“By the way, the crazy blonde in the canteen? That’s me.”*

In Current reading, Drafts, Food, Games, Hautvoir, Local projects, Music, Visual artists, Wine on November 19, 2013 at 8:35 am

She brought a bottle of red wine, a baked dish somewhat related to scalloped potatoes, macarons and bananas, plus a guest. The guest came along after a perusal of his own fridge and a description of the meal we had the last time she visited.

At this end, one of the merchants threw in a small cauliflower with the larger one I bought on Sunday. The smallish one became soup with flavoring ingredients I’ll only reveal under duress. Baked sweet potatoes with – ah, this is worth sharing: a dash of cider vinegar flavored with eldeberry flowers. This last bought from en enthusiastic newcomer at the Sunday market. She gathered the eldeberry flowers during a walk in the mountain, she said. I believe her. There were roasted chestnuts, too, but they were dry (Cybèle thinks I baked a special treat, just for her). Plus bread, cheese, and another bottle of red wine.

The discussion on the brawn served as part of the last luncheon aboard the Titanic led to a conversation about a musical group called Throbbing Gristle. The group headed by one Genesis P Orridge. This, by paths too circuitous to retrace, led to a public reading of the first page in Joyce Carey’s The Horse’s Mouth. She fell for the description of the light on the Thames (like a viper swimming in skim milk). He fell for the whole thing, and swore he’d bring the book home to me – a crucial test in any relationship. Made even more crucial since my copy is a Folio Society edition, no longer in print, bought in Lisbon, with great line drawings, and. All right, you get the picture.

The main topic – which led to his also borrowing Pamuk’s My Name is Red: how do you get adults to play again? I talked about the backdrop in the coffee house where Pamuk’s characters gather and listen to tales. Mentioned the fact one chapter is devoted to (and narrated by) the tree painted on that backdrop; another to a coin giving full particulars on its own life, times and misadventures. The notion grew of a game in which… hm. The notion grew. It now simmers.

A ramble through some of the more notional art pieces I’ve received in the past two years led to the discovery one supplier of choice products for his sculptures is a close relative of the jailbird whose painting of a bonsai now graces my shelves. This led back to Joyce Carey’s paintings in the art collector’s home. This made the lending of the book a necessity.

Oy. Must. Oy. Things to do.

* The title brings me back to my homework. The words: spoken yesterday by the Vice-Principal in a local school when one of the teachers dropped in with more particulars about The Incident Involving The Torn Copybook.


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