well into a pair of socks which are intended to be for Christmas but we will have to see.  All I can say is, thank goodness for the slush time afforded by my unfamiliarity with Royal Mail (”What, you didn’t get them for Christmas?  The mail must have taken longer than I thought…”).  Of course if the recipient is reading this my cover is shot.On the plate for the next few days:  dealing with the circle of Hell that is airline luggage restrictions, visiting Victoria for my sister’s birthday, and finishing up a plethora of little nagging things…. P.S. I haven’t quite figured out yet how to deal with pesky formatting matters such as actually separating this into paragraphs, but bear with me….I’ll get there eventually…. 

….and hopefully will have something useful to say soon.