On the MONA Roma
On the MONA Roma
Ian McMillan started it. He was on Desert Island Discs on Sunday, and he chose Stockhausen’s four minutes thirty-three seconds of silence as one of his tracks, though for obvious reasons they couldn’t play the whole thing on Radio 4. But it got me thinking. And listening. So all week, on and off, I’ve been tuning out and tuning in.
Yesterday I was at Westminster Abbey for the opening of The Field of Remembrance. Continue reading
In another part of the wood, Bilby set a writing challenge. This is my draft, or if I don’t have any more time, final version…
I scratched breakfast this morning. I went to bed far too late last night, and as I’ve mentioned elsewhere, Cat, who is still suffering from some sort of gastric upset, used the litter tray sometime in the early hours. It could have been worse; he managed to keep it confined to the tray apart from a few splashes. Obviously, clearing it up was my first task when I got up. Call me precious, but there’s something about dealing with liquid excrement that depresses my appetite. I had a cup of coffee, and decided to hang on for brunch.
I like brunch. I don’t often have it because I’m also very keen on breakfast. And lunch. And dinner come to that. But I like the way that you can break the rules with brunch, and put things together in an unusual combinations. And you have different things to Continue reading
I am paying for my lackadaisical attitudes. Yesterday afternoon, I used the tiny key to the little garden store, and when I came indoors, instead of hanging it up in it’s proper place, I, well actually I don’t know what I did with it. And that’s the problem.
Losing it has made me look around this cosy little flat with a different eye. Now, I am seeing books that belong on shelves, here or back at the library, in all corners. There’s a pen in the bathroom; an apple on the chest of drawers; two pairs of shoes make a trip hazard in the hall; a new paper lampshade unopened on a chair in the sitting room; a new prospectus for the evening class I want to sign up for. No minimalistic clear surfaces in this home. The kindest thing you could say about it is that it looks Continue reading
When she had woken to the sound of heavy rain, she’d been perversely pleased. With Irish weather in mind, they’d packed heavy waterproofs along with the rest of their walking gear, and imagined evenings playing Scrabble, or reading fat novels with cups of hot whiskey to keep them warm.
But the sun had shone day after day, and the evenings had been spent on the balcony of their rental apartment in the converted barn, with glasses of white wine, and very little Scrabble and no reading. They’d watched bats swooping in front of soft sunsets and listened hopefully for nightingales. Continue reading
I have now discovered I can’t comment on anyone’s post!
So Brendano, thanks for yours, it made me laugh. If it gets deleted I may ask you to send me a copy.
Janh, i’ll visit your wordpress page later.
I wanted to reply to comments on my post of yesterday evening, but I can’t! Very odd. So thank-you to everyone who wrote a comment. It was enlightening, though I didn’t understand alanh’s ref to someone who was posting at 6.46 as well, and was the faux johnmitchell comment about my lost name?
I was able to edit and put Duckham’s name back into the post. Now how did that vanish? I hadn’t realised he’d been deleted. But surely deletion is one thing. To remove his name totally, even from my post last night, seems like Stalinist airbrushing.
See you on WordPress!