A diverting weekend
A little while ago, a weekend turned into an expedition, and I was suddenly packing a suitcase for 5 days and travelling to three venues for different events. The first of these was Emily's birthday:
pottery painting in Twyford, and a brilliant meal at the local Greek restaurant.
Having not picked up a paintbrush in ten years, it was with some trepidation that I chose to paint a mug, but with a bit of trial and error, stencils, and time, I'm pleased with the result, which I collected this week:
The next day P and I hopped onto the coach to London, enjoyed a peaceful walk from Victoria to the Globe (after a moment of confusion on my part, since I don't navigate using points of the compass, and don't really know how Victoria fits into my mental map), past the end of the book market, polka-dot trees, topiary furniture and the millenium bridge.
The reason we were in London at all was the launch for my friend Sarah's first poetry collection, Napoleon's Travelling Bookshelf. With readings from both Sarah and her fellow poet Stephanie Leal (Metrophobia) from behind a brilliant swan lectern,
a collection of people I've met at Sarah's events in the past, and a bar, a good time was had by all. Here's a gratuitous shot of me and the author:
me in the Kaffe Fassett fabric dress that I made in a fit of frustration with work in May. On the return journey, tired feet were compensated for by a pause to appreciate (and photograph) the blue lights in the trees, and St Paul's in the dusk.
A late return to Oxford ensured that I was in situ for a very hot three days of conference attendance (thankfully, I wasn't speaking), very satisfactorily rounded off by a visit to the Oxford Bluestockings before I hopped on the train home.
Oh, and Sarah's book (available via Amazon or direct from penned in the margins) has been described as "intricate as lace but as sharp as daggers"... which got me thinking...
pottery painting in Twyford, and a brilliant meal at the local Greek restaurant.
Having not picked up a paintbrush in ten years, it was with some trepidation that I chose to paint a mug, but with a bit of trial and error, stencils, and time, I'm pleased with the result, which I collected this week:
The next day P and I hopped onto the coach to London, enjoyed a peaceful walk from Victoria to the Globe (after a moment of confusion on my part, since I don't navigate using points of the compass, and don't really know how Victoria fits into my mental map), past the end of the book market, polka-dot trees, topiary furniture and the millenium bridge.
The reason we were in London at all was the launch for my friend Sarah's first poetry collection, Napoleon's Travelling Bookshelf. With readings from both Sarah and her fellow poet Stephanie Leal (Metrophobia) from behind a brilliant swan lectern,
a collection of people I've met at Sarah's events in the past, and a bar, a good time was had by all. Here's a gratuitous shot of me and the author:
me in the Kaffe Fassett fabric dress that I made in a fit of frustration with work in May. On the return journey, tired feet were compensated for by a pause to appreciate (and photograph) the blue lights in the trees, and St Paul's in the dusk.
A late return to Oxford ensured that I was in situ for a very hot three days of conference attendance (thankfully, I wasn't speaking), very satisfactorily rounded off by a visit to the Oxford Bluestockings before I hopped on the train home.Oh, and Sarah's book (available via Amazon or direct from penned in the margins) has been described as "intricate as lace but as sharp as daggers"... which got me thinking...
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