Wet sand at St Leonards. Yes, Lucy (re your comment yesterday), you may have the impression that we are flitting from place to place in the South of England. In fact we have been, but at a slower rate than the mixture of photographs and notes in my notebook suggest. It strikes me today that the notes, and photographs in the camera memory are running into one another, blurring definitions like water colours on wet paper.Asking myself and dealing with similar questions about why blog and why this blog in particular, I come to the conclusion that I am involved in some kind of soap opera. I seem to be writing it and living it at the same time. A soap opera of the soul... the soul? Well, you know what I mean.
Blue, morning glories are climbing up the rampant fuscia by the side of the house. This morning, in the early sunshine, there are four blooms to admire in all their glory. By now they have shrunk to little twists of dried tissue. Tomorrow a fresh installment of exotica.
4 comments:
The best kind of travel, devoid of detail about humped suitcases, missed connections and undesirable adjacencies. Flitting, in fact. We flitted to Stratford-on-Avon yesterday evening and found it full of locals, shouting to each other across the streets. Since the theatre there still isn't operative I can't see the point of going there. We had arranged to meet a blog-companion and his wife and I had booked the restaurant. As we travelled there (courtesy of satnav) I wondered idly about the potentally embarrassing moment when two groups, unaware of each other's appearance, are required to meet. But I was way ahead of myself. We were the restaurant's only customers - until they arrived.
Yes, it's like that, especially when going back over photos taken over a longish period. Unless one is slavishly bound to keeping everything topical and chronological, and there's no reason why we should be, it is frequently a non-linear medium, which is one way in which is is different from a soap opera.
Also not as many people meet untimely and senstional ends, I hope. Though there's less of that in The Archers.
Oh yes, the sand picture's gorgeous, and the three word title is a cracker...
BB Flitting, as you describe it, is almost as good a concept as (sorry about the missing circumflex) flanerie.
And Lucy ... that is what I suppose I am doing in my notebook and camera memory. Yes. Flitting. "Now" has a wide compass.
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