Magic in four colours.

Art is a funny old thing. Not just the actual art, but the art scene. Lots of beautiful people (and me) wandering in to tedious white rooms, be proffered wine and then largely ignoring the thing that they are meant to be there for. Well, except for me. The thing is I lost faith, the first night scene was feeling more like a chuffing cocktail party than a chance to have an early glimpse at some art.

Good for people watching though.

Anyway, as I say, I lost faith and stopped attending openings as, frankly, they were usually full of people who think Damien Hirst is actually a good thing. Idiots. Fast forward some time. Lots of time. Well, maybe not that much but I am dealing with the single biggest upheaval of my life at the same time.

Some months back I gained a new follower on twitter by the name of Matt Forster. From time to time he'd tweet images of watercolours he'd been working on and I liked what I saw, they had a certain something, a simplicity with depth.

Anyway.

Time passed a bit more and I saw that he had an exhibition about to start a little way from my office. Well that had to be a good thing. I at least knew I liked what I'd seen so far and was curious to see how it would measure up in reality. This was helped by the fact that the exhibition wasn't going to be in a white cube, but a coffee shop. In SW1. Crikey.

It was going to be a memorable evening. And not completely in a good way.

My plus one would be my bezzie, oddly this is only the second time I've dragged her kicking and screaming to an evening of art. And last time it was erotica. A bit different.

We started the evening in the Tom Cribb on Panton Street so we could cover the important business of the evening, namely love interests, in my case non-existent, obvs. And maybe have a little wine. Before we had more wine. Look, it never does to turn up on time and I never do!

Time passed...

...And then we wobbled off to Charles II Street to the Borough Barista which was to be the host for the evening reception and ensuing month long showing.

The interesting thing about this place was it seems to be downstairs so as you walk down said stairs you actually get a quick chance to view all of the art at once. Which I liked. I also like what I saw, especially one piece lurking in the corner, but more of that later.

As expected the beautiful people were out in force, which is quite tedious, but, unexpectedly, we were warmly greeted by Simon de Pinna of the Town and Country Gallery. Now this was nice, genuinely and does mean you know who to collar if you see something you like. Smart.

Artist holds head shocker...

So, there was just enough time for Simon to introduce us to the artist and have a very quick, yet detailed, chat about what we were here to see before it was abruptly halted for the inevitable speeches. Yep, we were that late. What I hadn't realised was this was the first proper exhibition that Simon and the T&C had put on, he went on to explain that he wanted somewhere different, a place that would make people feel comfortable.

It worked.

I was getting a little tetchy though. As Matt was explaining his technique and what it was that made his paintings so special the beautiful people were busy fannying about with their iBastards and not showing due interest.

Honestly people, you were being fed and wined. *whines*

After I may have said something quite rude about said beautiful people. We talked a bit more with Matt and worked our way along the wall of images until we reached the corner and the picture that had caught my eye on the way in.

It didn't have an orange dot.

Deep breaths

I made my excuses and went to look for Simon with the classic opening line, we need to talk. And we did.

The Lake Side was mine. *cackles*

Actual sheepish

After a short time secluded in the back room with nothing more than the gentle hum of a card machine to serenade me, we returned with the magic orange dot and marked the frame. Oh yes. The best thing was getting a brush by brush description of how Matt had carefully built up the image with just four colours and the order that he did it in. Utterly fascinating stuff, this is truly approaching magic in what is achieved. Needless to say the snippet of image above doesn't do it justice. Not even a little bit.

The funny thing is I know the technique well, it's an approach we took in the 90s to give new effects in videogames, though I strongly suspect this was far more painstaking and will be around long after some dodgy games are thankfully forgotten. I hope.

The pictures really do have a magical character and, which is a delight, the more you look at them the more you notice fabulous little nuances.

I'm starting to sound like an insane art luvvy. I'll stop.

Northerners. Pub. Naturally.

As the evening drew to a close we skipped back to the Tom Cribb for more of teh winez eventually being joined by the artist as we'd mentioned we were going there afterwards. What followed can't really be recalled with clarity as, well, you can guess, but did involved talking about life, art and avoiding tourists. As you do. It was the fab end to the evening that anyone would want, just such a shame it all went horribly wrong a little later when some thieving toerag decided that my bag looked fetching. But that's another story.

So, here I am, nearly two weeks later. A delightful latte in front of me, cool music playing in the background and a selection of business types holding meetings.

And my picture.

It's still glowering in the corner, the shadows giving a depth and intensity missing from the others. And you know what? Even given the trials and tribulations I suffered later that evening, I'm still overjoyed that I managed to secure such a lovely piece of art.

As for the Borough Barista, I can definitely say I like it, nicely quiet, easy on the eye staff who look like they give a monkeys and not too far from the office. I will definitely be back again soon.

The Matt Forster exhibition is showing at the Borough Barista until the 7th of October 2013, do go if you can. The coffee is pretty good too.

And don't forget to say hello to my picture!

Gardening part 8

The garden has taken a back seat recently due to sunny foreign festivities, therefore this is just a quick update on the progress of the contrary greenery in the sky. There was a small issue with a weekend without watering but I've been doubly nice to the plants since I got back, going up there with food and water.

Some beans today

When I say I've been 'nice', I've actually plucked, uprooted, boiled, picked and steamed the fruits of my labour. I can report the 3 smallish beetroot were extremely tasty - the beets themselves went into today's salad and the leaves accompanied our dinner last night. The mushrooms also had a few home grown radishes in the stuffing which added a hot crunch. 

The peas I continue to think of as my favourites and the best thing I've grown. They are filling out in a very satisfying way; in a couple of weeks I will be podding excitedly and they may even make up a portion of side veggies. The yellow beans have finally flourished and I've picked the first crop this evening - I honestly didn't think they would produce anything because the plants were so tiny, quite amazing really.

There are potential issues with the sprouts which had a load of white bugs on them. Perhaps they were holding a welcome party for my return? In any case, I toasted them with some seriously poisonous spray...and I hope the leaves uncrinkle. The cauliflowers have still not caulied, nor has the purple broccoli sprouted but who knows, they may surprise me.

All tidy and vacuumed

In other lettuce news, out of the 30 or so transplanted, I have 4 proper ones becoming proper ones! Still, lettuce is for decoration right? The other leaves seem good value for money and have grown again and again. The chilli and pepper plants were happy to see me and perked up with some watering - they seem to be flowering and have plenty of foliage. Whether they will have enough time to produce vegetables during August, I have no idea.

I was fed up with the flowers looking tired and dropping petals over the decking so I attacked the plants with scissors which has allowed the begonias some space and light in their busy trough. I got rid of a few geraniums giving the rosemary breathing room. So the balcony looks fresh, clean and bright again - I've also been investigating autumn colours for later in the year. So I'm being far too organised!!

What we have learnt

Travelling is all about learning so I asked my travelling companion what he'd learnt on holiday. This is what we came up with:

1. Standing up on a kayak capsizes it

  a. T-shirts don't float

2. Naturism should only be attempted in warm countries. We will not be doing *that* on the Isle of Sheppey

3. Cycling across rivers has to be done at speed (and done by girls with sexy legs apparently)

4. When on foreign trips, don't get distracted by buns of the sweet variety

5. A cemetery is called a hareem in Bosnia - the 'protected'. Is this true?!

6. Check your snorkels BEFORE you go on holiday for leaks

7. Avoid restaurants on a Friday if you dislike seafood *snork*

8. Massages should only be done by hot men in an idyllic location

9. Fishes are curious and come to investigate where ever possible

10. Swimming in clothes feels a bit wet

11. When they say jumbo pizza, they mean it

12. British and German stereotypes are true

13. Though rude French people get called f***ers by travel agents  

14. Orange pivo is pretty damn fine

15. I can cycle and kayak further than I thought

16. A better understanding of the Yugoslavia wars in the 90s

17. Being 40 isn't that bad 

18. Croatia is, once again, a perfect place to holiday

A stitch in time...

And so the contrary holiday rumbled on. Traditionally on holidays one is awake until late then has a lazy lay in before rushing down to the hotel breakfast at the last minute. Not in my book. At 6am I was watering the garden and by 7am I'd breakfasted and started to lay out the pattern pieces I'd prepared the night before. A bit like germans doing the towel thing by the pool.

Only with scissors.

That all went swimmingly well though it did remind me that I really ought to get another cutting board and rotary cutter as it makes life an awful lot easier. The day though went swiftly and remarkably efficiently, my only break being a trip to the best shop on the planet for evening winez and a pack of hand sewing needles. Honestly, I was on an actual roll with only one mishap involving scissors and the bodice. Oops. Oh well, I really wanted to re-cut pieces and make again.

Or not.

By 5:30pm I was finished all bar the zip, strap placement and final hemming. Oh yes.

Which was why I started making pasta dough as I had both my bezzie and the boss coming round for food and wine. Which would be great except for the fact that the living room had bred actual contrary chaos with little bits of cloth and threads everywhere.

The vacuum cleaner has never been so busy so often!

This is okay. As everyone knows, making dough for lasagna sheets means you have to leave at least 30 minutes for the dough to rest which was when I ran round like a woman posessed trying to clear up the chaos. I was finished with literally moments to spend as first the bezzie and then the boss managed to breach security at the front gate and were literally buzzing my buzzer...

Any dreams of having at least started the ragu was completely lost. To make matters worse I also lost the garlic I was going to use.

Oops. Again.

See the trouble is I like to slow cook for intense flavour so it wasn't until around 8:15 that I was ready to roll the pasta sheets... Or come out with a stream of euphemisms and double-entendres to end all streams of euphemisms and double-entendres. You wouldn't think rolling pasta could be such a giggle.

Or an excuse for pervy behaviour.

Yep, the boss decided to video the process, or our cleavages and, being slightly tiddly, we might have done the whole Nigella thing. Shameless. Quite shameless.

And then it got worse.

Pasta making with #boss
picture by @PrincessOfVP

The boss decided that he would also like to try his hand at turning the roller and stepped in. Of course he then also had to unbutton his shirt to show his own (lack of) cleavage.

I don't think I'll be able to face him on Monday without giggling.

Which reminds me, I must tell my flatmate that we froze some of the resulting lasagne in case she needed to eat on her return. 45 minutes after the giggling we were ready to eat, I'd magically removed all the removed al the remaining chaos on the table so we could actually eat and the evening rolled on until eventually even I had to stop eating.

It really was a fab evening.

Contrary peas!

This morning was another early start. The big news is that we have peas! I'd not really noticed them yesterday but once I saw one I realised there were loads, very exciting. I was amazed at how fast they went from flowering to actual pea pods showing. Quite stunning.

The rest of the morning was almost a repeat of the day before, breakfast, sewing, looking at ducklings, but I did at least finish the second dress. Or at least finish for now as after wearing it for a couple of hours I decided I needed to shorten the straps a little to stop them falling off my shoulders (my hips hold the dress up) but for that I will get somebody, we'll call her my flatmate, to help by pinning them whilst I wear it.

I'm sure that won't hurt.

Finally though it was time for my little holiday to end so with a flurry of bin emptying and packing my

It fits!

weekend bag I scampered off in the general direction of Kings Cross and a trip to Norfolk.

But that's not quite where the story ends.

On the train to Cambridge a lady sat opposite me, I blurted “I've met you before”, as I had, maybe four years ago on the Cambridge to Norwich train. I think she was slightly taken aback that I remembered she was a biologist studying fruit fly fertility for her PhD. You see, I might not be able to remember names or what day of the week it is, but I do remember the story and detail of most things.

It was lovely to chat and catchup as the train roared its way to Cambridge and hence my journey beyond...

Until next time.

Passport to Bosnia

Mostar was our destination yesterday but as anyone knows it's usually the journey rather than the end point that provides the giggles. We knew it was quite a way and contrary to popular belief I'm not silly, I checked the map. So four hours, three border crossings later we finally arrived. 

Of course, somewhere along the way we were accidentally abandond in the Bosnian coastal town of Neum. Clearly our lesson for the day stated 'buns and cheap rum will be the ruin of us'. We were one minute late back for the bus and helplessly we watched it pull off, complete with our passports and suncream. As we stood there, there was that dual scream of laughter and disbelief. 

On the bright side, after a quick Google and call to the hotel, they came back. They'd already reached the next border crossing and the gruntle in the other guests was extremely dissed. The lovely guide was mortified though. Still, we had our buns to munch...

The scenery of mountain, river, plain was astonishing. A perfectly dramatic stage setting for the incredible history of this region. The beauty of the Neretva river belies the terrible crimes perpetrated against the people who lived here. I'm not going to go into the story of the creation and destruction of Yugoslavia; the senseless waste of life on all sides is well documented elsewhere. However it is clear that the effect on the collective psyche of the people continues and 'never forget' will remain with me.

It is a cliché to say that Mostar was a collection of contrasts. But it's true. An ancient town which feels like it's been newly discovered; shops which should have catered to locals, all selling the same copper trinkets; mosques celebrating the vine; and colourful tourists wandering amongst bullet riddled buildings. 

Asim our Guide took us through the Muslim way of life and we visited a 'Turkish' house. Not that it was Turkish, merely traditional Bosnian but such is the feeling of the Croats and Serbs, anything Bosnian is regarded as Turkish. I like the Bosnians; they have an innate contrariness. For instance, before they were Muslim, they had a breakaway, 'heretical' form of Christianity. This upset the pope, but he was even more upset when they converted to Islam. I wonder if this was a universal decision, or something more politically expedient?

Still, our ham, cheese and salad roll was unusual. The concept of serving food in the cafe we collapsed in was a novelty; the drinks were served by a harassed, stunning and bubbly young lady who told us she loved England. We asked about food and she promised us the best sandwich in Bosnia. Anyway she scampered down the road and came back clutching 2 bags with our sarnies. For 8 euros, we giggled with her, watched the world shimmer by and discuss the insanity of tourists. She told us that she wanted to leave the town, I hope she follows her dream because she was a massive personality and deserves so much more. 

I understand more about my Bosnian friend and I hope I never feel what she went through. But to go there and sense a town making a new start gives me hope for the people's future. I could say more but I'll save it for further ponderings at a later date. 

Bosnia Bound

Today I'm attempting to get to Bosnia again. This time last year I was laid up with a migraine and I wasn't going anywhere so I cancelled my trip. When I had the chance to try again, I booked it immediately. The early ferry beckoned, as did the hotel packed lunch (6/10 - how the heck am I going to eat an orange without spraying half the bus with juice?!). 

I'm not sure what to expect. My vision is muddied by a montage of TV stills; war, destruction of heritage, complex politics. In a previous life I knew a Bosnian Muslim and she had suffered greatly in the mid 90s, losing friends and family. However she carved out a life - university, marriage, children, career  - for herself in the UK. Over dinners and wine she did talk matter of factly about her experiences, and it had been horrific. 

And that's the thing, despite the horror and strife, she's proud of her heritage and religion. She returns frequently to see her remaining family. Her views on most things appear entirely moderate; apart from her children who are her world. She opened my mind to what it would be like to lose everything, yet remain strongly focused on rebuilding, recreating and relating her stories. 

This strength in the face of adversity is the overwhelming sense that I get from the people in this part of the world. It sounds like a sweeping generalisation but the troubles here seem relentless. Not depressingly so, just How It Is. And the people pick themselves up, dust off the damage and continue, more determined than ever before. 

Apart from this personal connection to the history of this part of the Adriatic, I remember little detail of the wider political events so I hope to come away with an improved understanding of historical place. 

A very Contrary holiday

Much to the annoyance of my flatmate I've rather last my way over the last few months, and I don't mean in the way her boyfriend is incapable of getting to the Tesco in Bow with less than four attempts. That's the trouble with big life changes, they have an impact and it's rather inevitable that my changes wouldn't bring a well of goodies.

So, with Clare escaping the insanity of Contrary Towers for lots of sun, sea and I presume wild sex, I also decided to actually take a few days off to see if I could get my mind to try and join up some of the unjoinable thoughts that are rattling around...

Yep, I took a holiday.

Maltesers!

Admittedly not one that might be recognised my normal people. I kind of started on Friday night and did something I've not been able to do in ages, I went to the cinema alone. Really this was because I needed to see something silly and not have to think about things too much, so The World's End seemed the perfect solution. Inevitably I asked for opinions on Twitter and, well, only got one and that wasn't great, so I ignored it and, after popping in to Tesco for a box of Maltesers to pig my way through, went anyway.

It was good.

Not the most comprehensive review I'll grant you, but honestly if I was to explain why I thought it was really quite clever it would be an epic spoiler to end all spoilers. So, good one liners, some references back to the previous outings of Pegg et al and a bit of a rekindled bromance to suit. Oh, and a mint cornetto.

So film done I headed back east, changing at Bank as I didn't fancy Mile End, really, who could. Trouble was the DLR was going to be a seven minute wait. SEVEN MINUTES. I blame Boris.

I'd already been toying with walking so I decided this was a sign, left at Monument and wandered towards Tower Hill. As you do. Trouble was I still couldn't decide what to do. So I did what any sensible woman would do. I sat down and presented my options to Twitter: tube, DLR, taxi, Boris bike, Bus or walk...

First response from a good friend of mine was to walk as it was cool, so walk I did. It was certainly a lovely evening for it and I only thought "what the hell was I thinking" a few times as I walked through some of the more desolate parts of Wapping and Shadwell. After all, it was now getting dark.

The next morning I was up not as early as I wanted to be so I could spend the day in the office, things I wanted to clear up. I did have a deadline though as I intended to head to Brick Lane at some point in search of fabric. And a baegel.

Oh yes.

As I was determined to do things differently, or I couldn't face the hell known as the Central Line I found a comfortable number 25 omnibus, got out my book and settled down to read as it fought its way from Oxford Street to somewhere near Aldgate. It was really quite a pleasant journey and nicely set me up for my contrary holiday as I couldn't understand a single word that people were saying.

Fortunately the journey was swift and with a flourish - read: nigh on emergency stop - I hopped off and meandered on in search of a mad fabric. Which, naturally, I found.

Trouble with holidays is they have tourists.

Baegel. Nom.

And Brick Lane really has tourists. I don't like tourists. Meandering bastards blocking the pavements in random and unpredictable ways, couldn't they see I was a woman on a mission?! Eventually I made it to the 24 hour baegel place so I could indulge in a hot salt beef filled baegel and, of course, send a picture to annoy my flatmate. So I did...

Burgers were being promised back in Contrary Towers so back I crawled though I didn't expect to see people for long as the travellers had to be up at 3am. I've not had a burger in a while and these really were quite lovely.

Sunday dawned rather early, I was wide awake long before their alarm went off and enjoyed the delicate night sounds of Poplar, such as something that was very much like a pistol shot. Next noise, after the alarm, was Clare making an almighty clatter before texting to say she could never be stealthy. If I was mean I would have said I'd been woken by it...

Good job I'm not mean!

Baby carrotz

The only worry was that I was going to be held responsible for anything that happens to the Contrary Garden. Oh dear...

I was awake nice and early to water the garden before having a day of generally sorting bits and pieces out. I had intended to start cutting fabric for dress making, but, being a ditz, hadn't remembered to pre-shrink by washing so cutting and sewing would be delayed until Monday. I could live with that and, with a an maniacal diligence proceeded to do very little all day.

Chillie putting out...

Actually, I say very little, but that's not strictly true. I did some work, made some deductions, sent emails about deductions and... Buried a ghost. I'll not say any more about that to anyone other to Clare if she wants to know, some things really aren't for public consumption.

Oh, I also made a bag. As you do.

Monday. 5am. Awake. Not just awake, up, ready and resisting the urge to head for Mile End and ultimately W1. At 0701 I was in the Fortnum and Mason of Poplar (Lidl) to stock up on, well, everything. Turns out it was the grocery shop where we need all the really heavy stuff. What was worse was the probably alcoholic gentleman - he had a trolley with many loose bottles of lager - decided to flirt. *sighs*

Sew, a needle pulling thread.

Anyway, little trolley filled I struggled home, actually struggled, and collapsed in a heap. But not for long. I spent the day pattern making, watching cranes being erected, sewing, cleaning, vacuuming and generally being busy. I even found time to poke my legs out in the sun. It was really quite an eclectic way to spend the day.

Which was nice.

Happy Birthday Clare x

The evening saw a visit by my bezzie which mostly consisted of us chatting for England, drinking teh winez, eating lasgna (the last of my frozen batch) and toasting my flatmate on her big birthday.

Tuesday was a bit weird. I needed a few bits and pieces and vaguely thought that the Waitrose/John Lewis at Canary Wharf had a haberdashery. Turns out I was wrong. Pfft. So I scooted on the Jubilee Line to Bond Street and needed supplies. And went home.

Fortunately the effect of being abroad continued, I didn't hear another english accent or, indeed, speak with

*our* crane

anyone again including until now on Wednesday night. Uh oh. Now the irony is that when abroad I do speak, at least once I re-acclimatise myself to the relevant language, but here I just saw nobody.

But that's okay, I sewed and fiddled and thought and slowly but surely switched gears.

Which brings me to Wednesday. Another early start, more sewing and twiddling. More looking at cranes and wondering what the hell the builders actually do. And more watering the garden at 6am before the sun decides to be mean.

Checking it fits!

I did though finish my dress, or at least the first one. And made a matching tote bag. And I am in the middle of getting ready to cut fabric for the next dress. So that's good.

I've also cleaned, vacuumed, done washing and eaten probably too much. I know it's not most people's idea of a holiday but, really, this is progress for me. I still can't see myself going off to sunny climes and sit by a pool alone, but at least I managed a few days. And sure it would be nice to go off and spend time somewhere with someone but, well, I don't know anyone insane enough to do that with me.

So, I'll sew.

Chin-chin darlings.

The Costa del Contrary, complete with sun and authentic building site.