Day 31

 

There are times when reality is just too unbelievably awful and you need to get out fast. What could be better than an alternative form of the UK peopled by werewolves and vampires and various other oddities, where humans think they are dominant, but quite obviously aren’t?

Let’s move to Helen Harper’s world. I believe she is classified as young adults, but let me tell you, there are days when this ancient adult gets huge satisfaction and amusement from her books.

She is a prolific author, thirty-six books to date, eight series and one stand-alone novel, and, of course some are better than others, but all the books of hers that I have read – about two thirds of them – have been literate and well plotted. We are not talking great literature here, we are talking escapist nonsense that pushes the wretchedness of the world that we are living in firmly into the background – imagine a good whisky without the concomitant hangover – but which is also well written, well plotted and with an internal logic that works.

When I have been in a really bad place, insomniac at 2.50am (why always 2.50am?) I have transposed our world into her world with hugely satisfactory results.

There is a lot of snobbery about reading - what is good fiction and what is bad fiction – like wine, it is possible to get great pleasure from a cheeky little piece of popular writing and to be seriously let down by a piece of ‘good writing’.

Over the summer, I have been reading for the panel of a literary prize – as I understand it, our marks sift out the long list. It has, on the whole been a disappointing exercise. What could have been a quite enjoyable little romance is so bespattered with epic similes as to be barely readable. Soiled menstrual towels are given the same poetic weight as the falling leaves in autumn. Timelines, hours and years are indicated by diagrams or notes within the text, in total disarray, again interrupting the flow of one’s reading to the point where you find you have only continued reading because you have contracted to do so.

Sometimes I ask myself whether I am missing the point. Perhaps these extremely complex narratives are the real thing and that if a book is to be considered literature, you have to battle to extract its meaning. Then I think, no, post seventy, I deserve clarity and a good story.

These are my basic requirements:

·      Good plot

·      Good characterisation. You should be able to identify who is speaking and their mood (‘enthused’ ‘expostulated’  No, no, no!) without being told

·      Written in sentences

·      Written in simple, concise prose

Communication is all.

(Besides which, vampires can be diabolically attractive!)

 

But what about poetry?

I think it would be fair to say that I find poetry difficult. It should say things that are impossible to express in prose, but frequently, especially when reading modern poetry, I think what they are saying could have been much better expressed as an essay or an article.

 R S Thomas says the things that I have wanted to say. His poetry is wonderful, though from what I have read about him and what he has said about himself, he was a very difficult man.

 

R S Thomas captures instances and images in snapshots that communicate directly with your own experience. Reading his poetry is, for me, a constant meeting with experiences I have had, but have not been able to express. I live in a landscape not dissimilar to the parts of Wales where he lived. I read his poetry. I recognise a similar landscape and I can see how he relates it to feelings, beliefs and emotions. At no point with his poetry do I get the feeling that he is congratulating himself on a neat turn of phrase.

The Bright Field

I have seen the sun break through

to illuminate a small field

for a while, and gone my way

and forgotten it. But that was the

pearl of great price, the one field that had

treasure in it. I realise now

that I must give all that I have

to possess it. Life is not hurrying

 

on to a receding future, nor hankering after

an imagined past. It is the turning

aside like Moses to the miracle

of the lit bush, to a brightness

that seemed as transitory as your youth

once, but is the eternity that awaits you.

 

Well, that was a bit of turnaround – teenage supernatural fiction to the poetry of R S Thomas, but that is what a good whisky (thank you, Patrick) will do for you.

 

Music

I love L’Arpeggiato and the story of Dido and Aeneas fits my mood tonight,

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UvW1YQCpUCA

 

Food

I made my courgette cake and it was all right, but I am out of practice eating cakes – and bread as well, for that matter. I get a loaf delivered weekly by the milkman but it goes green before I can finish it. I suppose that means it is not loaded down with preservatives, but it is embarrassing when one’s son comes to call and the sandwich one offers him makes its own way off the plate to greet him.

I am trying to lower my carbs intake, being old and overweight. At the last check I wasn’t diabetic, but I know that this is a status that can change very quickly. Besides which, getting around would be more pleasant if I wasn’t lugging this load of blubber with me.

Losing weight is very difficult if you are restricted in the exercise you can take. My knees are bad which cuts out lots of exercise. My asthma makes lots of other exercise uncomfortable. I love swimming but present circs make swimming undesirable. So basically, if I want to lose weight, it has to be through diet.

The trouble is, in present circumstances, a bar of chocolate or a Danish pastry or strawberries with lovely yellow Jersey cream might be the only things which are making life bearable.

So what have I done?

1.    I have cut sugar out completely. If something needs sweetening I use honey which is sweeter per gram than sugar.

2.    I have cut out potatoes, using courgettes or aubergines to sop up gravy and sauces instead

3.    If I use rice I add lots of other vegetables to it – beans, courgettes, peppers, tomatoes, nuts.

4.    I use dhal instead of potatoes and rice. I used to think mash and gravy was the ultimate comfort food, but dhal is closing in fast.

The main thing I have learnt over the last few months is  - experiment. Try different things, why? Because it is fun, it is different, it takes time out of a boring day. You can source most ingredients online.

The best thing I have discovered foodwise over the past few months is dhal. It is amazing – so many variations, all delicious – and good for you – amazing.

 

My painting this week is also rather sober.

The Menin Road by Paul Nash

 

Paul Nash served in the First World War and recorded what he saw. This dead landscape is Northern France – an area which is the French equivalent of Kent, England’s garden. This destruction is the result of politicians’ ego trips. I wanted this blog to be apolitical – but I fear the arrogant aspirations of  all politicians, and I urge you all to be alert and aware.