jane brocket

signs

I discovered the beauty of signs and signage and lettering when I was at university. I became aware of the variety of letters and signs on shops in particular, and the fact that they were disappearing all too quickly and giving to give way to the bland, plastic, homogenized hight streets that we now have. I had a friend who was very keen on photography and he suggested I started taking photos of the signs over which I was waxing lyrical as we travelled around Britain together and make a book out of them. I didn't, but now I wish I had. So many of the signs created in all kinds of materials and in all kinds of styles have gone forever, and I regret not capturing them on film.

On holiday in Suffolk I found myself photographing signs without thinking, and was reminded of my friend's prescience. It's never too late to do anything, I know, but I have seen quite a few books of old signs and realise I may I missed the boat with this one (my favourite is Designage and there are great books featuring the old signs of Lisbon and Porto).  

But there's still enough to keep me amused and intrigued. Like the fantastic punched-out letters on Maggi Hambling's Scallop on Aldeburgh beach.

Or the weathered, hand-painted signs outside the fishermen's huts.

And the wrought-iron sign for the boating lakes at Southwold (where there is a very good cafe serving tea and excellent cake).

 

I liked the stencilled sign on the lifeguard's hut, and the painted 'keep clear' sign in front of the deckchairs.

and loved the inventive Southwold Pier sign that bobs up and down like the sea. (We thought the pier was fantastic and recommend it to anyone visiting Southwold - especially the totally unique and entertaining Under the Pier Show.)

I like the fact that signs can appear anywhere, such as the side of an old delivery bike (leaning against a very beautiful wall),

or on the side of a hut.

And the fact that so many sign-writers have a well developed sense of humour.

'commercially available'

 

When I wrote about 'commercially available' alternatives to home baking in my last post, I admit I wasn't feeling too enthusiastic about the whole idea. It was more a matter of trying to look on the positive side of not having an oven for a couple of months while the old kitchen is being ripped out and a new one installed.

But I've been miraculously cured of my pessimism today. I had lunch in Bea's of Bloomsbury, the most delightful place on Theobald's Road, just round the corner from the street where Bricks and Mortar, an excellent Persephone book, is set, and not far from the characterful Lamb's Conduit Street where you will find Persphone Books. I can think of no better additions to a Bloomsbury morning or afternoon than cakes from one and books from the other.

And not just any old 'c0mmercially available' cakes either (just as Persephone books aren't quite your Mr Kipling-style books). I brought these home for my cake-deprived offspring (I feel like a mother thrush bringing little tidbits back to her nest for her little chicks all waiting with their beaks wide open). They look good and taste delicious. I see that Bea's is also offering a special summer picnic selection to take away and  it includes a cupcake and a guide to the local parks so you can go and find somewhere in literary and legal London, sit in the sun or under an umbrella, read, eat and soak up the wonderful atmosphere that is the capital in summer.

And to think I was about to write off 'commercially available' baked goods. It's like writing off summer in England in June. You simply want to be proved wrong.

more good things in lisbon

:: It is no coincidence that this photo is identical to one I posted a year ago. How I could I go to Lisbon and not take the train to Belem in order to enjoy a pastel de nata (unbelievably good custard tart) - or two, even - in the most famous custard tarterie in the country? Definitely 'vaut le détour', as the Michelin Guide would say if it had its priorities right.

 

:: It may also not be a coincidence that I saw tiles to match the pasteis de nata and café crockery across the road from the Confeitaria. Lovely. 

:: The flower-beds of Belem are full of pale blue-violet agapanthus...

...that match the facade of a hotel in Lisbon. Never underestimate nature's own colour-schemes. Or the power of a custard tart to lure you into making a return visit to the city.

:: I watched Casablanca in my hotel (everyone wants to get to Lisbon in the film but more for the passage to freedom than the custard tarts) with a 5cl miniature bottle of tawny port. It's scandalous that such a lovely drink can be put into such tiny vessels. Good job they sell it in grown-up sizes, too.

cherry-picking lisbon

When you have just two nights in a place, you have to do some cherry-picking to make sure you spend the time wisely.  This week in Lisbon I whittled my choices down to:

:: eating the wonderful cherries that are in the shops at the moment. Cherries are my favourite fruit which is a bit of a pain as they have such a short season. So I was delighted to arrive at the height of the cherry season. Morellos are also on sale (they have an even shorter season than sweet cherries) and I did think about taking some home but didn't know what the line on importing cherries is, and I didn''t fancy confessing in a police interrogation that I was a cherry-smuggler in order to feed my clafoutis addiction.

:: walking and walking to look at outstanding examples of twentieth-century architecture, mainly from the 1930s to the 1960s, but this kiosk from the 1920s caught my eye.

:: admiring the artistic arrangements of the grocers. This one (where I bought my cherries) had only fruits in golds/oranges and reds/pinks and was utterly beautiful. 

:: luxuriating in real warmth (up to 35 C) and connecting the climate to the amazing flowers growing all over the city. Fabulous bougainvillea (above), huge plantings of pale blue and white agapanthus, clumps of canna, and oleanders in full flower.

And more...

knit, knit, knit

There can be few nicer places to knit than the beach. When I was reading children's books as research for Cherry Cake and Ginger Beer and Ripping Things To Do (I can't tell you how much I love, love, love that cover) it was fascinating to see how many mums and grannies and nannies knit at the seaside while children splash and swim and do handstands and build sandcastles and eat ice buns.

My favourite mention was in The Family from One End Street (one of the best books I read as a child, with beautiful illustrations by the author but my copy had a different pink and white cover) when Mrs Watkins takes Kate Ruggles and assorted friends to the seaside. She 'settles herself comfortably against a breakwater with a bag of bull's eyes and her knitting' and then spends the whole day making her entry for the 'All England Mammoth Knitting Competition for Mothers' while nodding absently to the children and letting them play as they like. 'She certainly was the ideal chaperone!' 

Well, this weekend I had the seaside, the yarn, the needles, the chocolate satins and the sherbet lemons and strawberries, and a lovely group of knitters, and I think we all nodded absently a lot of the time. We could have leaned against the breakwaters with packed lunches, but didn't need to as we had comfy chairs, a deck, and tea and cake whenever we fancied.

And there were colours and flowers (including the amazing clematis above) and inspiration everywhere I looked.

And a few glasses of wine as the sun went down.

We may not have reached competition levels of knitting, but we all enjoyed a glorious weekend. I came back bursting with ideas for the knitting book (which will be the sister of the quilt book) and full of the joys of seaside knitting.

petals

  

The magnolias are truly magnificent at the moment at The Savill Garden. I was taking all the usual photos of the large, stately flowers (always described as 'waxy' which makes me think they should have wicks in the centre and be lit at night to create wonderful tree-lights) but when I looked down at the paths and areas underneath the trees, I saw a far more interesting picture. Large pale pink and ivory petals that are just beginning to turn brown with age lie thickly, creating a beautiful carpet which could inspire a lovely fabric design.

I also thought, once again, that 'petal' is a pretty term of affection (I use it a lot, especially in the form of 'petal-flower', something which never used to bother the children...). And that Petal would be a lovely name to go with Peach Blossom and Orange Pastel Tree. And then I found out that Jamie Oliver was thinking along the same lines with his new baby, Petal Blossom Rainbow (who has sisters with pretty interesting names, too).

peach blossom

 

I like the idea of being called Peach Blossom. Not me, personally, of course as I don't exactly fit the Peach Blossom bill, but I can imagine a young girl deciding that this is her name for a summer. Or maybe my niece will use it for Orange Pastel Tree's sister (Orange Pastel Tree being her first choice girl's name).

Now I don't always (well, not all the time) go around thinking that Peach Blossom is a pretty name. It's just that I came across some beautiful peach blossom in the greenhouses at West Dean Gardens at the weekend. Like the walled garden in which they stand, these greenhouses are immaculate and maintained according to traditional and very correct methods. So they look nothing like the average greenhouse and even when they contain just pots and pots of salad leaves and vegetables (as one greenhouse does at the moment) they look absolutely spectacular.

 

I've never seen peach blossom (or even a Peach Blossom) before and was fascinated by the delicate pink flowers and the meticulous and elegant way in which the gardeners have carefully trained the branches to fan out.

 

The slender branches, the new leaves and the pink flowers all look particularly stunning against the pure white wall.

Whether you see it close up or from a distance, it would make a lovely series of fabric designs. Peach Blossom would then be able to wear a dress in 'Peach Blossom' as she and Orange Pastel Tree enjoy lazy, summer days.

english beauty iv

 

With its noisy, colourful fruit and veg market, long-established Soho businesses and amazing fabric shops, Berwick Street in London is a place of quirky, characterful English beauty, but Broadwick Silks (just off Berwick Street) is a thing of utter beauty. It's filled with shimmering gorgeousness and light dancing on shot silks and richly coloured dupions. I've been in there twice in the last couple of weeks not knowing what to choose but have been helped out by the clever assistants with impressive textile and design qualifications who make  the extra pennies per metre worth paying when they get as excited as you about the project you are planning and know everything there is to know about sewing with silk.

Plus they know how to cut and fold and wrap fabrics so beautifully that when you get home and open your tissue-paper-wrapped parcel, the room is filled a silky glow.

english beauty ii

There is nothing quite like coming across a row of painted English beach huts looking bravely jaunty on a grey, windy March day. I found such a row in Whitstable last week; this is one of the real beauties. It even has a crocheted door-knob cover. Someone loves this beach hut.

le café

We first started drinking coffee and eating bread in le Pain Quotidien cafés when we moved to Brussels in 1995. In fact, they were one of the major highlights of our three years there. Every Saturday we took the children for breakfast in the café by the wonderful Stockel market, every Sunday we went to the local Overijse branch for our bread, and I would find any excuse on the days in between to go into one with friends and collections of children.

I was so pleased when the company started opening branches in London as my bread habit is as ingrained as ever. I love drinking coffee out of the bowls, I love sitting at the huge, communal table, and I especially love the apricot jam. The Pain Quotidien cafés in London are in such good locations, the kind of places I'd go to anyway, that it seems churlish not to pop in for a coffee and to buy half a huge loaf of sourdough bread to take home to eat with Tom whenever I pass one. It means I can combine a look at the renovated St Pancras station with a chewy baguette, a trip to Liberty with a lemon tart, a wander along the South Bank and a browse in the BFI shop with a tartine, and a visit to the wonderful Daunt Books on Marylebone High Street with an almond croissant. Ah, it would be truly wonderful if I could get all my daily bread from le Pain Quotidien.