Ever since reading DH Lawrence's novels in my teens, I've been confused about the difference between 'sensual' and 'sensuous'. I've now given up trying to remember, as I think both are pretty good, quite like the mix of the two anyway, and am always keen to keep up levels of one or the other or both in my life. However, much as I enjoy a good dose of sensory overload from time to time (I'm going to the Hockney exhibition next week for precisely that), I like to keep some semblance of sensory balance. Looking back over the last week or so, I find it's been pretty much evenly spread out, ready for the scales to be tipped by Hockney. So here are the ingredients to be weighed:
Sight
:: Seeing The Artist made me realise how little we 'read' the cinema screen these days. With so many fast, noisy, spectacular films that blast your senses, it's no longer necessary to keep your eyes fixed on the picture, and it's too easy to let your attention wander without losing the plot. But this film demands that you look for, and take notice of, every detail, expression, background prop for visual clues, hints, jokes, and silent narrative devices. Look down or away, and you could miss something very important. It's beautiful, clever, creative, and as demanding as reading a book.
:: I couldn't go any amount of time without using my eyes to read words. The Pickwick Papers (with the bonus of illustrations by Seymour, Buss, and Phiz) requires very good use of my 'optics' as they say in the book. Much as I like the idea of audio-books, I prefer to read Dickens on my own and in silence as his characters seem to bring out the worst tendencies in so many otherwise good actors/readers.
:: Alain de Botton's latest book also requires much focussing of eyes and brain on words and pictures. I'm not so sure this is a keenly thought-out as some of his previous books, and begs as many questions as it asks. But maybe that's the point.
Sound
:: The Artist: not silent at all, with sound used to great effect.
:: Me, laughing at Mr Pickwick, Mr Jingle, and the Fat Boy.
:: Alain de Botton speaking to a packed Conway Hall, where you could have heard a pin drop if there had been any pauses in his fast, fluent, articulate Sunday 'sermon'. And listening to him again on Night Waves on Radio 3.
:: Silence - while I read (see above).
Smell
:: Another batch of hyacinths, this time in a cracked jug that I bought years ago and have filled with bulbs each winter ever since.
:: Grated nutmeg - the smell of wobbly custard puddings, rock buns, and childhood. Just grating one makes make me think of Peggotty in David Copperfield when David describes her finger as being 'roughened by needlework, like a pocket nutmeg-grater'. Perfect. It would be very useful to have such a finger of one's own as it would save on the washing-up. It could also be used for zesting lemons, another smell in the kitchen this week (and every week).
Touch
:: Whole smooth nutmegs, waxy lemons, and thoughts of Peggoty's personal nutmeg grater (see Touch, above).
:: Soft, nubbly, vintage linen waiting to be turned into something and stitched with smooth cotton perlé threads. I have pretty much abandoned quilting cottons in favour of more textured threads. If I am taking the time to hand-sew, I want to be able to see and feel the stitches.
:: Hand-stitching on old tablecloths.
Taste
:: Nutmeg cake (see above).
:: Spicy, aromatic noodles with ginger, chilli, lime, lemongrass, coriander, and the quite disgusting but essential Thai fish sauce nam pla (see also Smell above) made to a family-favourite Nigel Slater recipe in Appetite. Comfort food, guaranteed to get everyone sitting round the table and talking (see Sound, above).
:: Port to go with Pickwick. It should of course be Mr Pickwick's Particular Port [sic] made by Saltram (a company I used to work with years ago - Pickwick was one of the particular perks of the job). But I make do with Graham's LBV. Everyone in The Pickwick Papers drinks so much it would be rude not to join them.
Result
All things weighed, quite a satisfactory balance, I think.
