writing, not drowning

Brief encounter

Back in December 2010, when I was coming to the end of radiotherapy sessions to deal with the Massive Inconvenience, I wrote this post about a sublime moment on the riverbank. I wrote about the white house on the hill and the haunting notes of Bach's Goldberg Variations (played, I felt sure, by Glenn Gould) resonating across the river. That moment has remained with me ever since and I have always thought of it as one of the significant points in my journey to recovery, when I knew with absolute certainty that I was free of cancer.

The dogs and I have walked along the riverbank many times since then; occasionally there was music and I would pause and listen and remember. And then the music stopped. There has been no music for many months.

We were there again today, in very different weather (sunshine, yes, real, proper sunshine); we walked along the river to the weir and then stopped beside a calm point in the river -  Miss P's favourite swimming spot, where she does her best Tom Daly impersonations - and then turned to head back. The Edinburgh Boy takes things at a gentler pace these days; he has just been diagnosed with arthritis, for which he is about to start a course of treatment, so no running around for him. But even if he can't romp with Miss P,  there are always other dogs for her to chase and be chased by and, it being a convivial sort of riverbank, other dog owners for company.

Miss P soon spotted a friendly-looking Jack Russell and, while they had a bit of a run-around, I fell into conversation with his owner. As sometimes happens, it turned into one of those profound conversations that one can have with a stranger; we covered some deepish stuff in a very short space of time.  And then she mentioned that, a few months ago, she and her husband had moved to a nearby town and how different it was walking along this side of the river when, for 30 years, she had watched dogs and their owners - from the other side. I asked her where she had lived.

'The white house, up on the hill. I am afraid that we used to play very loud music . . . I always wondered if it was too loud but I've spoken to people on this side since and most seemed to like it.'

So I told her about the sublime moment and Bach and Glenn Gould and recovery from the Massive Inconvenience. And thanked her. Cue: another profound moment.

Our conversation turned to the small town just a few miles away where she now lives and I mentioned that this is where I hold my writing workshops.

'Oh, that's you! A great friend of ours, X, has just enrolled; she's so looking forward to it.' She mentioned a name I recognised.

We thought this was something of a sign and agreed how good it would be to repeat the walk. However, since we were both geared up for dog-walking and nothing else, we had no pen or paper to write down phone numbers.

'But you can contact me through X,' I said.

'Of course.' she replied. I do hope she will.

Just before we reached the gate, on the other side of which our cars were parked, we caught up wth her husband and their other Jack Russell. Introductions completed, another conversation about music and Bach and Glenn Gould ensued. 

'I used to play music when I was working in the garden,' he said.

I was, I told him, very glad indeed that he had.

One never really knows how or why these things happen. Chance, fate, serendipity . . . ? But how good it is when they do.

Decked out

Even the most die-hard republican would find it hard to avoid the gargantuan quantities of bunting that are currently smothering the country but at least the mood is jolly and, after a couple of years of general political and financial scariness and the cost of living on an ever- upwards trajectory, this comes as something of a welcome relief, even if - as we all know - it is only a temporary one . As Guardian journalist, Polly Toynbee tweeted today: 'I'm going to eat cake, jeer at the hats, enjoy myself on Sunday. I've paid for it, will have fun. Sorry.'

And I found myself nodding in agreement with this from Michele Grant: 'Jubilee cost 1m and feels like it belongs to everyone. Olympics cost 12bn and feels like it belongs to Coca Cola and Adidas.' (Thank you to author, Linda Grant, for retweeting her sister's wise words.)

But back to this Sunday . . . I confess that, as a Londoner in exile, I would LOVE to be standing beside the Thames to watch that pageant. There is frequent speculation as to what the true centre of London is - Piccadilly Circus, Trafalgar Square, Westminster Abbey? Ask a Londoner, however, and they will tell you that it is the river, the Thames, the city's great, pulsating, jugular vein, that is the true centre. And there is no better way to see London than from the Thames. More than 1,000 boats are taking part, from the surviving Dunkirk Little Ships to colourful narrowboats, from working boats to The Belem, a stately, three-masted 19th-century barque, built in Nantes and once a gift to Coco Chanel from her English lover. Sigh . . .

Circumstances dictate that I must remain here so the telly will have to do instead. Still, if I can't have London, I'll be happy to be in Dulverton, just a few miles from here, and which is definitely in a jolly mood, not least because its annual folk festival runs from today until 5 June. 

Dulverton Town hall (as seen in The Land Girls . . .)

Meanwhile, if you'd like to know what a small town on Exmoor has been doing to mark this rather special weekend, just take a look at some of Dulverton's shop windows, where irony and a sense of humour sit alongside the tasteful, the over-the-top, and the understated.

The dear old Queen has removed her crown and is having a well-earned rest at Acorn Antiques:

Mr and Mrs Queen give a whole new meaning to the term 'silver surfers' at the former site of the Courtyard Cafe (now for sale):

The crown, meanwhile, is on special high-security loan in the window at Rose Slee, purveyor of very fine upholstery fabrics:

Best friends are not forgotten at Dulverton Pet Supplies:

and the bunting is out at Bodmin House, where ace hairdressers, Ruth and Rosie (seen here), will do wonders for your barnet, at a fraction of what it would cost in the great metropolis:

There's nostalgia at the library:

and tri-colour twirls at White Horse Photography:

Everyone has been in raptures about this amazing creation at the Exclusive Cake Company:

but it's back to nostalgia at the antiquarian bookseller, Rothwell and Dunworth:

and at antiques dealer, Anthony Sampson - that's a Coronation Day issue of Country Life in the window:

It's no surprise that these two found their way into the window of Brimblecombe, whose owner, Jane, is something of a dog lover:

One of my favourite shops, Number Seven, has its own, unique, take on festive colours and artefacts. See more on their blogpost, Chapter Seven, here:

And if you are planning a tea party, you'll find just the thing at Louise's Antiques:

All these wonders within a few  yards of each other along Dulverton's main street:

But there was one more thing before I left. Something which gave my heart  a bit of a lurch:

We had one just like this once, about thirty years or so ago, but he (for it was a he) was stolen. His name was Jubilee Jim . . .

* * * * * 

Looking out of the window, as I write this, I can see my dear old neighbour across the road; he's now well advanced in years, a widower, and a highly decorated veteran of WWII. He is painstakingly hanging (equally elderly) bunting between the ancient yew trees that stand guard at the entrance of the driveway to his house. He and his late and much-loved wife raised their family here and his ancestors lived in this village, or close by, for many hundreds of years; the churchyard is full of his forebears.  And I discover that I have a lump in my throat. Sometimes, it doesn't pay to be too cynical.

'Well-apparel'd April . . .'

So, despite all my good intentions, I have not managed to write a single post for ages. I've thought of any number of things to write about while walking with the dogs - and then failed to write about them. I couldn't quite work out why this was happening until I realised that it was due, in part, to the fact that I hadn't been taking my camera with me. A magnificent spring and I wasn't bothering to record it. 

And then I realised that I hadn't been taking my camera because I wasn't venturing far, no zipping around this beautiful county as I had in previous years as soon as spring arrived (petrol at crazy prices, energy still not quite what it was, etc etc). Who, I wondered would want to see photos that had more than a ring of familiarity  about them? Which is crackers, of course. Each day, each minute, each moment is different - as is each spring.

This week I gave myself a good talking-to and set out on the familiar track with newly-opened eyes.

It helped to have such delightful companions (this week's guests):

the elderly Westie

the youthful Patterdale Terrier

the splendid Flat-Coat Retriever - a veritable canine Mark Spitz

and his girlfriend the little lurcher-collie cross

and not forgetting the dear Edinburgh Boy.

Looking down, the riverbank is a two-mile carpet of celandines:

and one - yes, just one - small clump of wood anemones, which flower for only a few days

 

Looking up, a last glimpse of skeletal trees before they burst into leaf

The track home reminds me of France but, for once, I don't have my usual springtime itchy feet. This year it's just very good to be here. And to be well.

 

Flower boat

 

I want one of these . . .

houseboat on the River Thames