Poets, painters and puddings. These three things make the world as it ought to be.

Visiting Kristi

I am sitting at my desk in my lovely warm living room listening to the birds happy in their spring time song.  The almond blossom is finally showing itself and beautiful it is too. I am at home on holiday, I have just spent a very peaceful weekend with my freind Kristi who lives near to Orange right in the heart of Vaucluse country side, surounded by vinyards with Mount Ventoux in the distance, still snow clad.

I finished work on the friday, took the long and boring train ride home, changing at Nice. I don't know why the train seemed to be on a GO SLOW it stopped in places I have never heard of and travelled slower than a snail, and by the time I got home I was irritable and fed up. Saturday morning up early excited about my visit to the Vaucluse. I arrived in time for lunch and because we have not seen one another for an age we spent all our afternoon and evening chatting and catching up. The mistral was blowing hard, we took the dogs for a walk with the wind blowing against us. I thought it would be nice to go sight seeing the next day. But the wind oh the wind made sight seeing a very uncomfortable thing to do, and all we could think of was lunch.

We found a great restaurant just as we were giving up thinking we would never find anywhere and had a delicious three course meal for just 14 euros per head. I needed a snooze after that. More chatting and the Krisit's family came home. I drove home on the monday morning.

Now I am home I am trying to make the most of my time off. working full time, makes me realize quite how precious time off it. Yet yesterday I managed to waste time. I want to fill my days with as much joy and as much creativity as I possibly can so that I can go back to work knowing I did the best I could possibly do.

As I have no where to paint I have set up a studio in the kitchen down stairs it is not ideal but is working for now and I have four paintings on the go which is very exciting. I hope I get to fisnish them. With no thought of an exhibition or the pressure of having to sell them I feel a freedom of spirit that I have not had for a long time whilst painting. It doesn't matter what they look like, it doesn't matter if anyone likes them, it is just the feeling of the painting that counts for me. I am trying not to read anything in them, not to intellectualize to analyze, to worry  and find meaning, to find words that make up the meaning of the painting. To find words that make meaning out of the emotion. It doesn't matter. Peace is what matters. In a mind like mine that is always distraught with anxiety and worry to find peace is the ultimate freedom, the ultimate bliss, it is enlightenment, it is untangilbe, it is without words and without meaning and it is with God.

So God bless you all and may today be a day of peace.

The Port Authority, The Fishermen and the Deck hand

The boat was awash with people, led by a man in a long grey dress with beads around his neck a purposefull looking book and a superior kind of hat, the rest were in an array of colourful garments and from the local fish boats which were also colourful and adorned in brightly coloured cloths and rags. The port stank of dead fish and the water was barely visible through the large patches of oil.

The important man strode down into the boat into the salon, much to all of our suprise everyone else came to. Then came the communication problem, they did not speak English we did not speak Morrocan. We were stuck. The captain wanted fuel and help, and it would seem that the important man and his followers wanted the deck hand who they obviously thought was a george Micheal look a like, as they cried out George. We managed to astertain that, thought they could not understand we wanted fuel, they did want to buy our deck hand for a certain number of sheep and a few camels. We teased, Tom, we thgouth that was a good exchange. Tom hid in the head. Meanwhile the captain had managed to communicate that he needed a taxi to take him to the British Embassy in Casablanca. He and the still disgraced first mate went off by taxi, and four of us were left on the boat for what seemed an eternity. The important man and his followers settled down in the cock pit to await the captains return. The fear Ihad felt of these strange people being aboard our boat had left me, they obviously meant us no harm and were only curious. It cannot have been often that a luxoury yacht had entered their port.

Teas, coffees and sandwiches later, our captain oh our captain, arrived back with a gentleman from the British Embassy. Passports, boat papers, official business was under way. We eventually filled up with fuel in our one good tank, and hoped the wind would take us to Antigua. We left that night, Tom just managed to stay on board we persuaded them we would not sell him, besides were was the room for camels and sheep on our boat.

Finally it felt as if we were on our voyage, no more land for two weeks, just the ocean and us. The wind wasn't very helpful, we spent many a day just flopping around in the water, stopping for a swim  , no other boats in sight lagging behind our schedule, we would be having Christmas at sea....

Casablanca and the Fresh Water Mistake

(one of the boats I worked on)

Casablanca and the Fresh water mistake.

We left the Canaries fully loaded with fuel, fresh water and food, now we were really on our way. Two weeks and god willing we should be in Antigua just in time for Christmas and having fun with our friends. I was very excited.

Late at night a commotion started on deck. Raised voices, heated arguements, the engine slowed down. I could hear everything, my cabin was under the cock pit. I dressed quickly and went on deck as did the others. what was going on. The captain was red in the face, eyes popping and jumping up and down with anger. The first mate was looking guilty and defensive, but unable to save face in a hopeless situation. He could not do anything but pleed guilty. what had he done to cause such anger.

In the ealy misty morning in the Canaries with a blinding hangover our first mate had put fresh water into the spare fuel tank. You can well imagine what a distaster it would have been had the water got into the engine. Our Captain a perfectionist in the extreme, had for some reason best know to himself decided to test the fuel before changing tanks and low and behold he had found a greasy fuel and water mix. Our first mate was in for it, we thought it was going to come to blows!!!

There was nothing to be done but find a port, we were near to Casablanca, we found an industrial port, it was three in t he morning. A gloomy red yellow light fell on the water gigantic rusty cranes filled the sky like ominous giants, ready to fall to collapse, to capture us and to metamorphe us into their rusted stillness. We crept slowey forward towards the port. The sea was filled with debris, old logs, plastic bags and goodness knows what else. We were filled with trepidation at least I was, it was not an exciting adventure, it was a scary one. At last we arrived into the smaller port, filled with colourful and stange looking fishing boats, it felt a little safer, at least we were close to land and and hopefully fuel and an answer to our problems.

Two of us stayed on watch and the rest went to bed. I awoke to the sound of dozens of boot clad feet on deck and an anxious voice coming from the deck hand..............................

Beausoleil

I have just looked on my site for the first time in months and have found some lovely comments which have warmed my heart, thank you so much. I will carry on with the boat story, though not today. Today I just want to tell you that I have a job cooking for a lovely family in Monaco and that I have an appartment in Beausoleil, which translates as Beautiful Sun, rather romantic wouldn't you say to live in a place called Beasoleil.

I have been working here for nearly three months, and as with any job there have been teething problems, particularly my nerves. After 40 years of catering I would expect not to get nervous but oh no I still get the colly wobbles, they are getting better slowley.

I go home most weekends to Lorgues, I take the train from Monaco train station, thoroughly modern in every way, cutting its way through deep deep rock, it is very impressive. It takes me two to three hours to get home, David meets me at Les Arcs train station and off we drive our icy drive home. I have a full day to enjoy myself on the saturday and then come back by train on the sunday.

This weekend is a special weekend, I worked yesterday saturday and so have stayed in Beausoleil. David and Jack ( my step son ) are visiting me here. We have taken a tour of the sights and Jack is very impressed with the vast array of posh cars, Bently's Rolls Royce, which are a rarer sight than Ferraries which are 6 to a dozen here, Lambourghini's, Maserati's, Mustang's, Porches, Porches Cayenne and others I cannot pronounce or spell.

We took a walk around the park, around the Casino down to the port to see all the big boats, the lift back up to the Casino then a rather expensive hot chocolate in the Cafe de Paris. Home and warm we are looking forward to an Indian take away. One of the great things in living in a little town are the advantages of take aways and this one happens to be very good.

Jack and David are off skiing tomorrow and I am back to work. I am having a lovely day. thank you again for your comments, I shall indeed continue to write and write my boat story. Just cooking is not enough to nourish my creativity I need more, to paint and to write, but whilst I am working so hard it is near on impossible to find the time, but find it I will.