Monthly Archives: June 2016

Man! I Feel Like a (Cave) Woman!

Posted on by

If you’ve been following my blog you’re probably wondering how I’m getting on with the “Cave-woman Diet” and no doubt you’ll be pleased to know that I’ve lost a pound. It’s amazing the difference a single pound makes – I feel like a new woman! And whilst the metamorphosis has been taking place I have been painting poppies…

(The lyrics to the Shania Twain song are below the photographs.)

Diet going well

Very happy in my skin!

poppies final

Poppies – Acrylic on deep canvas (approx 12″x15″ + surround)

“Man! I Feel Like A Woman!”- Shania Twain

Let’s go girls! Come on.

I’m going out tonight-I’m feelin’ alright
Gonna let it all hang out
Wanna make some noise-really raise my voice
Yeah, I wanna scream and shout
No inhibitions-make no conditions
Get a little outta line
I ain’t gonna act politically correct
I only wanna have a good time

The best thing about being a woman
Is the prerogative to have a little fun

Oh, oh, oh, go totally crazy-forget I’m a lady
Men’s shirts-short skirts
Oh, oh, oh, really go wild-yeah, doin’ it in style
Oh, oh, oh, get in the action-feel the attraction
Color my hair-do what I dare
Oh, oh, oh, I wanna be free-yeah, to feel the way I feel
Man! I feel like a woman!

The girls need a break-tonight we’re gonna take
The chance to get out on the town
We don’t need romance-we only wanna dance
We’re gonna let our hair hang down

The best thing about being a woman
Is the prerogative to have a little fun

Oh, oh, oh, go totally crazy-forget I’m a lady
Men’s shirts-short skirts
Oh, oh, oh, really go wild-yeah, doin’ it in style
Oh, oh, oh, get in the action-feel the attraction
Color my hair-do what I dare
Oh, oh, oh, I wanna be free-yeah, to feel the way I feel
Man! I feel like a woman!

The best thing about being a woman
Is the prerogative to have a little fun (fun, fun)

Oh, oh, oh, go totally crazy-forget I’m a lady
Men’s shirts-short skirts
Oh, oh, oh, really go wild-yeah, doin’ it in style
Oh, oh, oh, get in the action-feel the attraction
Color my hair-do what I dare
Oh, oh, oh, I wanna be free-yeah, to feel the way I feel
Man! I feel like a woman!

I get totally crazy
Can you feel it
Come, come, come on baby
I feel like a woman

Mollified

Posted on by

It’s not so much that all my clothes were skimpy in the usual sense – short skirts and low necklines – it was way more worrying. There was a wedding, or party, I had to attend (I can’t remember exactly except that it was extremely important to look great). I became more and more anxious as I tried on everything in the wardrobe and found, with horror, that each item of apparel had been sabotaged in some way. A pair of trousers, gorgeous from the front view, had a window of material cut out the back to reveal half of my bottom; one top had a sleeve missing, another had a circle cut out exposing one side of my bra and another was bare from the waist to the top of the bodice. I was becoming more and more frantic. What did it mean? Who did it? What would my boyfriend do? Boyfriend? (Did you ask?) Yes boyfriend – my boyfriend was Tony Soprano!

Luckily, Chris awakened me before anything more dreadful happened but it took ages for me to come out of it and open my eyes, it was one of those dreams that pins you down and keeps you captive.

I guess I’ve been watching too much of “The Sopranos” (thanks to my brother Henry’s suggestion, we have the box set of all the episodes in every series – more than 100 episodes). We’re currently up to series three and have been witness to many murders, terrible violence, adultery, naked breasts and appalling language, however, it is intriguing and full of wry humour. Chris and I have to keep reminding ourselves that the endearing and troubled gangster boss Tony Soprano (played by the late James Gandolfini) really is evil.

Years ago I couldn’t bear to watch “The Godfather” or any of the gangster films. I’ve read the book recently, or rather I have had it read to me – I like to “read” whilst painting – and, surprisingly, I enjoyed it. I’m a bit worried that I’m more into violence than sissy romance stories (and I can relate to Tony Soprano’s female psychiatrist who has been strangely affected by her gangster patient).

Last week I decided to have a break from gangster books and try detective novels, which, in fact, are equally as violent and full of expletives (the perfect foil, I find, to painting pretty skies with pink clouds).

Another little worry in the past few months is that I keep having a recurring dream about AlPacino – he’s my lover – which probably sounds like quite a nice healthy dream… except that in my dreams he isn’t a young handsome gangster or detective, but a decrepit actor as portrayed in the film “The Humbling” (also titled “The Last Act”). I must admit that I enjoyed being his dream girlfriend. All the same I think I ought to revisit Charlotte Bronte, Jane Austen or… how about D.H. Lawrence?

The Foil

The Foil

 

Tide Out on the River Exe – A New Painting

Posted on by
Tide out on the Exe

Tide Out on the River Exe – Acrylic on canvas 58.5cms x 29cms

This week I’ve been back at work adding to my series of canal and estuary paintings. My next painting will be something quite different – a portrait commission of a handsome young man called Hugo… aged 22 months!

 

Posted in Art

That’s All Fokes!

Posted on by

You have to laugh at typos – don’t you? But what about “brainos”? (Braino is a new term coined by my husband Chris.” Brainos are a bit more embarrassing than typos because they indicate a certain lacking in the brain department of the writer, meaning that eider she (me) can’t spell or she isn’t paying due care and attention to the subject. In my case, I have been burdened by letting a howler “out there” in the Internet, not once but twice in the same sentence! You could say that I have “egg on my face”, especially as my cracking braino was meant to be the word for the golden inside of a duck egg:

“With extremely white shells and yokes that are very orange, ” I interrupted with a tone that denoted there was something wrong with alien white shells and large orange yokes.”

Whoops!

Still on the topic of those particular eggs… Apparently Germans do like duck eggs according to our lovely guest Monika but when I offered her more of them she declined saying, “One was quite big enough for us to share!”

So this lunchtime I made some delicious Australian pikelets (like small American pancakes).

“These are wonderful – as light as a feather,” enthused Chris.

“Delicious,” agreed our friend Jo who, a little later, was on a flying visit.

The pikelets flew off the plate.

” What is in them?” queried Jo.

“Well, as I had all these duck eggs I thought I’d use one duck egg and one chook egg,” I said opening the carton with the seven remaining huge white eggs, several of which were smeared with duck business. Incidentally, a chook is what we Aussies call a chicken.

I detected a look on Jo’s face that told me he wasn’t sure about duck eggs.

“They have really big orange yolks. Would you like some duck eggs to take home with you?” I asked.

“No thanks, but the pikelets were lovely,” Jo had regained his composure.

So if you’d like some duck eggs or some left over delicious pikelets do let me know. That’s all folks!

 

Only yoking!

Only Yoking!

Light as a feather, naturally

Light as a feather, naturally!

 

 

 

 

 

Empty Chairs and Empty Tables…

Posted on by

When the rest of us were all having a day of rest a good fairy by the name of Lizzie (one of my nieces and sister of the recent bride) went out to the farm and spent five hours cleaning and clearing up after the wedding reception on the previous day. Bless her! And she also joined us in the final clearance yesterday.

At last the work was finished and we all partook of the left-over cheese and biscuits, and roast beef, which had remained untouched, along with numerous cheese cakes, ice cream and other delights, in the two fridges. We washed lunch down with Sangria and beer (for the menfolk) and ended with cups of tea and coffee. It felt like another party. While I was taking after-the-ball photographs I was reminded of the sad song “Empty Chairs and Empty Tables” from “Les Miserables” but I wasn’t sad of course – just a bit flat after the excitement. We had had a ball.  “After the Ball” seemed rather more appropriate until I looked up the lyrics…

AFTER THE BALL

A little maiden climbed an old man’s knees—

Begged for a story: “Do uncle, please!

Why are you single, why live alone?

Have you no babies, have you no home?”

“I had a sweetheart, years, years ago,

Where she is now, pet, you will soon know;

List to the story, I’ll tell it all:

I believed her faithless after the ball.“

”Bright lights were flashing in the grand ballroom,

Softly the music playing sweet tunes.

There came my sweetheart, my love, my own,

‘I wish some water; leave me alone.’

When I returned, dear, there stood a man

Kissing my sweetheart as lovers can.

Down fell the glass, pet, broken, that’s all—

Just as my heart was after the ball.“

”Long years have passed, child, I have never wed,

True to my lost love though she is dead.

She tried to tell me, tried to explain—

I would not listen, pleadings were vain.

One day a letter came from that man;

He was her brother, the letter ran.

That’s why I’m lonely, no home at all—

I broke her heart, pet, after the ball.”

Chorus:

After the ball is over, after the break of morn,

After the dancers’ leaving, after the stars are gone,

Many a heart is aching, if you could read them all—

Source: Many the hopes that have vanished after the ball.

Ah, Ambrosia!

Posted on by

“I think I’ve developed an aversion to milk”, I said, pulling a face.

Chris and I were having breakfast at the time. I was about half-way through a bowl of “Maple and Pecan Crunch” cereal mixed with bran flakes (a nod to my slimming diet) when a wave of nausea hit me (must be sick of that diet!).

“I can’t finish this,” I continued, “but I won’t waste it. I’ll pop it, with an egg, into an old jam jar and take it to the dogs on Rosie’s farm. Egg-nog for dogs – they’ll love it!”

“Here,” began Chris, “you can add the rest of my milk, too.”

So I poured the lumpy mixture of half-eaten, milk-swollen cereals into a jar, added Chris’s left-over milk, then two eggs… I shook the concoction and opened the lid – the egg yokes floated unappetizingly in the pinkish-grey fluid and, yet again, I felt sick.

“I know it looks disgusting…” I paused as I pricked the yokes with a sharp knife.

“Yes,” Chris interrupted, “but presumably the dogs will think it’s ambrosia – the food of the dogs!”

 

And here is a typo from yesterday’s blog post that made me laugh. Freudian slip or what?

The slip!

Just One Hitch – A Country Wedding for Katie and Javier

Posted on by

On Saturday my beautiful niece Katie got hitched to Javier (her handsome Spaniard) at Mamhead Church near Dawlish and had her reception in a place very dear to some of our hearts – Rosie’s barn! It was wonderful. The only hitch, it seems, (as I noticed when going through some of my eight hundred odd photographs) was a slight trip up on Katie’s hem; James appeared to find it hilarious, as did those naughty boy cousins onlooking behind them (to the left of James in the third photo). They remind me of the children in “Giles Cartoons” – do you remember Giles? Anyway, I’m still too tired to go through ALL the photos but here are some to give a flavour of the day…

Foxgloves and Wild flowers in the Hedgerows and fields

Posted on by

The sun was shining, beckoning us up the path and to the fields beyond the gate at the end. Inca and Malachi walked ahead of me and, from time to time, stopped and waited patiently while I took photos of the wild flowers, many of which were caught in irresistible spotlights of sunbeams. And when we reached the open fields my faithful companions ran freely to their hearts content.

Back on the path homewards I ran with them – they didn’t have to stop once to wait for me – and they arrived home panting and thirsty, whilst I wasn’t even out of breath. I had a chuckle to myself.

Preparations For a Real Country Wedding

Posted on by

My beautiful niece Katie and her intended Javier (also beautiful in a dark and handsome Spanish way) are going to be married next Saturday but it’s not going to be a big affair in a grand hotel; they will be married in a tiny church on a grand country estate and have their reception in a nearby barn. Of course, it’s not just any barn, it is the most charming, colourful and characterful barn you could imagine; and it’s on Rosie and Slav’s farm (so it couldn’t help be lovely!).

Everybody has had fun mucking in (not ‘mucking out’) painting the floor, arranging flowers, revamping chairs, shining the copper pots and kettles, cutting the grass, putting up the marquee and making everything spic and span – but not too spic and span as Katie fears the country charm would be lost. She thinks the barn is perfect as it is. And so do I – almost – think I ought to make some more bunting. I have some pretty pink material and some white net with sparkles on it… not too grand.

As Beautiful as a Michelangelo Statue

Posted on by

“If only I had a spare five hundred pounds,” I said wistfully in bed recently.

At the time I was wearing my reading glasses and staring at my ankles. Now normally I don’t look at myself whilst wearing glasses (ignorance is bliss) but for whatever reason on this particular morning, such was the case.

“Oh, why’s that?” asked Chris, perhaps suddenly worried that I wished to take money out of our savings.

“Well, if I had five hundred pounds – I know it’s expensive – I could have my veins done,” I said pensively (if not searchingly).

“But you don’t have varicose veins – do you?” Chris tried to remember.

“Not exactly varicose but there are broken capillaries, especially on my right ankle. Haven’t you noticed them?” I queried.

“Not really,” said Chris, “but we all get a few blemishes as we get older. Anyway, I think you look like a Michelangelo statue.”

“Truly?” I simpered at the thought.

“Yes,” Chris paused and added, “and even some of those have veins!”