To me, having a pedicure is a bit of an extravagance and although I deeply enjoy the experience I am not always comfortable having someone crouched over me, whittling and scraping away while I sit in a giant, puffy chair like I’m Lazy-Boy Royalty. I’m also quite shy about the entire process so when I pulled up at my usual place (meaning the place I have been exactly three times before) and saw the “Closed” sign, I was so disappointed I very nearly just went home. However, this is winter, my feet are not at their finest and I wanted to raise my spirits with a splash of vermillion, so I drove to another salon since where I live and let’s face it, there’s a nail salon literally every few yards.
Once installed, I like to stare into space and not think about anything for a while as my feet soak in some hot, floral scented froth knowing before the end of my visit I will be called “Bee-u-tiful lady” at least twice. Someone will also sincerely tell me that the colour I chose is an excellent choice.
Regardless of the truth involved in either of these statements – I really like hearing it. Continue reading
My memories of David Bowie and my years as a teen in 1970s Britain cannot be separated from one another; they are stitched tightly together like a tapestry and as I discovered this week have not lost any of their potency.
I actually watched my hands shake when I read the news of his passing and have not been able to write about it till today.
My much older brother (whom I very fondly call ‘Spock’ ) took great enjoyment in regularly skewering my admiration of Bowie at the time although interestingly, this “phase” would continue into my adulthood since this was Not. A. Puppy Luu-uuv). Spock would frequently suggest that if Bowie was really the talent I claimed he was, he would not have to resort to the ‘gimmickry’ of different personas etc.
(Let’s just say that my brother was not entirely comfortable with Bowie’s sparkling, off-the-shoulder body stocking …)
Years later I stopped arguing with my brother or anyone else because if you are asking this kind of question you have either never listened to the music (yes, Spock I am looking at you) or, you just didn’t get it.
In which case, I feel badly for you – but cannot explain it.
To me Bowie was a poet, a self-taught intellectual (and that crisp, almost Royal annunciation wasn’t acquired on the streets of Brixton either) and despite the glittery beginning I absolutely lusted after him. His voice could bring me to my knees (the earnest phrasing, the lingering over a syllable) and I listened over and over, often deep into the night, creating my own anthems, hearing something different each time. Continue reading
So I went to pick up some peaches yesterday (we went through the large container I got last week very quickly after sharing with Frasier who’s been over to nobly assist The General with some technical issues) and was told that the peaches are done for the season!
Not earth shattering news I understand but I was saddened that The Season had ended so suddenly for me, at least, and worse still without my noticing that it’s now close to the end of September …
Since I had also gathered all the ingredients to make a peach crumble/crisp/buckle or something equally comforting the next obvious choice was to get some really decent apples.
And then I started thinking about all the stories in my life associated with apples and thought I’d thrill you with a few highlights.
Food is, after all, so interwoven with memories.
It’s a very primitive, important thing. Continue reading
Frasier ( Son #1) has often told me that people are not reading less now but rather, reading differently. He cites his own reading habits here – and many of his hipster friends – who may dip in and out of many respected, intellectual websites and blogs/instagram accounts daily but not necessarily read an actual book with any degree of regularity. But is the ability to settle down and enjoy a longer body of work for pleasure gradually being edged out by all these shorter blasts online?
Is there a case to be made about our attention spans atrophying since the onset of the internet?
I’ll try to keep this brief …