jane brocket

green envy

 

It's not pretty, is it? I don't mean my red cabbage which I think is beautiful despite the ravages of pests, but the feeling of envy. I've been experiencing quite a bit of envy and going green round the eyes over the last few days, and it's all because of other people's skills with growing and photographing things.

We watched Nigel Slater's Simple Suppers the other night and though I was very pleased to see that he has as many slugs and caterpillars attacking his veg as I do, I found myself horribly envious of his wonderful garden. It's a posh allotment in a way; a long, thin, urban plot with neat box borders and classical lines. It's a smart take on an old design, and I would give my eye teeth to have something similar beyond my back door.

On the subject of allotments, I was engulfed with more envy when Tom told me he and his 'A'  Level art group were off to the local allotments to make sketches and take photographs. These are spectacular allotments enclosed by a high brick wall and securely locked at all times. I've driven past them for years and every time I have wished that I could go inside for a peek, so was very jealous of Tom's foray in this secret garden. 

I was very touched when he showed me an 'aerial' view of rows of plants that he'd taken knowing it was my style and that it would appeal to me. But I was bowled over by the photos he took with his own eye - and by the fabulously eccentric and varied allotments that exist behind that high wall.

I had another surge of envy when I saw the organised chaos, the colours, the fruit and veg, the creativity and improvised structures.

For me, this is a suburban eden. Cue more envy.

But the greatest envy wave of envy came when I saw this photo in Tom's album (above - even better printed large on photographic paper). If there is one photo I wish I could have taken, it's this. It's a view of an allotment that I would never, ever see - and that, I think, is what good photography is all about. It makes you see things in a new way or shows you aspects of your world you'd never normally notice. I watched an excellent BBC Imagine programme about William Eggelston last week and was amazed by his photographs and could see that naturalness of vision is what it's all about. Damn it, I'm envious.

star stripes

 

Alice and I went to see Coco Before Chanel at the weekend and thought it all very lovely and good, but with nowhere near enough about the way Coco Chanel developed her ideas, created her designs, and incoroprated her inspirations into her clothes. In short, we would have liked to see a lot more in the atelier and a lot less in the bedroom. 

But the love interest longueurs gave me plenty of time to consider the details that we did glimpse, and I was once again bowled over by the beauty of simple, striking, timeless stripes, seen in the film in the Breton sweaters worn by the fishermen and then on Coco Chanel herself (who wears hers loose and cinched at the waist with a belt, so looks nothing like an old sea-dog). For years I, too, wore stripey Breton sweaters and long-sleeved tops (and no doubt looked more like an old sea-dog than Coco Chanel) after first discovering them on French exchanges to St Nazaire. And I still love blue on white stripes.

When I was making quilts for my book, I was thinking about stripes a great deal, and went looking for more inspiration. I found plenty in the deckchair and hammock fabrics sold by Deckchair Stripes, which has to have the best selection ever. I bought a swatch pack which contained a strip of every fabric they sell, and had a great time sorting them out and playing with stripes - making pictures that resemble the great canvases of Bridget Riley and testing out their infinite variety.

 

And agreeing with Coco Chanel that stripes are complete stars.

how to fill a lazy day

 

The Road to York through Sledmere (1997) by David Hockney

:: Have a cup of tea and read the newspaper in bed and enjoy the sun before everyone else is up and before it mysteriously disappears at 8am never to reappear for the rest of the day.

:: Sit on the settee in your dressing-gown reading a crime novel while eating toast and Marmite. I read a gory murder only once in a while and A Small Death in Lisbon not only meets the requirements of 'gory' and 'murder', it also delivers on interesting Portuguese background detail. I really don't know how I can read such stuff and eat quite tranquilly.

:: Watch the most wonderful programme about David Hockney while knitting with a very bright pink wool. A Bigger Picture is brilliant - beautifully filmed and edited, and the artist and his work are both fantastically colourful and larger than life. Very definitely worth catching before the watch-by date expires.

:: Progress to watching the cricket while eating the best yogurt in the whole world (admittedly a more likely pairing than crime and breakfast). Rachel's Greek Style Coconut Yogurt is thick and coconutty and the colour of cricketers' whites so the two go perfectly.

:: Decide that your hair desperately needs cutting (it does - you can't see clearly beacuse your fringe is covering your eyes like a Scottish long haired cow)/you want to read a few magazines in peace. Come back able to see the mess in the room where three teenagers have apparently been camping for the last few days. Decide to pull the (bright pink) wool over your eyes this time because it's a lazy day.

:: And now the lazy day is changing into a lazy evening. My plans include finding out what goes with well with Thai green curry, but there's no rush...

my windowsill

 

We really went to town when planting daffodil bulbs last autumn. It's so long ago now that I have no recollection of what went in where and this haphazard approach is paying dividends andwe are enjoying all kinds of floral suprises on a daily basis. This is what I picked this morning - a very spring-like medley of white and yellow and cream and orange daffodils and tulips (with a pot of sweet-smelling lily-of-the-valley and a late amaryllis).

I love my long kitchen windowsill and change the arrangements on it all the time. But today's variation-on-a-theme made me think of this lovely picture by Carl Larsson. And one day I plan to have a whole windowsill full of red geraniums like the ones in paintings by James Collinson, but that's for another day and another season.

my bin

I like my wire waste-paper bin anyway, but today I looked down and saw it looking more beautiful than ever with all the scraps from the quilt I am making. I am tempted to leave it like that for a while, as a sort of mini Tracey Emin My Bed-style installation (only less embarrassing).

hot and cold in kew

Just the day for a  heated greenhouse. And what a greenhouse. Blustery cold weather, the type that makes my ears ache, forced me into the Palm House at Kew Gardens when I'd gone with the plan of looking for the first snowdrops. I did find some poking their heads up very prettily, but they couldn't compete with the lure of this amazing building (built 1844-48) and the heating which sustains the most incredible plants. Some are huge, like exotic houseplants on super-steroids, but I liked the more delicate climbers that work their way up the wrought-iron and glass structure, like this passiflora:

 

After warming up I wanted to find the witch hazels but so many of the paths were blocked for various works that I had no option but to retreat into another heated space, the new Shirley Sherwood Gallery of Botanical Art which shows work from the Kew collection and from Dr Shirley Sherwood's collection. These works are breathtakingly exquisite in their detail and simplicity. I love this sort of art because it uses ultra-plain backgrounds that allow you to see every last nuance of a flower or plant or seed. I came away wanting to own a painting by Susannah Blaxhill whose work stood out in a gallery crammed with botanical gems; her beetroot painting (on her website) is awe-inspiring.

The snowdrops can wait a little longer.