The View From Here
flowers
The Blog of Many Colours
Times and Tides of a Beachwriter is brought to you today by the colour red, chosen by Rowena who was very happy to pick up a red Alpha Romeo at auction. You can visit her blog here.
https://beyondtheflow.wordpress.com/2019/05/22/ma-ma-friday-fictioneers
Red is bold, certainly not modest, it adorns the flags of many countries. We obey it at traffic lights and the only time it hides is when it is safely inside our bodies; blood red is ready to gush out of us at any opportunity.
Red is iconic; double decker buses, the Red Arrows of the Royal Air Force and the Forth Bridge. It tells you where to post your letters, where to find a fire extinguisher and still occasionally where to make a phone call. Red tells us when it is Christmas.
Photographers love a splash of red; a boat in the harbour, a red coat walking in the snow. A red front door looks distinguished.
Red is one of the three primary colours and one of the four colours humans like to use for organising people. At school I was in the red team, Saint George. Saint Patrick was green, Saint Andrew blue and Saint David yellow.
We are not urged to eat our reds, as we are with greens, but tomatoes and red peppers are healthy and brighten the plate up.
Long before Christmas existed mid winter was hailed by red berries. In spring it feels a little subdued, except for tulips, but summer brings Mediterranean scarlet with geraniums ( pelargoniums ) and romance with deep red roses. In autumn red reaches for the skies as the leaves turn.
Much of the earth is red. When I was a child my mother told me Devon had red soil, I could not imagine such a thing, but white chalk cliffs turn to red as you go west along the Jurassic Coast. Northern parts of Australia are red, such as the Pilbara, known for its ancient red landscapes and vast mineral deposits; red also means rich in iron ore. Other continents all have their unique red landscapes.
https://www.australiasnorthwest.com/
Alas red, through no fault of its own, is a political colour. Who decided communism should be red? Nature used red first.
Silly Saturday – How to Cheat at the Chelsea Flower Show
I have never actually been to the Chelsea Flower Show so I am in the perfect position to tell you how to cheat.
First of all, if you are lucky enough to have access to BBC television, just watch it on TV. Only the Royal Family, television presenters and of course the judges get to wander around without crowds and actually set foot in the show gardens.
You can wander round your own garden pretending you are at Chelsea, and you could even take photos to put on Instagram
#chelseafs #gold medal #gardengold So excited, I got my first gold.
Who on Instagram could prove you hadn’t really been there. Even if your washing line, the neighbour’s fence and your mop bucket accidentally get in the picture you can pretend it is part of the design
( See designing your own garden, below )
But the best way to cheat is to go there. Perhaps there is a hole in the fence you could slip through, find a little spot of ground at the back of the refreshment tent by the bins and be a guerilla gardener. There is no need to spend a whole year planning a garden. Everything you need can be found at home, the local garden centre, builders’ skips and the rubbish tip. Anything goes; whatever your makeshift garden looks like you can claim to be encouraging recycling, wild flowers and insects. A few rocks, some old wood and a bucket or children’s paddling pool for a water feature. Then fill in the gaps with lots of plants from the garden center.
To complete the cheat wear something smart, but not too smart, stand confidently in front of your floral plot and talk to the crowds passing by, or an imaginary camera about themes and your artisan garden. Everyone will assume you are a television presenter or garden expert talking about a wonderfully original show garden.
https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2019/may/22/chelsea-flower-show-2019-top-garden-trends
Silly Saturday – How to Cheat at Saving Society
Some might say that the planet should be saved, not society, but we shall deal with that next week. It is probably easier to start on a small scale with your own street/farm/castle or country estate (delete as appropriate ).
To avoid trying to define society, just imagine a perfect neighbourhood and if you are ambitious, your own town or city run exactly how YOU like it. With a bit of crowd funding, quietly taking over while no one is watching because of Brexit, it should be no problem. London National Park City is launching in July, so how hard can it be to change your street?
http://www.nationalparkcity.london/
Here are some simple ideas to start with. Make it compulsory for everyone to have nice front gardens; the sort you like to walk by, green lawns, beds and tubs full of flowers, delightful scents and the happy sound of bees. If anyone complains, point out that the government has pledged to create green corridors for bees; if they complain they have nowhere to park their car refer them to idea number two.
Abolish all private vehicles and, just until your local town becomes fully functional with solar powered moving walkways, set up a car share scheme.
Soon everyone will be happy; flowers and wild life put everyone in a good mood and those living in cramped flats with no gardens have been helping with the digging and planting.
Idea number three, take over every empty plot of land, however small and plant trees, create allotments and parks for children. While your local millionaire is away on his expensive yacht, commandeer that land where he had two houses demolished and plans to build a block of flats for rich people.
Fourthly, all vacant buildings of any sort, shops, offices and second homes to be commandeered for the homeless and as workshops for the self employed. A little networking on the internet should bring you a team of building experts to supervise and train school leavers and the unemployed. It won’t be long before you have created a happy healthy local neighbourhood with no problems and others will be keen to take away your ideas to their own cities and countries.
These are just a few introductory ideas, feel free to make suggestions and tell us if you have managed to create utopia where you live.
For a clue as to how humanity will save itself read the best selling book nobody is talking about…
The Blog of Many Colours
Times and Tides of a Beachwriter is brought to you today by the colour purple, chosen by Sandra. You can visit Sandra’s blog here.
https://acornerofcornwall.com/
Purple is no ordinary colour, too frivolous to appear on nations’ flags, but too important for ordinary folk; it has long been a colour of royalty and the church. Red, yellow and blue are the primary colours, but in practice red, yellow, green and blue are the main colours. Were you in a house or team at school? Four teams in those four colours I expect. If you wore school uniform it was probably navy, grey or green with red or yellow… I think purple is less favoured for school.
But colours bring different images to all of us. When Sandra suggested purple my first thought was Cadbury’s milk chocolate, that purple paper wrapper, then the opulent shiny purple foil with the promise of pure pleasure waiting to be unwrapped.
My next thought was flowers, purple is the only colour that makes petals look like velvet. Purple pansies are my favourite. Irises have just come out this week in my garden, decadent in purple and yellow. Cyberspouse plucked one to take into his ‘studio’ and this is the result of a little digital manipulation.
You can visit his Facebook page here.
https://www.facebook.com/photogog/
Colours are also trademarks. The first time we took three weeks off to journey up and around Scotland we stayed in a cottage for the middle week, but the rest of our trip was an assortment of bed and breakfast and Premiere Inns. Along the way we bought a few new clothes and my purchases included a mauve blouse and a purple fleece. When we arrived at our first Premiere Inn I realised that not only did I look like a member of staff, but I matched the whole place. Yes, Premiere Inns are purple; from the large sign that guides you to the building to the interior decor; purple carpets, purple spreads and cushions on the bed and purple information leaflets.
Though I may love yellow and dusky pink, purple seems to feature in my life rather a lot. Cyberspouse designs my book covers and the personal favourite of my novels has a cover that matches my glasses…
What Colour is Your Blog?
Often we round off writers’ group with a timed exercise, the other week it was the colour yellow and it was surprising how much came to mind. I thought
Hey, I could have a different colour blog each week!
So we start with yellow.
Yellow is the oldest colour, the colour of the Sun, watery in winter, golden at sunset and over the equator. The yellow sun mixes with the blue sky to make nature’s green and among the green leaves are the flowers that mimic the sun. Bees love yellow; they wear it and seek it out. I felt guilty when bees bumped into our sun lounge windows, attracted by the bright yellow of the lamps on the windowsill.
Yellow makes a statement, banish cowardice; let yellow represent spring, summer, fun and happiness. It is also a designer statement, the stars on the European Union flag, the colour of smart raincoats, Ikea, our local buses, my website, my kitchen. When we ‘rebranded’ our north facing dining room we painted the walls yellow, went minimalist, replaced bookshelves with large plants and called it the garden room.
When you stroll down the road your spirits are lifted when you pass pretty gardens and at this time of year yellow is in abundance. As daffodils fade tulips come out and wallflowers with their delightful scent. Dandelions are unfairly treated as weeds and are apparently good for you medicinally and nutritionally.
You can seee more flowers at my website.
https://www.ccsidewriter.co.uk/chapter-two-coastal-views/
What is your favourite colour, suggest a colour and I’ll write about it next week.
Thoughtless Thursday – the antidote to Valentine’s Day
Forgotten it’s Valentine’s Day, can’t be bothered with all the hype? All you need is scissors and glue and old greeting cards to cut up. Make your own card then copy these verses. No need to buy a gift as it will be obvious from the words of the poem that the loved one won’t be expecting any.
I never buy you flowers in a bunch,
Or your favourite box of chocolates to munch,
I always forget to take you to lunch.
But you don’t need those things to know
You’re the one to whom I go
When my heart is full of woe.
I never tell you how much I care.
To make up poems I do not dare.
Expressions of emotion are rare.
So I made this card
To explain how hard
It is to say I love you.
Friday Flash Fiction 240 – Secret Garden
The ground floors of department stores are bright, white and overpower you with a nauseous mix of perfumes. On board the yacht I have a stomach of iron, but I was not looking forward to hunting for my sister’s favourite perfume.
A young man, with more make up than the girl assistants, came skillying up.
‘Good afternoon Madam, may I help?’
For a moment I was so fascinated I could not answer. He looked like a beautiful slender doll, high cheek bones, rosebud lips, hair spiked immaculately and dressed totally in black. His charm was enough to make me, in my jeans and anorak, feel I was as entitled as any other woman to grace these hallowed halls of beauty. He laughed when I confessed my predicament. I had forgotten the name of the perfume.
‘Can’t you phone or text her?’
‘She’s just started a three hour exam and I’ve got to get back to the harbour while the tide’s high.’ I looked at the shelves full of elegant boxes, none of the names jogged my memory.
‘Treat yourself instead; what do you miss most out at sea?’
‘Flowers?’
I was talked into buying an expensive tiny bottle.
In my cabin I cautiously removed the delicate stopper, sniffed and was transported to a walled garden I had visited as a child. A summer scent never recaptured until now. How was such a scent created? How did the young man choose so perfectly?
Wonderful Winchester September Staycation – Part Two
We visit Winchester Cathedral quite often; this time we had been told about the flower festival. After a late breakfast at Wetherspoons we sauntered down the road to the cathedral. It was a week day so we weren’t expecting to see a queue to get into the cathedral, but a flower festival by definition can only last a short time.
It was worth the wait; it was a flower festival like no other I have ever seen and the rich colours cannot be conveyed in the pictures. What can be shown is the crowds. There were a lot of very English,’ excuse mes’ and ‘sorrys’ as we all tried to take photos or stay out of the way of other people taking them. Winchester is very light inside and gazing up you could forget you were not alone.
The rich reds, blues and purples reflected this year’s theme which was inspired by the Winchester Bible.
The Winchester Bible is the largest and finest of all surviving 12th-century English bibles. A single scribe wrote out its text in Latin, while artists worked its exquisitely illuminated capital letters. Their glowing colours, including gold and lapis lazuli, are as intense today as 800 years ago.
We have never seen the Bible. On a previous visit, hoping to see it, we were informed with great satisfaction by an officious lady that the room where it was kept was closed that day! This time we could have queued to see one volume in a temporary exhibition, but made the decision to queue for the crypt.
Down here, often standing in water, is Antony Gormley’s statue. Cyberspouse got a picture years ago when he pushed open a door that was ajar to see where it went; that time the statue was a complete surprise. This time the surprise was to see a candlelit path to the man with cupped hands.
http://www.winchester-cathedral.org.uk/our-heritage/art-architecture/antony-gormley-sculpture/
http://www.winchester-cathedral.org.uk/
On staycation you visit places for the day that others may have travelled across the world to see. We chatted to a couple who had come down from the North, but had the convenience of a son-in-law who worked at the cathedral and lived in the cathedral close, so they had free delightful accomodation and the opportunity to look round when everyone else had gone home.
In my novel Three Ages of Man the stranger has never seen anything as old and solid as a cathedral and marvels as he lays his hands on the stone walls of Winchester Cathedral.
Friday Flash Fiction – Black Mamba
John had set out to buy a birthday present, but had no idea where to go or what to choose. The initial euphoria at being invited to the party, albeit at the last moment, had been replaced by panic. When his mobile beeped and he looked at the message one question had been answered; what time to turn up? Two of the others in the group were going to meet him at the tube station; he had never been to Ali’s place before.
He smiled to himself, now he had a timetable to work to and the weekend was looking up. That was the good thing about being in London, you didn’t have to be lonely, there was always something going on, especially if you were part of a group. He had started going dancing to get out and meet people and it seemed to be working. The group of twentyandthirtysomethings had absorbed him. From Valentine’s evening to bank holidays, it didn’t matter if you weren’t in a couple; there was always a dance or a picnic in the park. With mobile phones and Facebook everybody kept in touch. He tried to explain to his mother on the phone that these days girls and boys could just be friends; if he mentioned a girl’s name she was liable to get twittery.
Ali was his friend, she was everybody’s friend, the centre of the group. He had no idea if there was a boyfriend lurking in the background, too new in the group to know much about the lives of the others.
John sighed, he surely wasn’t the only bloke who fancied Ali. She was tall, slim and beautiful, but there was more to her than that. The first time he saw her on the dance floor, her long legs were encased in jazzy black tights and she wore a short red tartan skirt that his mother would have called ‘no more than a belt’. Ali’s short black hair, stunning eye make up and black lipstick were set off by the broad, black leather collar with spikes that she wore around her long neck. It was a look that only Ali could carry off with aplomb. She had done modelling, but was far too intelligent to actually be a model; her job was something interesting and arty.
He found himself at the flower market near Brick Lane. Flowers would be a safe gift he pondered, as he paused at a stall. Amongst the lush bouquets he saw a small pot, a neat plant with two small flowers.
‘It’s a Black Mamba Gallia Lilly’ the flower woman interrupted his thoughts.
John picked up the pot and examined the exquisite flower. No flower could be truly black; these blooms were deepest purple, the hint of colour gave them their beautiful velvet sheen.
‘I’ve got some nice pink tissue paper if it’s for a present’ she said helpfully.
Ali certainly didn’t do pink.
‘Do you have black tissue paper?’
When the three of them arrived at Ali’s place it was so crowded he wasn’t sure of the set up. Girls were arriving bearing shiny gift bags; he tried to see what the other men had brought and hung back as Ali gratefully hugged everybody. As people wandered off to get drinks he nervously edged forward and proffered his gift.
‘Oh, it’s perfect, that’s so me, you really get it.’
She pecked his cheek and he kissed her shyly, wary of the collar spikes. She clasped his hand.
‘Come through and meet Lucas, my fiancé.’
Times and Tides of a Beachwriter 