Rainy weekend: I wrote a thing
I had intended to spend some of this weekend doing a long walk with Rosie, but the weather was terribly gloomy and the Sarcastic Saluki not terribly enthusiastic.
So once I had packed All The Things and posted them, we trundled over to meet my mother. We'd arranged to meet in a Dartmoor car-park, and I admit that if I had not been able to see that she had clearly driven through the MASSIVE muddy puddles and in and out of the potholes to park already, I might have quailed.
As it was, if a woman in her eighties driving a VW Polo could get in, so could I in my Volvo, I reasoned (thinking about it, I'm not sure this was true. The Volvo is a lot heavier. It was entirely possible that I might have plunged to a watery doom. But as it happened, I didn't. )
Anyway, the carpark was splendidly empty apart from us, and so were the woods, and since our short stroll was enclosed on one side by a river and on the other by a cliff, I let Rosie off the lead to scoot about after squirrels, and she was very good. My mother insisted we should follow her through hedge and briar, and I was slightly concerned that she (my Mum, not Rosie Roo) was going to fall off a wet log in the rain and break something but she didnt'. Then we went off to the cafe and had coffee and avocado toast with poached eggs (apart from Rosie, who had a sausage).
Then I came home via Lidl, looked at the rain, decided not to do any gardening and instead wrote:
No Glasse of England
Fëanor and Nerdanel make a visit to modern Warwick, the town that inspired the poem ‘Kortirion Among the Trees’. The title is from the agreement for "John Prudde of Westminster glasier, 23 Junii 25 H. 6, covenanteth &c. to glase all the windows in the new chapell in Warwick, with Glasse beyond the Seas, and with no Glasse of England'.
I didn't know about this till I looked it up almost at the end of writing to find out who was responsible for the glass at St Mary's church in Warwick, and was much delighted to find that wording.
I also discovered, while looking that up, a gentleman named Steve Clare, who wrote this book. I'm now wondering if he's a long-lost relative, since we share a surname, and my paternal grandfather came from a family who were glass-painters in central London.
So once I had packed All The Things and posted them, we trundled over to meet my mother. We'd arranged to meet in a Dartmoor car-park, and I admit that if I had not been able to see that she had clearly driven through the MASSIVE muddy puddles and in and out of the potholes to park already, I might have quailed.
As it was, if a woman in her eighties driving a VW Polo could get in, so could I in my Volvo, I reasoned (thinking about it, I'm not sure this was true. The Volvo is a lot heavier. It was entirely possible that I might have plunged to a watery doom. But as it happened, I didn't. )
Anyway, the carpark was splendidly empty apart from us, and so were the woods, and since our short stroll was enclosed on one side by a river and on the other by a cliff, I let Rosie off the lead to scoot about after squirrels, and she was very good. My mother insisted we should follow her through hedge and briar, and I was slightly concerned that she (my Mum, not Rosie Roo) was going to fall off a wet log in the rain and break something but she didnt'. Then we went off to the cafe and had coffee and avocado toast with poached eggs (apart from Rosie, who had a sausage).
Then I came home via Lidl, looked at the rain, decided not to do any gardening and instead wrote:
No Glasse of England
Fëanor and Nerdanel make a visit to modern Warwick, the town that inspired the poem ‘Kortirion Among the Trees’. The title is from the agreement for "John Prudde of Westminster glasier, 23 Junii 25 H. 6, covenanteth &c. to glase all the windows in the new chapell in Warwick, with Glasse beyond the Seas, and with no Glasse of England'.
I didn't know about this till I looked it up almost at the end of writing to find out who was responsible for the glass at St Mary's church in Warwick, and was much delighted to find that wording.
I also discovered, while looking that up, a gentleman named Steve Clare, who wrote this book. I'm now wondering if he's a long-lost relative, since we share a surname, and my paternal grandfather came from a family who were glass-painters in central London.