yarnstorm

bouquet of thanks

I really do live a quiet life. I write, I knit, I quilt, I bake, I read. I love my tulips, my books, my films, my kitchen. I adore family life and it's what matters more to me than anything else.

But, just occasionally, things get a little more exciting and I find myself caught up in a whirlwind of new projects, opportunities, ideas. And this week has been packed with all of these. So much so that I am sitting here on a wonderfully sunny Friday afternoon amazed at how quiet life was seven days ago in comparison to how it feels today.

I'm not able to spill any beans at the moment, but if I did there would be a loud clattering. I can say that I'm going to be very busy for a while and that I am thrilled.

Thank you to everyone who has visited these pages recently. Your support and encouragement through both the quiet and the loud periods is valued as much today as it was when I was a wet-behind-the-ears novice blogger.

I'm sorry I only have yet more tulips in the bouquet of thanks for you. But, just like last week, you never know what's coming next week. It may be more tulips, or it may be something very different. 

fields of dreams

   

By the time I left the Keukenhof Gardens, it seemed like there was at least one person per bulb in the place -all seven million of them. I'd guessed it would be busy so arrived as early as I could (the gardens open refreshingly early at 8.00) so when I saw the 10 mile queue of cars headed into Lisse as I left, I felt rather pleased with myself.

So I am amazed I managed to take a few photos without a billion humans in each one. It took some doing and I would have liked to have some stepladders with me for some aerial shots and to cut out the people who spoil the views...

The Keukenhof is big enough to have a huge diversity of tulip- and general bulb-planting styles and experiments. So there are formal, linear beds of single varieties (above) which mimic the bulb-fields, and there are the multi-coloured drifts which aren't so much pick 'n' mix as mix 'n' pick in all sorts of sweet colours. This example below works so well because it keeps to one single type of tulip (lily flowered).

There are some lovely two-colour beds which throw all colour-caution to the winds and which make me think immediately of quilt pieces,

and sometimes there are three-colour patches like this one which made me want to find a fabric version immediately.

 

There are beds in full sun (below) and plantings in woodland where a delicate, dappled light is cast onto on the flowers and stops them from opening up too quickly.

like this (below).

I also liked seeing tulips near buildings - giving an idea of how they work in gardens. Mind you, I've never seen such a brilliant shed in any garden I know. And how about that for a living roof?

I even enjoyed the contrast of a more mellow setting which matches paler tulips to softer wood colours.

Just looking at all these photos again gives me frissons of excitement. I phoned Simon as I was walking around and told him it's possible to hire bikes at the Keukenhof to cycle round the bulb-fields and avoid the crowds. Suddenly he seemed interested in tulips and said he'd come with me next year. It's a date.

how many?

How many tulips does it take to make a tulipophile extremely elated?

Well, I think I know the answer.

This many.

Plus these.

And these.

And a few more.

 

These, too.

 

And especially these.

I booked my quick trip to Holland in January, and have been on tenterhooks all spring. I was taking a gamble on nature and terrified that I might have mistimed my visit. But the end of last week was the only time I could go in between school holidays, Simon's various trips abroad for work, having a Spanish exchange student to stay, and the small matter of teeth extractions for Phoebe.

This time last year, the tulips were more or less finished. But this year I was lucky; the cool and wet season which I've moaned about in other contexts has been a tulip-blessing, and it turned out that I couldn't have timed my jaunt better. There were millions of tulips in full bloom both in the fields around Leiden and at the Keukenhof Gardens - resplendent, brilliant, vibrant, tall, healthy and utterly wonderful.

It's quite something when you first come across this flat landscape streaked with long, thin lines of pure colour - yellows, oranges, pinks, purples, reds, whites. The way the growers transform the view with glorious stripes and blocks of densely planted bulbs for just a brief moment of the year is breathtaking. And when you get into a field and see the flowers both up close and in the long, long perspective of the neat rows, it's hard not to feel light-headed with elation.

I went twice; first to see the fields and get over my excitement (which, I admit, I could hardly contain), and again the next day to see tulips planted for show at the Keukenhof - all four and a half million of them. I like that number; it's a good answer to 'how many?'

Photos to come.

chic chocs

There are cheap chocolate buttons. And there are chic chocolate buttons. These fall into the second category and have been brightening my days quite considerably since I first discovered them a little while ago at Hotel Chocolat.

They come in their own dinky little button box and are very difficult to eat. It's not that they don't taste delicious (they do), but it's very hard to spoil the pretty arrangement and then when you do, to decide whether to go for a brass button or a leather button or a gentleman's blazer button, or just a simple two-hole button. 

They are also wonderful vehicles for sorting and matching and general playing. Then eating.

                                 ***

Tulip for today: late double 'Lilac Perfection'. Picked in the rain and photographed immediately.

And perfectly named.

                               ***

I'll miss my tulips for the next few days while I'm away. But there will be compensations.

Back next week.

this is why i grow tulips

So that I can go out in my pyjamas on a Sunday morning before everyone else is up,

and pick a few short and stubby but incredibly bright and beautiful

late double (or peony) tulips called 'Orange Princess' (which I do not remember ordering last summer) to put in a short and stubby glass vase to make my kitchen windowsill look incredibly bright and beautiful.

So that I can also pick a gaudy mixed bunch for another windowsill.

So that I can bask in their glory for a few brief days.

So that I am reminded that I have something to look forward in the horrible, cold, miserable bulb-planting month of November.

on my desk

Nicola Beauman and I go back a long way. All the way back to April 1989 when I bought two copies of the 1989 Virago edition of Nicola's book A Very Great Profession - one for me and one for my Mum. For a long time, though, Nicola knew nothing of this relationship as we didn't actually meet until 2001.

In the intervening years, and ever since, this book has been a vital part of my life. Until now, I have only ever had the one copy and have always felt uncomfortable if I couldn't locate it in a nanosecond; it had to be taken down from, and put back in, exactly the same place every time I referred to it or read it. And, goodness me, I have done that so many times over the last 19 years.

There are only two people who have ever truly and deeply influenced my reading; one is Adam Roberts and the other is Nicola. Adam changed how I read, and Nicola changed what I read. It's thanks to this marvellous book that I not only discovered a huge body of women's literature, the sort of books I knew I was looking for but couldn't uncover on my own, but also a wonderful connection with all sorts of women, real and imagined, who weren't afraid to explore the details and depths of ordinary lives.

So when I read nearly ten years ago that Nicola had created Persephone Books, I was delighted, because I could see that, like an addict, I would always be able to get a fix of a good read.

And now A Very Great Profession has been reissued, and it's not a moment too soon. For a start, my first copy is looking a little ragged so I am thrilled to have a brand new one with the most inspired bookmark ever (Celia Johnson as Laura Jesson in Brief Encounter). But, just a little more importantly, this book is an absolute treasure for anyone with the slightest interest in middlebrow fiction; not only does it cover a huge number of themes and books, it also has a brilliant glossary of the most important and significant writers of such novels. I know I only have to turn to these pages to be inspired to read a previously unknown author.

I am delighted Nicola's book has been reprinted, and have to say it looks very lovely in grey.

                                   ***

On the subject of the most recent Persephone Biannually, I too have read the 'Our Readers Write' page. I laughed at the comment which refers to me and blogs in general and feel I should say that the only opinion this reflects is that of the writer. It is not my opinion and it is not Nicola's opinion.

                                   ***

And since it's that time of year, I think we should have a gratuitous photo of tulips. These are also on my desk today, freshly picked this morning.

seventies speak

Whenever I see lots and lots of beautiful apple blossom like this, I always think of the great 70s advertising slogan for Cresta (great bear, horrible product): 'it's frothy, man'.

Wisley yesterday. A vision of blossomy white loveliness,

and some pretty fantabulous tulips,

as the disc jockeys of the 1970s used to say.

mixed bunch

I caught sight of myself this morning as I walked past the mirror holding a jug of mixed tulips. It made me realise two things; first, that the more tulips you have, real or reflected, the brighter you will feel and second, that our rug* goes beautifully with a mixed bunch.

I'm at the end of four weeks of school holidays and I'm a little weary. It's been a mixed bunch of a month, with two children off at the beginning, an overlap when all three were at home, then just the one. But I can see I am starting to consider the reality of them all being back at school next week - as evidenced by my decision to go for the merriest mix of tulips I could find in the garden today.

 

Having seen the tulips' reflections, I thought I'd play a little more with mirrors. I found it amazing to be able to see more than one view of a vase and a bunch of flowers at a time, and thus compare the effects of different lights (I, for one, am always twirling vases around as I can never decide which is the better 'side').

When I saw the photo below on the computer screen I was delighted to notice that there is even a third arrangement of tulips (in the base of the mirror) which made me think of several well-known paintings that feature convex mirrors which condense a scene into a tiny circle.

Now there's a fine mixed bunch of thoughts.             

               ***

I went to the London Book Fair on Monday. It's not an event for authors but I had to deliver some fairy cakes and have a meeting. Seeing Sebastian Faulks in the flesh stopped me in my tracks momentarily (very tall, very striking, very smart and absolutely no shabby tweed jacket with leather elbow patches or corduroy trousers), but as I couldn't stand there gawping all day, I carried on looking at the publishers' stands.

As ever, I gravitated to the display of Stewart, Tabori & Chang books. This is not just because my book will be published in the US by STC Craft in September 08, but also because they produce the most amazing mixed bunch of craft and interior books which reflect their authors' personalities and visions. There is nothing predictable about STC books, unless it's the fact that they all look wonderful and yet feel very different.

I particularly liked the look of Kim Parker Home and added it to my mental list of books to look out for. But it took a while (Monday to Friday) for the penny to drop. No wonder I was drawn to Kim Parker's style and palette - we already have her in our house. *The rug which goes so well with my mixed bunch is one of her designs.

I now see why this rug appealed when we bought it; it's like having a pressed and dried bunch of flowers on the floor all year round.

Plus, you wouldn't believe how much fun I have hopping and jumping from flower to flower when no-one's looking. And next week, when everyone is finally back at school, I'll be able to hop, skip and jump as much as I like.

natural technicolour

Nine stunning tulips. They really are this colour.

tulips and tempests

I am finding the contrast between the warm, vibrant colours of my tulips and the horribly cold, changeable weather very bizarre (sometimes we have sun, rain, black cloud, hail, wind, thunder and lightning all within the space of five minutes). And I think that's why I've chosen outdoor, dark, natural backgrounds for the photos this year - they somehow convey the cold and wet of my morning tulip-picking time.

I have a huge bunch of these 'Apricot Impression' tulips on the windowsill from where they cast a warm glow on the kitchen. Although they do have an apricot colour when picked, by the time they have opened up and expanded to wonderfully dramatic proportions, they have changed and acquired that particular mix of red/pink/orange which is peculiar to pomegranates and which makes me think of exotic banquets and exotic climes.

The flowers appear wonderfully defined and hyper-real next to the general backdrop of cold, wet stones, wood, gravel and weather,

and this is what they look like indoors - surrogate suns shining at the window while we wait for the clouds and storms to pass.