Once upon a time, round about the 1850s, gasholders started to become a part of the urban ladscape, storing gas which was then sent on to bring light and warmth to local homes. Their distinctive presence came to be loved and loathed in equal measure by those who lived within sight of them. Many have now been destroyed, but some have been repurposed and redeveloped as up-market housing: as here , near Kings Cross in London. These are a couple of people enjoying a quiet moment in one of the urban gardens here, protected from the rigours of English weather. I rather like the slightly hard-to-read nature of these images, where shadows battle with columns to confuse the eye.
Here’s a post which I wrote fifteen years ago, when we lived in France. At the time, it pointed up the difference between bread-buying in England, where bread had too often become an industrial product, and the more home-spun approach we appreciated in our small French town. Now however, artisan bakers in England are two a penny. Their stuff is good, but when we want to frighten ourselves to death, we comment to eack other ‘What WOULD our mothers have said at handing over just shy of £5 for a loaf of bread?’ That’s was Malcolm’s dad’s entire weekly earnings.No wonder I’ve taken to making my own.
Give Us This Day Our Daily Bread
25th February 2010
How could they? I mean, what ARE they playing at? All last week, and most of this, the baker’s shop down the road has been closed. Instead of rising at 2.00 a.m. to get busy making baguettes, flutes, ficelles, baguettes a l’ancienne, flutes tradition, pain noir, chocolatines, croissants and so on and so on, our bakers have chosen to lie in till – ooh, 7 o’clock perhaps – and then spend the day catching up with their families – the children are on half term.
It’s a family business, our baker’s shop. M & Mme Fonquernie owned it, and now, although officially they’ve retired, they help out all the time. M. Fonquernie is the one who drives his little white van round the local villages which have no shops, delivering bread. Their two sons have now taken over the day-to-day baking. One is responsible for all those loaves, while the other specialises in patisserie. Their wives divide the work of running the shop between them with Mme Fonquernie Senior’s help.
Mme. Fonquernie presides over the shop on most days.
So our morning routine has been disrupted. First thing each day, one of us usually walks down the road to get our favourite pain noir, hot and crisp still from the oven. The other day, the baker forgot the salt. The bread wasn’t half so nice, but I rather liked this very human error. It proved that our loaves are still ‘artisanale’, rather than being churned out by some computer-assisted machine. There’s generally someone in the shop to chat to, or to walk back along the street with, and so neither of us looks on getting the bread in as a chore.
We’re lucky, I suppose, that there are three bakers in town. Last week, we went to the shops at Castellanes to the baker there. No pain noir at this shop, so we chose their unbleached white. The small one’s a slender baguette shape – an Ariegeoise (female) – but buy the larger butch version, and you must ask for an Ariegeois (male).
But then what happened? A notice appeared in the shop: from Sunday, they too would be closed for a holiday. So for a few days this week, we have to patronise shop number three. Everybody moans ‘C’est pain industriel ça’. It’s true. It comes all the way from Lavelanet, from a bakery which has three shops. That’s mass production, and it shows. Roll on Thursday, when the Fonquernie family re-opens its shop doors.
And here’s a short scene from the baker’s about 18 months later, exposing the use of the most useful word there is in French …
Voilà!
7th September 2011
Here’s what happened at the baker’s this morning. Translations appear in brackets.
Me: Oh! Isn’t the pain bio ready yet?
Madame: Voilà! (Nope. Quite right)
Me: So if I call in after 9, you’ll have some? Could you please save me a loaf?
Madame: Voilà! (Yes, and yes). Would you like to pay now, then it’ll be all done and dusted?
Me: Voilà! (Makes sense. I’ll do that)
By the way, I was all grottily dressed in my oldest paint-spattered, holes-in-the-knee-ready-to-face-a-morning’s-tiling gear. This is Laroque after all: no shame in working clothes here.
Madame: You’re looking very chic today, if I may say so.
Me: Voilà! (And don’t I know it).
Why bother to learn more French? Voilà donc!
Only the photo of Mme Fonquernie is my own. The rest come courtesy of Unsplash, and are (reading from top to bottom) by Sergio Artze;Wesual and Markus Spiske.
This week, Patti has invited us to explore colour photography, as against black and white for her Lens-Artists Challenge. She’d like us to present the same image both in colour and in monochrome. Because I do very little post-processing, I’ve used the fairly limited options offered by Google Photos.
What to choose? I decided to pick images that I thought were sure to work best in colour, and see what happened if I imposed a monochrome palette on them. I was quite surprised.
First of all I looked at my images of Vitré, the charming French commune I shared with you a couple of weeks ago. Surely it’s all about the colour of the gaily painted houses there?
The Old Town, Vitré
I surprised myself. I liked both – perhaps because there’s a bit of an expectation that half-timbered houses, in England at least, tend to be in black and white. What gives the coloured image the edge in my eyes though, is the lucky chance of that figure in bright red strolling down the street. It just lends an extra focus to the shot lacking in the monochrome image.
Then I went to familiar stamping grounds. Brimham Rocks.
Brimham Rocks, North Yorkshire
I’m pretty happy with both. Those puffy cumulus clouds help to lighten the sky in the black and white image. It might otherwise have been a little uniformly grey. I’ve just popped another image in as the header photo. The rocks as seen through a conveniently sited picture frame. Trust me. The colour image is barely any different. It was a very overcast day.
The last image is of the simply appalling ferry we took from Rome to Barcelona the other year. Those rusting chimneys have their visual appeal, but the rest of the ship was like that too! Would they work in black and white? Let’s see.
Our Grimaldi lines ship. Avoid.
Hmm. I think it’s OK. The rusty pipes have sufficient contrast to work even without colour. In my opinion.
So there we have it. Are you a fan of colour, monochrome, or both? And do you have any strong feelings about what works, or doesn’t, here?
I decided to include this post in Leanne’s Monochrome Madness challenge. She can close her eyes to the colour versions.
Spotted at Bradford-upon- Avon, where we were saying goodbye to Becky (Queen of Squares) who had been a brilliant host to Anabel (Glasgow Gallivanter) and me when we stayed with her last Autumn. Here is a bench, providing space for three young people to do what they do best. Scrolling.
We don’t have a pet, though we’ve had cats in our time. I admire their independence, their insistence on setting the terms of any relationship they choose to establish with you.
My daughters have cats though. They would agree with this piece of street art in Brick Lane.
Miquel passed the test with Emily, and forthwith got his own cat, the supercilious Lulu. Who does not get on with…
… Emily’s Archie.
Archie likes to hide in boxes … or carrier bags … or baskets …
At least they have a home. On our travels, we’ve met plenty of feral cats. We’ve learnt not to feel too sorry for them. Clearly they are loved and cared for by some people in the community. Cádiz has its feline shanty towns, constructed with human help, on the rocks by the sea. Dinner is served here every evening by willing waiting staff. Probably breakfast too, for all I know.
Thessaloniki has its bed and breakfast accommodation sorted.
And a siesta is easily come by.
Dogs though. Dogs just want to have fun. As I found out on the beach at Bamburgh last October…
… unless they’re waiting for their owner…
… or swimming in the river, as my friend Dilys is doing in the featured photo. Though she, like the beach dogs, is having a pretty good time.
This last month, I’ve seen a lot of the sea. Travelling under it, to get to France; living beside it in Premià de Mar; and sailing over it to return to England. I’ve seen it in all its moods, and I’ll show a selection here for Sarah’s The Sea Challenge for Leanne’s Monochrome Madness.
There’s the sea when it isn’t there, because the tide’s out…
Heysham, Lancashire.Dumfries and Galloway
And when it’s placid, even in the middle of the North Sea …
The North Sea
When it’s a little bit frisky, whether in Saltburn or Spain…
SaltburnSpain
Or limbering up for a storm, in Staithes or Saint-Malo….
StaithesSaint-Malo
Or just making a statement, as it is here in Igidae …
I haven’t got a truly stormy picture of a truly stormy sea. These pictures taken at Sandsend near Whitby, and at Igidae on a very windy day will have to do. They were bad enough for an unwilling matelot.
Some of you have been following my adventures in Spain and France throughout January. Here is Positively the Last Memory. This is a shot taken aboard MV Armorique as she set out from Saint-Malo for Portsmouth in driving rain and winds of getting on for 50 mph. I can’t imagine how it was that this miserable matelot survived intact. But she did. Perhaps because at midnight, the wind suddenly dropped.
And actually, did I ever post my first shot of the holiday, waiting in line at Folkestone to get to France via the Channel Tunnel?
Rain then too. Luckily, the rain did the opposite of what the English children’s rhyme demands, and stayed resolutely away from Spain the whole time we were there.
Jude, of Travel Words fame, is encouraging us to post pictures of benches on Sundays. To celebrate being back home, and while it’s still winter, I’m going for a snowy view from the window I’m currently staring through. It’s not snowing today. Just bitterly cold. I’d ventured out one crisp February (yes, February!) day to snap the featured photo.
By the way. We are going to be entirely internet-free most of this coming week. I doubt if I’ll be able to read , post, or anything else internet-related during that time.
On the first Saturday of every month, a book is chosen as a starting point and linked to six other books to form a chain. Readers and bloggers are invited to join in by creating their own ‘chain’ leading from the selected book.
I haven’t yet read this month’s choice: Pierre Choderlos de Laclos’ Dangerous Liaisons. I ordered it from the library and have only just collected it.
So … I’ll go with the fact that it’s a novel written in epistolary form, and choose another written in this way: Ann Youngson’s Meet Me at the Museum. A book of considerable charm. An English 60 year old farmer’s wife writes a letter to a museum curator & professor in Denmark about Tollund Man, a perfectly preserved man from about 300 BCE who is exhibited there. A correspondence begins. Initially formal, the letters become more intimate. This busy outdoorsy farmer’s wife with her chintzy house couldn’t be more different from austere Scandinavian Anders. But both are lonely and have gaping holes in their lives. With every letter they disclose more of their joys, disappointments and difficulties and draw inexorably closer. At the end is a revelation. What effect will this have on them, on their burgeoning relationship? We can only speculate. A touching and intimate book.
Archaeology and paleontology are not the same, but perhaps it’s not too big a leap to go to southern England in the early 19th century for Tracy Chevalier’s Remarkable Creatures.This book is a fictional account, almost certainly not too far from the truth, about the geological work of middle-class-but-in-reduced-circumstances Elizabeth Philpott, and definitely working class Mary Anning. Both live in one of the fossil capitals of England, Lyme Regis. Both spend hours on the beach fossil hunting – Elizabeth for her own interest and as a pastime, Mary for an income, selling them. It’s inevitable that they should meet, less inevitable that Elizabeth should become Mary’s friend and champion, encouraging her to learn to read and write.This is their story. And it takes a very long time for it to end well for Mary. An enjoyable, and – yes – an informative read, if not Tracy Chevalier at her best.
Reading this may whet your appetite for a spot of non-fiction: Helen Gordon’s Notes from Deep Time: an engaging and thought-provoking account of geological time. As a non-scientist, I often find such accounts dry or inaccessible, but this is a highly readable book attempting with some success to engage our brains in comprehending the vastness of time, and the difference between the various eons that constitute the time that the earth has been in being. Who knew for instance that triceratops and tyrannosaurus rex not only didn’t appear on earth at the same time, but in fact were separated from each other by an infinitely longer time span than humankind from tyrannosaurus? From discussions about the physical appearance of the earth in previous periods, to ongoing research about dinosaurs (what colour were they?) to urban geology, and laying up problems for the future, this is a wide ranging book to which I shall return.
I’m making a great job of mixing archaeology and paleontology, because my next book, The Crossing Places involves a professional archaeologist, Dr. Ruth Galloway, in the first of the popular series about her by Ellie Griffiths. An involving story, with well-developed, believable characters and a sense of place: the flat Norfolk landscape is well described. I bought into the plot, with Ruth Galloway, young academic archeologist brought into a police investigation to uncover a mystery about a disappeared child whose bones might, just might, be buried on her ‘patch’. The series is some 15 books long and I’ve by no means read them all. But they’re good for those moments when you haven’t got much bandwidth for anything too demanding.
Let’s stay in Norfolk, but delve once more into the past. Victoria Mackenzie’s For Thy Great Pain Have Mercy on My Little Pain. Two female medieval mystics, Julian of Norwich and Margery Kempe tell their stories in alternating short chapters. Julian is the better known figure, for her ‘Revelations of Divine Love‘, written when she was an anchoress, enclosed in a tiny windowed cell abutting a Norwich church. Both she and the other figure in the book, Marjorie Kent, had visions. Whereas Julian chooses to see little, but see it intensely, Marjorie is very different. Illiterate and rambunctious, with little time for her husband and children, she loudly proclaims her visions of Christ to anyone who will listen, and indeed these who do not wish to listen. Both took risks. To go against current Christian orthodoxy, especially as a woman, risked excommunication and a painful death. In the book, and we cannot know if this happened, the two meet, and this unlikely pair make a genuine connection. Beautifully written, and quickly read, this is a book that will stay with me for a long time.
Finally, a book I haven’t read, but intend to because I heard snatches of it being read as BBC’s Book of the Week. Catherine Coldstream’s Cloistered tells the story of her years as a nun in the 1990s, and her eventual flight from the convent – I didn’t hear that bit. And how did I get from a story about two amoral lovers-turned-rivals to the story of women who’ve taken vows of chastity? Ah well. That’s Six Degrees for you!
Next month’s starter is Paul Lynch‘s Prophet Song: a book I very much ejoyed reading last year.
I feel a little sad. This month’s Squares, cheerfully and positively initiated and choreographed by Becky is drawing to a close. For me, it’s been a great chance to record a whole special month of family time in Spain, and travels in France. The downside to my travels has been I’ve had less chance than I would have liked to explore everyone else’s contributions.
But we’ve reached the last day. I showed you shots of Vitré yesterday, so now it’s time to show you a few of Saint-Malo, our point of departure from France. We arrived in time to sightsee: but heavy rain, falling more-or-less horizontally because of the high wind rather put a stop to that. Here are a few shots I took during odd minutes when the rain stopped, and I scuttled out with my phone to try my luck..
Ships rely a great deal on geometry, so here’s a large and well used fishing vessel …
And here are breakwater poles, parallel-parked in the sea. Which was rough enough to worry this reluctant matelot. Inexplicably, though the night of our journey to England was turbulent, I survived intact.
I can’t leave you though, without sharing an image I snapped as we drove round a roundabout not too far from Angers. Is it geometry? Is it art? Or is it simply … a chair?
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