soup

Cheerful Monday morning making Moroccan soup with chickpeas, spinach, apricots, lemon, chili and cinnamon - so good I managed quite a long trek in heavy mist and drizzle up and over the high hills this afternoon. Perhaps not quite my daily 10kms, but not bad for a grim November day. Adequate preparation for smoked trout pasta later, I dare say.

witchfest review

Back from the bizarre experience that was Witchfest. A great deal of concentration required not to stand on trailing cloaks or get wands up the nose. Interesting that the atmosphere was completely normal - no sense whatsoever of special energy or powerful focus - just too much shopping on hand, maybe? Having said that, I had a truly awesome experience of connection with an absent loved one in the shopping hall, and made one very happy purchase. Talks were embarrassingly basic and simplistic until the great Ronald Hutton took the stage and wowed several hundred people with his intellectual integrity and passionate commitment to the cause. And he was funny ...
Also met several people whom I've known well for years on the internet for the first time in the flesh, and was not disappointed. Dear friend Zoe especially :-) and my tarot reading colleagues from TABI. That was the best part of it all, prosaic human contact. What it lacked for me was, well, magic ...

witchfest

Off to England early tomorrow for Witchfest International (in Croydon!)and then a few days with oldest and dearest friends. Just as well, I'm not doing any work at the moment ...

always judge a book by its cover

A day of choosing photos, out of hundreds, for cover of new short canal guide which is due out in spring. This is in addition to The Long Thought - seems a good idea to get two books out of 18 months work :-) This whole cover business is so important, it pays to take the time. My Walking in Finistere cover took almost a month to decide, and I lost long arguments about the back cover pictures of Discovering the History of Brittany - the satisfaction of now clearly being right is not enough compensation either.

melacholy day

I can't do better than Auden today. What misery.

Like love we don't know where or why,
Like love we can't compel or fly,
Like love we often weep,
Like love we seldom keep.

I'm writing a poem about éoliennes and feeling like shit.

ADDED: but the day got a whole lot better ....

crepes

I have to be in the mood for crepes, and usually that means lunchtime only, but tonight was an exception. At the best creperie in Morlaix had an excellent meal - ble noir crepes, a) tuna, garlic butter, seaweed and lemon filling (top favourite) b) roquefort with walnut salad. I won't bother to mention the creme brulee ice-cream and the ... Accompanied by cider, naturally, and animated discussion of American literature and society, the French education system, why I loathe John Donne, are writers ever good people (no), etc.

poem

When You Are Ill

Driven by demands
Of frustrated tenderness,
I am restless far away

Wanting to touch your face
Make soothing soup
Read something silly aloud
Or simply watch you sleeping

But I want from exile,
Not nearly near enough

back again

Two weeks in Morbihan finishing my 360km love affair with the Nantes/Brest canal, and also doing the work for some historic walks I've been asked to contribute to a new book for next year. I am ALL WALKED OUT and starting to get injury prone as a result, despite going to bed at 8 every night and resting as much as possible. Time to stop walking and start writing again, although my head is full of poems and very little else.

Back

A week in bed (ill, unfortunately) followed by a week with no computer as my lap-top finally died, taking many of my secrets to its grave. That's a relief. New machine now all set up, but the difficulty of buying anything here is so frustrating (even for an exceptionally patient and undemanding person like me :-)). You can spend half an hour talking specs and models, choose a computer, get your money out - only to be told they don't keep stock, in a tone that suggests you've made some nasty distasteful proposition. It's crass to actually want something NOW in France. Anything commercial anyway.

Blain - never again (OK, only rhymes in english)

In the last few days I have walked through electric storms and torrential rain, been bitten on almost every inch of my face and body by mosquitoes and acquired a most peculiar and painful red rash on one side of my neck. And I was just expecting sore feet. Feeling particularly savage about Loire Atlantique as I start to write up my notes - the canal was filthy and 'management' consisted of the most hideous architecture imaginable (I have called it 'toytown urinal meets swiss chalet twee,' a description which errs on the side of charity) and slashing down as many trees along the towpath as possible (to be replanted, of course - with firs!). Also in sour mood with the town of Blain where the chateau managed to close itself for no apparent reason (apart from my arrival) after I had arranged to spend half a day there to see it. There is little to do in Blain for that length of time - sitting on a bench studying a street map was the best value: 'rue Wootton Basset' (no, seriously) and also the allée Nominoe leading into the impasse Erispoe, which is a great joke for Breton historians. As poetry has recently re-entered my life (thanks to a very special man) after a long absence, I think I shall begin work now on an Ode to Blain ...

english out

Interesting day at the market: for the first time in my years here, I am on the receiving end of anti-English abuse (what an insult - it's worse than being called a girl). An elderly Breton stops to tell me, seriously and vindictively, I should not be selling books in English and furthermore the English should get out, or be chucked out, of Brittany. After a short while it is not pleasant and my mate on the next stall gallantly intervenes, eventually leading the man away and continuing the argument with him. Five minutes later, Christian tells me gleefully that apparently I am responsible for the death of Jeanne d'Arc. This cheers up all the traders enormously on what had been a slow day and leads to serial jokes along the lines of - don't ask her, she'll have you burnt at the stake, and, how could you do such a horrible thing to poor Jeanne (well, she deserved it and I did warn her) etc. I am having a sign made for next week - it will read, in French: I AM WELSH. PLEASE DON'T HOLD ME RESPONSIBLE FOR THE ENGLISH. If any English people ask me what it means, I shall say ALL NATIONALITIES WELCOME HERE, but if they don't buy a book, I'll burn them right up.

research

Getting ready for my Loire-Atlantique trip now. The first five chapters of The Long Thought are pretty much empty pages as yet, whereas the second half of the book is nearly finished. It's been an odd piecemeal construction over a long period of time, but I'm happy with how things are turning out. This week I'm completing the initial research which will enable me to walk a 125km stretch of canal with the right sort of thoughts in my head and a certain preparedness for important sights. Pretty sure that the excessively watery nature of the terrain out there will lead to some emotional turbulence, but there are also good historical pegs along the route from Alain le Grand to Spanish prisoners of the Napoleonic Wars to American shelling of villages by the canal. I also intend to develop the psychology of walking theme in this particular chapter - if the weather is anything like last week, I'll certainly be asking myself profound questions like - why bother?

more canal stuff

Spent a day in central Brittany walking a very sad stretch of canal between Pontivy and Lac de Guerlédan. Because the barrage at the lake cut the canal in two in 1930, commercial traffic stopped and this section has never been restored or maintained as a canal, although the nasty tarmac tow-path must get its share of walkers and cyclists. The locks are all in dismal state and many of the lock-houses have been abandoned. The landscape is uninteresting and there are few buildings of note along the way - one chapel with excellent painted ceilings, a square-towered manoir and a mill midstream on the Blavet. The barrage is grim, like a concentration camp - and not improved by the driving rain that plagued me much of the day.

autumn

For the first time, it was dark when I got up to go to the market yesterday morning. And I wore jeans, jacket and proper shoes. It must be autumn. Today on my regular 10km circuit, the gorse and numerous heathers were out, mushrooms burgeoning everywhere and blackberries nearly over. All the land is wet and steamy, where the rain has soaked down into the earth's latent summer heat. I've started cooking red cabbage again and eating inside and not taking the dogs out in the evening. It must be autumn.
Great market - highlight was meeting a couple who arrived holding a copy of my walk book they'd bought on a ferry, and were pleasantly surprised to encounter the author and keen to tell me how much they enjoyed the ones they'd done. In fact, they'd come to Morlaix to do the city walk in the book - now that did make me happy. And they were such nice people, I wish I'd had longer to talk to them.
Today I'm working on the canal material. Serious and focused again. It must be autumn. Not August.

good day, bad day syndrome

Tuesday a very good day. Meeting with charming Directeur of SMATAH, a group that manages the canal in Finistere. By chance, also encounter charming French journalist there (at a lock-house in Chateauneuf-du-Faou). Drive about looking at quarries and bourgs close to the canal, which provides some interesting new perspectives. Wednesday a terrible day. Unproductive morning with carnal thoughts interfering with work in a way I do not normally allow. Afternoon, went on a walk with the Queffleuth group in torrential rain and was soaked to the skin within two kilometres. Turned into a bit of an endurance test, despite some good company and a positive spirit of discovery that does the others credit. I was out on a limb and too preoccupied to make a sparkling contribution. Tea, feeling dismal, soggy and exhausted, with my Czech friend in Plourin.

madness

In answer to D's (DW not DP) query about my resolution of last weekend - I have kept one part but not the other ;-) In fact, did something incredibly stupid on Thursday. Serious madness. Now, on reflection, I think I might quite like to do it again.

market forces

Brilliant market session this morning - sun shone, I shone, sales shone. Met a handsome and engaging Frenchman (yes, another) who bought my history book, (ADDED this does not do him justice: from our subsequent acquaintance I must change the description to highly intelligent, interesting, funny, stimulating and generally amazing Breton man; ADDED AGAIN - this doesn't do him justice either, he's extraordinary, ADDED AGAIN - there are no words to describe this man) and lots of other lovely people it was a pleasure to sign books for because I knew they'd enjoy and value them, and maybe even come back and tell me so. Lazy afternoon, picking blackberries and reading a Philippa Gregory given to me by Erik, my Breton mate with the bookstall opposite. Dogs glad to have me home for once and in a mood to give them attention.

spider

My friend Jude with her Alfa Romeo Spider. We are so going to be the coolest women about town (OK mainly country, but look out the Café Terrasse in Morlaix).

Pardon

Our local Pardon today at the Abbaye du Relec. A service in the ancient abbey church followed by procession carrying relics through the woods to the sacred fontaine. Even as an observer, it's a profoundly moving experience, from the swell of Breton song from the belly of the church spreading over the many waiting outside, to the simple faith of the costumed women carrying their Lady's image on aged shoulders. As they wound their dignified way alongside the lake and were then lost among the trees I was both tearful and happy, separate but bound by the love of the land that underlies all devotion here. And not a foreign voice to be heard, except the French :-)

weekend

Dismal Saturday. For some reason (probably lack of KoS), market was dreary and unproductive. I felt very unengaged with the whole business and thus repelled most potential punters. Spent the afternoon reading a crap book in tent in the orchard with Brian constantly trying to force his way in. (He's a dog, for any late comers to this story who think it might be more interesting than is actually the case).
Sunday, gave tarot readings at English sale held in go-kart arena (now that does look fun, I always enjoy a bit of aggressive driving). Very tired emotionally (not as salacious as tired and emotional) after this, but still had two internet readings to do at home, so seriously in need of copious amounts of vodka this evening. Am going to give up drinking this week, I swear, and indulge my other vices to excess instead.