Malmesbury

We only live about thirty miles from Malmesbury, but until today we had never looked properly around the town. It's small, with a population of only a couple of thousand, with a central area set on a rise between two rivers with water on three sides, but it's oh so historic.

In the 10th century, Malmesbury was briefly the capital of England. A king is buried there, and the Abbey was so rich as a centre of learning that it rivalled anywhere else in the country. Moonface and I wandered around for several hours on a cold mizzly day, and enjoyed it in a low-key way. The town itself is unexceptional, pretty enough with no wonderful architecture but a consistent front in Cotswold stone and hard red brick. There are few signs to any of the points of interest, and nothing was open apart from the Abbey which is ancient but unspectacular. Within the Abbey, I like the solidity of the Romanesque apse, but the plethora of 19th century plaques to young men who died in the colonies distract from the consistency of the interior. There is a good Pre-Raphaelite stained glass window, and a strange stone sentry-box overlooking the central aisle.

Nowhere in the town did we discover a reference to Thomas Hobbes, one of the greatest political philosophers who was born and raised here. Why not? His ideas are still relevant today. No blue plaques, no nothing.

:o/

More coincidences

Back in September, we had one of those intensely bitter-sweet days that will stay with us forever.

Rio started her professional, post graduation work and made us proud.
Ironically, on the same day Tom was told that he was losing his job. We had seen it coming, but it was still a terrible blow to his self-worth and our happiness. Bitter-sweet, as I said.

Today we celebrated Rio's birthday, and simultaneously Tom started a new job. It's only temporary, for a few months, but still it's great news.

No more bad news please, Fate.

:o/

Toes

I've lived in this house for thirty years, so I can feel my way around it in the dark, knowing exactly where I am. I've had to do so when sneaking in after a late night, leaving very early in the morning before dawn for work or (more likely) getting up for a pee. Or rather, I used to be able to find my way around in the dark. Over the last three months I've had at least four painful mis-steps when walking around with my eyes closed. Twice I've miscounted the number of stairs so that I've stumbled down the last one, crashing & crushing onto my feet. Twice I've stubbed my toe on the bedfoot, and two nights ago I kicked a chair very hard. It hurt.

As a result, my toenails are a complete mess, variously chipped, bruised and broken. One big-toe nail is so split that I've had to use varnish on it. At least that disguises the purple-black bloody stains underneath. I don't really care about their appearance, as they still work. Moonface doesn't like the way they look, but then she's always thought that I've got ugly feet.

On the plus side, this morning as I was filing the nail-splinters down to stop my socks from ripping, I managed to touch my left toes to my forehead. I haven't tried that for years!

:o)

I Crave Your Mouth, Your Voice, Your Hair

Pablo Neruda:

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.

Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.

Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day

I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.

I hunger for your sleek laugh,

your hands the colour of a savage harvest,

hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,

I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.

I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,

the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,

I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,

and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,

hunting for you, for your hot heart,

like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.

Translated by Stephen Tapscott

Grown up

Returning to Bristol from a business meeting in Northamptonshire, I stopped off to have a quick meal with Rio in MIlton Keynes. I picked her up from outside the factory in which she works, then we drove to a pub for food and a glass or so of wine for her. She looked so grown-up, businesslike and mature. The family dynamic is changed now that she works for a living and lives away from us, so that when she is in her own or a neutral environment, we are adults together: she is not a child at all.

It was a strange proud shifting moment, to realise that at last we are equals.

:o)

Not rats

Since our infestation of young rats a few years ago, I've been a little nervous about their return in spite of the replacement grille which I put in the wall to prevent their ingress. That's why I was very concerned to find a small pile of rat dropping in the the corner of our dining room on yesterday morning. Except that when I examined them closely they turned out to be a little deposit of olive-stones, left over from our social on New Year's Eve.

Why do olive stones look so much like rat-shit?

The party in itself wasn't bad considering the late decision to host, with enough people to be convivial and sufficient drink and food and talk. It's been too long since we were hosts. I wasn't in the mood for dancing, so I didn't really miss that. In fact, I reckon that if we hadn't planned to have people around here, I would have happily stayed at home to watch TV by myself. I blame my cold, not my age. Yet.

:o)

False Alarm

Nope, I'm not heading for a long period of incapacity, I'm recovering steadily. Thank gods for that, and let's roll on to a healthy and happy 2012.
I even managed to burn off some weight while sweating in my bed for three days. Silver linings, eh?

:o)