this week...

[‘Hyacinths’ (1937) by Alfred Janes]

…I’ve read Hilly Janes’ book The Three Lives of Dylan Thomas, loosely a biography but actually a very readable wider account of Thomas’ group of Swansea friends who met in the Kardomah (see last week), in particular her father, the artist Fred Janes, who painted and drew wonderful portraits of many of them (and exquisite still lifes like this, seen in Swansea). But I recoiled at the level of self-centredness of Dylan and Caitlin, and the dreadful neglect of their children. I also found this excellent long article which makes me feel a lot better about not understanding Thomas’ poetry (“…full of sound and fury. Signifying nothing…” comes to my mind). But I still love his long lists and jumbling up of all sorts of things, and the Coronation Street street life of Under Milk Wood.

I’ve also read Andrew Martin’s enjoyable new novel, Moquette Mystery, the plot of which turns on a piece of moquette possibly made in Halifax. As Andrew wrote The Seats of London, the textile details are many and fascinating (he also writes the excellent Reading on Trains.)

I’ve knitted a rust-coloured beanie hat for Simon, which makes him identifiable in a crowd. So much so that the person with the loudspeaker at Cambridge station on Sunday said, “could the man in the orange beanie please stay behind the yellow line” as we made our way down a very crowded platform to much turning of heads and laughter. (It’s the Hipster Hat and Simon does his best to live up to the hat’s name.)

[now I know about wooden skyscrapers - this is Mjøstårnet (2019) in Brumunddal, Norway]

We celebrated our son-in-law passing his Part III architecture exams and becoming a fully qualified architect. He and I talk about concrete and Brutalism, façades and external materials (his specialisms), but differ on colour. He favours black and white and shades of grey, so staying with us must be trying. He’s also been very rude in the past about my Birkenstocks (so ugly) but is having to eat humble pie as he now realises with his first pair how comfortable they are. I forgive him, especially when he cooks amazing meals including a Christmas Day Beef Wellington with carefully modelled and sculpted pastry decorations (he did go to the RCA so I guess his MA came in useful here).

I spent a day at LCBA making my list books using best bits of leftover prints, cyanotypes, and linocuts; they are the kind of thing Dylan Thomas or Proust or Rabelais could have used and filled with glorious inventories and accumulations. We use them for prosaic shopping lists. This time, as often happens, I had bench space next to Haein Song who is one of the most talented contemporary bookbinders/maker of artist’s books. She is also lovely, modest, and helpful, but I always have an element of imposter syndrome/desire to put up a screen so she can’t see how makeshift my books are.

[official photo]

I swam in the Olympic pool at the London Aquatics Centre in Stratford. The Zaha Hadid building is still beautiful inside and out, and it’s a wonderful place to enjoy life in the slow lane. Last time I was there it was to watch Tom Daley diving but sadly there were no divers on the 10m board this week (it looks soooo high when you’re at water level).

I then went back to the V&A Storehouse to look at five more C19 smocks. The people on the table next to me had ordered five of David Bowie’s stage costumes which were amazing to see close up, and the antithesis of my hard-wearing, hand-sewn plain linen and cotton garments.

But the smocks generate a lot of interest with other visitors and the V&A staff, and we all agree we’d love to try them on and wear them (whereas not many people could fit into Bowie’s costumes, let alone wear them for work).

[smiley faces on elbows sweater]

We are, like many millions of people, watching The Traitors. When the first series came out I wouldn’t watch it; I was too high-minded, and too horrified by the premise, to watch people lying. I got over myself when we played the card game at Christmas in Sweden and it was just a game, a very camp one at that, and one I wasn’t too good at, so was nearly always seen as a traitor and invariably “murdered” early. Although it did feel weird accusing our generous host of being a traitor. This celebrity version is fascinating and funny because they are so bad at it, and there’s much to enjoy in terms of amateur sleuthing and cod psychology, plus Claudia Winkleman’s knitwear.

[on our wall: photo by Martin Bond of Cambridge Market at dusk]

So here we are at the weekend when the clocks go back and it starts to feel properly autumnal. Cambridge at dusk in November is highly atmospheric, and I’m almost looking forward to it.

But where are The Beatles, I hear you ask.

Well, I’m still admiring thE puzzle I did a couple of weeks ago and can’t bear to break up just yet. It was sent by a very kind reader who was the first to tell me she and her Beatles-fan/jigsaw puzzler husband had spotted a certain recurring theme in these newsletters. 1,000 pieces, and a lot of looking for hair and Cuban heel boots and noses and drums and great lettering. A great way to spend the rough Sunday after a flu jab.

Happy Sunday!