The Muddy Island joins Essex Life

While I shall continue to Muse about anything and everything here, I am now also to be found Musing about Essex issues - and Mersea matters in particular - on the Essex Life website .

Here and there

Eek, where did five whole months go?!

I'm still here on the Muddy Island, and very happily so, but the muse to Muse vanished entirely for a long while. This was certainly not owing to a dearth of things to Muse upon - far from it: I have been out and around and about and as busy as a buzzy bee. Just haven't felt the urge to 'share'. A fairly common occasional side-effect of Blogger's Syndrome, I'm told.

However, I do believe that I may be on the road to recovery at last, galvanised by my recent wrestlings with Blogger at a new location (over here), which have made me realise how very much I miss the simple act of sitting at my desk and writing stuff.

It's as much (more, probably) about the need to pin things down and record them in words and pictures for one's own benefit, as it is about clicking the button that sends the resultant ramblings into cyberspace.

Well, we'll see how things go.

Unfortunately, Juliet . . .

Being a disobliging, antisocial type, prone to storming off in a grump at the slightest mention of quizzes or other forms of organised 'fun' in which mirthful mass-participation is expected, I make a point of not joining in with bloggish tags and memes here on Musings. Ever.

However, it's my blog so I'll change the rules if I want to, and today's little game on Random Distractions tickled my fancy during a brief respite from my morning's workload.

All you have to do is Google the word "unfortunately", together with your name and see what comes up. You have to put the whole lot in double quotes.

"Unfortunately Juliet" brought me the following illuminating observations:

“Unfortunately, Juliet slipped her collar shortly after leaving her den. She is one of the bears featured in the BBC documentary . . .” [aha, that would explain the constant grumping and growling, then]

“Unfortunately, Juliet's vocal delivery and range is much more akin to the likes of Kelly Clarkson and Avril Lavigne . . .” [not bad for a bear]

“Unfortunately, Juliet didn't record herself singing all that much. She meant to — she bought the tape recorder and the tapes to do it — but she ran out of time . . .” [probably just as well, considering]

“Unfortunately Juliet is busy creating cheeses with Alex James . . .” [well that's what I'm telling people we're doing together in the dairy, anyway . . .]

“Unfortunately Juliet wasn't there but her mum came out and told us all to bugger off 'cos she's been a very naughty girl! . . .” [gosh, well that'll be the first time anyone's ever heard my sainted mother use that kind of language, though the cause of her annoyance doesn't get any better as she gets older]

“Unfortunately, Juliet’s dialogue, especially when she is perched on her high balcony, is lost . . .” [how can I be expected to perch and converse at the same time without falling off?]

“Unfortunately, Juliet is now thoroughly indoctrinated with feminist dogma . . .” [and has consequently never willingly, or with anything other than thoroughly bad grace and much cursing, ironed a man's shirt (or perhaps that's mere disobliging grumpiness dressed up as feminist dogma?)]

“Unfortunately Juliet turns out to be lying about a lot of things . . .” [oi! how dare you! I'm leaving in a huff now.]

“Unfortunately, Juliet left in a huff . . .” [see?]

“Unfortunately Juliet is still with us, although we really cannot understand why . . .” [me neither, it's a mystery.]

So there we have it. If you have a go yourself to fill an idle five minutes, do let me know how you got on.

The (m)useless blogger

Utterly overwhelmed by work this week, to the detriment of absolutely everything else, including walks on TBTA/M/E. So the dog and I are both fatter and waddlier than ever.

Have given up chocolate for Lent - from vanity (weight-loss attempt) rather than piety, I'm afraid - which makes working long into the small hours of the night rather less tolerable than would otherwise be the case.

Can't think of anything interesting to write - largely because my brain is so overtaken by work worries at the moment that it's incapable of extraneous thought. But, just to keep my muse-free Musings going somehow, here are some more pics from my stroll around the Tollesbury marshes last weekend.

(That's Mersea on the horizon in the pink pics, by the way. The red lightship is owned by Fellowship Afloat and is home to the Tollesbury webcam.)

Bereavement in the Blogosphere

Perhaps the most amazing thing about blogs is that, no sooner does one start blogging than one instantly becomes a member of that global club, The Blogosphere, whether one had intended to join a 'community' or not. I had no inkling of this when I took my first tentative steps in public musing. But within weeks I felt amongst friends (a few enemies, too, during a spate of harassment from some American readers with views diametrically opposed, politically, to my own, but that fizzled out after a while).

It now feels so natural to correspond almost daily with my dearest blog-friends that I forget what a strange and relatively new phenomenon it all is. So strange, indeed, that many bloggers are moved to stop, take stock, and muse about it every once in a while. And here is my three ha'pence-worth.

Though some might post the occasional photo of themselves, mostly these are people we know only through the written word. But how quickly and vividly individual characters and personalities emerge through their words. When, that is, those words are written, not for effect, but as a straightforward means of communication from one heart and mind to others. And the effect on their reader's hearts and minds, especially when such words are written with natural, unselfconscious style and grace and wit, can be considerable and deeply affecting.

I have been lucky enough to meet in Real Life several people whom I first encountered online and subsequently corresponded with at length by email, and what has been most surprising about those meetings is just how unsurprising they turned out to be. Delightful, yes, but not surprising. Because the outer person had been so well represented by the inner writer that the existing friendships were entirely real; meeting merely added a new dimension to something that was quite solid already.

And I have a 'little list' of fellow bloggers whom I am DEFINITELY GOING TO MEET IN 2009. (I'm hoping that the list is mutually compatible or there might indeed be a nasty surprise for one or two people when I turn up on their doorstep!) My confident belief is that, when we do meet, there will simply be a continuation and perhaps deepening of our online friendships, rather than a radical overturning of our views and expectations.

But there is a more melancholy aspect to establishing these disembodied friendships, and it is this: how do we properly grieve for those we feel we know (do indeed know) so well, but have never met or even perhaps communicated with in any way?

This was eloquently and movingly considered at Random Distractions and Think of England following the recent death of Robert Duquette of The Daily Duck . Not a blog I read myself, but for those who grew to know him through his words, via his blog, his comments and their private correspondence, Robert's loss is keenly felt. As Brit says:

'There is no prescribed protocol for such situations in this strange world of pseudonyms and comment threads. But I knew Robert through blog posts, so I will remember him in a blog post . . . In the end I never met Robert in the flesh, and now I never will.'

My first experience of this was last summer, on the sudden death of Steve, aka The Doggerlist , whose fantastically clever and witty poetry blog I had discovered in its earliest days, and I was honoured that he was, in turn, a regular reader and commenter on Musings. It brought me up sharp to be reminded last week that he had left a comment on last year's self-indulgent 'birthday post', which in retrospect was painfully poignant: 'Happy Birthday Juliet, you're exactly six months (to the day) behind me in life's muddy steeplechase....'

And today - and this is ultimately the reason for this rambling post - I was deeply saddened to read, in a final post on her blog, by her husband, of the death from cancer last Friday of Lisa Ratcliffe, The Hesitant Scribe. She was 39.

Like pretty much every blog I've ever landed on, I arrived at Lisa's by pure chance. It was just over a year ago: she was feeling ill, but the cancer had not yet been diagnosed. A few days later the biopsy came back and her long and often traumatic treatment began almost immediately.

Lisa documented what turned out to be the final year of her life with incredible courage, humour and panache. Reading her blog was often painful but also a joy, because she wrote so well and with such searing honesty. Her spirit shone through like big shafts of sunlight. I was one of her 'silent readers' and she was unaware of my existence. So she wasn't even a 'blog-friend', but she felt like one, and I mourn her passing. And marvel, once again, at the power of the blogosphere as a place where small snippets (or even huge swathes) of the lives - and deaths - of others touch our own. It is a humbling and enriching experience.

Where did the week go?

Well, so much for getting back to daily Musing! My excuses this time: impossible work deadlines, children off school sick, dog re-infected with kennel cough . . . but NOT snow! We've had no snow on the Muddy Island since Monday, and none is forecast. In fact, sun is predicted for the weekend, but this may be over-optimism on the part of the Met Office.

Must get back to the race against time that's being played out on my desk at the moment. Meanwhile, here's a very lovely tune:

Hello!

Well, goodness, what a Musings-lite January it's been!

Let's get the excuses bit out of the way first:

Huge backlog of urgent editorial work following time off with flu and prolonged bout of post-flu lethargy; dog in quarantine with kennel cough, so no incentive to march along beach taking random snaps of tbta/m/e; pathetically low (borderline zero) novel reading rate, owing to inability to stay awake in the evenings (cf post-flu lethargy above); general January-induced lack of interest in anything much at all and urge to snuggle under duvet with glass of Baileys instead of galvanising brain into coherent activity when not actually at my desk working.



Now for the apologies and thanks:

Apologies to all those who have visited Musings in recent weeks and found absolutely nothing new for ages, and most especially to those who have been kind enough to give my blog an honorable mention/link, including Martin Edwards, the Caustic Cover Critic, Leah and Rebecca, aka the Oxford Reader on Mark Thwaite's Book Depository blog - to all of whom many, many thanks.

Thanks also to all who have left comments and sent emails enquiring after my well-being and asking if/when daily offerings from the Muddy Island will resume - I have been so touched to receive your messages, which prove once again, if proof were needed, that the blogosphere is the Global Village incarnate, and full of the nicest people, and that No Woman Is An Island, even if she lives on one.

I went for a brief but hearty trudge on the beach this afternoon, in the face of the most piercing, bitter wind, and took the photos above.

So, wither Musings? For a while, I really didn't miss blogging at all - there seemed to be so many other, more important, things to worry about, both in my own life, and, more pressingly, in the lives of those around me. It's been a tough month for everyone, I fear. And earning a living, meeting deadlines for clients, and trying to dispatch finished jobs back to publishers faster than new ones arrive at my door - these are the things which have had to take priority over blogging.

But today, returning from my blustery walk, looking through my snaps, and catching up with last week's Observer (that's how far behind I am!), which was absolutely bursting with reviews of must-see films, must-read books and must-listen-to music . . . I felt a sudden whoosh of inspiration and a lifting, at last, of the old SADs. It's the last day of January. Which means that Spring is only just around the corner! (Well, almost.) And what a difference that makes.

Anyway, by way of a bit of catching up, above are a few pics from earlier in the month. I'm fascinated by the way the ebbing tide leaves such discrete, contrasting bands of colour and texture on the beach. I've no more idea of the science that lies behind this than I have of the science that lies behind anything else, and it would boggle my mind to try (I take perverse pride, even now, in having achieved an all-time low of 3% in a Physics exam when I was 14: I hope my children are not reading this!), but I delight in its aesthetic effects so much that I could happily gaze at them for hours at a time.

Also, just to prove that I have engaged with life beyond the desk and duvet, albeit very slightly, below are some photos from the London Boat Show which I hope will appeal to Chandlery Fetishists of my acquaintance.

And, finally, a compilation from Steve Tilston, whom I heard at Colchester Arts Centre a couple of weeks ago:

Christmas Eve

Happily, I am restored to my PC - or it has been restored to me - thanks mainly to Mr Musings, who rummaged in the garage, found an ancient abandoned PC, took it to pieces and replaced some of the bits inside mine with something or other he found in there. It's all beyond me.

Huge thanks also to Sam, who whizzed round with a spare screen, and to another of my blog correspondents, who actually put one in the post to me, while I was still under the misapprehension that it was the screen which was at fault. Terrifically kind of you both and I'm tremendously grateful. If it hadn't been for plugging in Sam's screen I'd never have had the gumption to work out that the problem lay inside the box beneath my desk.

Well, the countdown wasn't too grim in the end. I'm living proof that Christmas can be achieved in a week and a bit! All is safely gathered in. After listening to Nine Lessons and Carols from King's on R4, I ran to the Co-op for the very last time, seeking medications for SD#1 (who has adopted my last year's languishing-on-sofa position, nursing the flu-like virus which felled SD#2 and his dad for a couple of weeks apiece), ran back, changed out of my Greek-restaurant-smelling clothes (unfortunate accident with large container of giant olives at salad bar) and raced hotfoot to the Family Carol Service with SDs 2 and 3. Christmas is properly begun.

I may retreat to the peace of my study at some point tomorrow and leave a brief thought or two here. But I'll definitely be back with an account and photos of the famous Mersea Boxing Day Swim, in which - subject to the levels of maternal objection to such foolishness which I can muster on the day - my Boy will be taking part.

My warmest seasonal wishes to everyone who's kind enough to visit Musings. I hope your day is peaceful, happy and fulfilling.

Incommunicado

Was excessively annoyed, on arriving at my desk a couple of mornings ago, to discover that the screen on my PC had given up the ghost during the night. This means that I have no access to my email inbox, nor my photos etc, which are not accessible across the network (I'm posting this from my laptop). 

Apologies, therefore, to anyone who has sent me emails which I have not yet been able to read. And also to everyone I was hoping to email with seasonal greetings: I have no access to my email address book either! Goodness knows when I will be able to hook up to an alternative screen - it's unlikely to be before Christmas now. My pre-scheduled countdown clips will continue to appear, but other Musings and photos will be sporadic. Luckily, like everyone else, I have a number of alternative ways of keeping myself occupied for the next few days!

'Difficult' words

An auger or an augur?

Having recently screamed 'apprised!' at the television in the middle of Lost in Austen (which, incidentally, I will just say I found delightfully silly, hilarious and exuberantly entertaining and I do wish its more surly and humourless critics would just go and blinkin' well 'get a life') - when a character begged to be 'appraised' of a situation . . .

And having recently (with some trepidation) pointed out to a dear and notably (or at least aspiringly) pedantic friend that the person to whom they were referring in an employment reference was 'discreet' and not 'discrete' . . .

And also (confession time now) persistently experiencing that 'have I turned off the cooker?' obsessive compulsive need to check and re-check that I've used the right 'compliment' or 'complement' for the job . . .

. . . has prompted me to bring to everyone's attention this terrifically useful list of Difficult Words on me old mate Julian's sporadic but excellent publishing blog.

May your ambiguities never again mess with your ambivalences, neither may you be loath to loathe the venal (. . . or should that be venial?)

TBTM

Walked from West to East Mersea and back again along the beach for four bracing, blustery hours this morning and early afternoon. Boy and I enjoyed an early sandwich lunch at Fen Farm, from where we took turns watching yachts through a telescope, picked up his mountain bike and set off for the return trek, facing into an ever more biting wind.

The kite-surfers were having the time of their lives and we had a spectacular view of their extraordinary feats from the sea wall. Head bent against the elements, I picked a decent crop of sea glass without really trying.

Boy cycled inland to meet his friends halfway back, so the dog and I ended our little expedition together, sitting on my favourite old jetty with a nice hot cup of takeaway tea.

It's turned very cold indeed now. Windy, damp and grey, and night will fall early. Boy and his dad are off out again for an evening of motor launch driving duties at the Packing Shed, so it falls to me to make a hearty supper to warm everyone up. Shepherd's pie and blackberry crumble should do the trick, I think.

And then I shall be eschewing the family telly viewing and curling up with a book instead. My reading took a real nosedive over the summer. Too many distractions, I suppose. But I've suddenly got going again - am finishing off some part-read novels I abandoned (though no fault of theirs, I hasten to add) back in August, and have eagerly lined up some others from the top of the TBR pile for imminent consumption.

Whether I shall write about them here is something I've yet to decide. I found myself, a few months ago, becoming so terminally bored by the sight of my own inconsequential ramblings about books, and so completely weary of reading other people's book reviews too, that I just gave up on the whole book-blogging world. And, slightly to my surprise, I find I don't really miss it one tiny little bit! I shall probably creep back in by the back door as the days shorten and there are more hours to spend hunched over a laptop, but it will be a very gradual process, I suspect.

Pilot Officer Gerard Maffett, d. 31 August 1940

Long-time droppers-in to Musings may remember how moving I found the remains of this Hurricaine on a visit to the RAF Museum, Hendon earlier this year.

It was the plane in which, on 31 August 1940, Pilot Officer Gerard Maffett took off from Martlesham Heath, Suffolk as part of a formation sent against raiding German planes. The Squadron claimed several Messerschmitts but lost two Hurricanes, of which this was one. Pilot Office Maffett was killed when his parachute failed to open in time as he bailed out at low altitude. The remains of his plane lay where it fell at Walton-on-the-Naze.

Well this morning I received a comment on that post from Andy, who lives in Berkshire, where Pilot Officer Maffett was finally buried. This is what Andy said:

'Gerrard Maffett is buried in Bray Cemetery near his home town of Maidenhead. I walk past it with my dog, and the kids when they can be bothered, most days. He was just 22 years old when he was killed. His mother, who lived to be 100, and who's ashes rest next to him, lost 2 sons in that war. A story repeated how many times ? This grave, along with so many others, is looked after by volunteers and is kept beautifully. I think it is important that the sacrifices that were made over and over again should be remembered now and in the future. As a " local " you might enjoy " One Hurricane One Raid " by Geoff Rayner which tells the story of the pilot and his aircraft. There are lots of places and even names you might know. I also hugely enjoyed " First Light " by Geoffrey Wellum, The authors account of flying through the Battle of Britain aged 18 ! No wonder his squadron called him " Boy" '

Thank you so much Andy. Bray is not far from where my parents live. Next time I'm there, I shall make a point of visiting the grave of a young man who flew to his death in the skies I can see from my window.

A window without a woman

My lovely friend M, at Random Distractions, has pointed out a 'women at windows' theme running through some recent posts featuring paintings, here at Musings and at our friend D's 60goingon16 .


Since I've been working from home, I've been lucky enough to be able to position my big old desk in front of a big old window in two different houses. From my last study, I looked out beyond my all-white front garden, to a vast and ancient plane tree on the village green across the road, which filled pretty much the whole frame. Its huge hand-shaped leaves were constantly alive to the changing light and seasons and it is a major regret that I didn't ever carry out my planned 365-photo portrait of that noble creature. I took a great many, but not one for every day of the year.


Here in my muddy island home, my view is less inspiring - I simply face the houses across the road. But the portion of sky I can see hangs directly over the beach and moorings which feature most often here in my TBTM/A/E photos, and the timing of my walks is often prompted by that sky: I can see storms coming, I can see the first strip of bright light which heralds the end of a downpour, and I can tell whether there's going to be a spectacular sunset.


Sadly, I can't see any boats from my window. That's something I'll have to dream about for the time being. To pull back the curtains of a morning and see the sea - . . . heavenly.


In the meantime, to help with the dreaming, here's my absolute favourite window painting of all (with boats and flowers - what more could one ask?):




Open Window, Collioure by Matisse


(1905, National Gallery of Art, Washington)

Phew!

I love them infinitely dearly of course - but goodness, how lovely it is today now that all three children are safely back at school!

I know exactly how many solid, uninterrupted hours' work I can do before I hear their [darling little] voices again. And that feels good. Concentration will once again simply happen, rather than requiring effort and being overlaid by guilt.

And, once I've successfully achieved my clear day's-worth of work, this is what awaits me:

No, it's not my TBR pile, it's my TBB (to be blogged) pile. Books I've read which are well worth Musing about, but I didn't have (or make) time over the summer hols to do so. I simply can't decide where to start, so all suggestions welcome!

(Bad pic, sorry - I stacked them on my scanner, which protested about the weight and performed extremely badly to prove the point.)

More Mersea Bloggers

Have you noticed? My blogroll of Mersea Bloggers - just down there on the right, under the book blogs - has recently doubled in length, with the addition of three new ones, all well worth a visit.

Teresa, of Tarviragus, has recently started a new blog devoted to her 'knitting adventures' - Give pearls away and rubies . . . - and it's a thing of real beauty. I'm a long-lapsed knitter, but when I visit blogs like this I can feel the first faint stirrings of an itch to wind yarn around needles and see what happens.

James and Maggie - artist/chef partners and proprietors of the island's excellent Artcafé, have arrived on the blogging scene this summer, too, with The Artist and the Tartist - 'musings on food, art, life and stuff'. A blog after my own heart if ever there was.

And I discovered today The hole behind the hedgerow , featuring the artwork of Tom Knight, who also plays in The Ragged String Band - which you can see and hear in action in the video below:

In Memoriam

Received the very sad and shocking news of the death of Steve the Doggerelist, via Michele's announcement on Steve's blog today.

His loss will be greatly felt by his many cyber-friends and correspondents. We will miss him not only for his own blog posts but for his frequent, thought-provoking comments - some of them in verse - on the Guardian Poetry Blog.

It was on the Guardian blog that I first encountered Steve, and through him, Michele and the whole Mersea Sea Glass story began here on Musings. One of life's serendipitous connections which unfolded in a joyous and unforgettable way.

Steve's blog was as unique as his extraordinary gifts for parody and incisive criticism. And I do hope that Michele will feel able to leave it in the blogosphere as a lasting memorial to Steve and so that his admirers will continue to be able to remember and enjoy both his inimitable wit and his wonderful flower photographs.

My thoughts and those of all your blogging friends around the world are very much with you, Michele.

Still here . . .

. . . but have been barricaded in for the weekend with a huge manuscript to edit and everything else has gone on hold. Dispatched rest of family to the other end of the island for the duration, where they have been enjoying cycling, barbecues and generally getting rather dirty and smelly. Two of them are back now and the other two are somewhere north of Cambridge (I think), photographing a gig.

The weather has been changeable, to say the least. Just after lunch it was so hot and sunny that I decamped to the garden to work outside for a while. I stepped indoors to put the kettle on, weighting down 200 pages with my mobile phone, and returned 30 seconds later to discover 200 individual pages gusting around the lawn in a strong breeze which had whipped up from absolutely nowhere. Luckily, the pages were numbered. And luckily, I found them all!

So in I came again, and when next I lifted my head and put the kettle on, this is what I saw:

Which prompted a quick run down to the beach for some fresh air and the day's only exercise (apart from switching on the kettle). There was the most spectacular sunset, but I didn't think to grab the camera before I skipped out of the door.

Am hoping to achieve some semblance of blogging normality during the week, but right now must get back to my pile of paper and trusty red pen.

Still haven't . . .

. . . had time to put together any bookish posts. And I feel particularly bad about this having unexpectedly received the accolade of a BRILLANTE WEBLOG PREMIO 2008 blog award from Kerrie at Mysteries in Paradise. Kerrie is, by her own admission, 'seriously addicted to crime fiction'. Her blog is always immensely entertaining and informative, and I visit it often. Thanks Kerrie!



It's been a week filled with the unexpected. New clients, new friends, even a new mobile phone (rendering the impulse-bought half-price bottle of supermarket plonk which killed my previous phone the most expensive bottle of wine I've ever purchased)!


Today was Carnival Day at West Mersea. SD#3 processed with her dance school's Lion King themed float. Stalls were visited, bouncy slides bounced and slid down. There was a dog show and a vintage car show and lots and lots of cake. Blazing sunshine, too, in defiance of the BBC weather forecast's constant promise of Heavy Showers (it's been promising Heavy Showers Tomorrow for several days, but they keep getting shunted on a day, so that it's always sunny today, wet tomorrow).


Was just back home and cooking supper for the troops when there was an unexpected knock at the door and I was unexpectedly invited for a quick evening's sailing.


The troops cooked their own supper.


So here are some quite bad and blurry pics from the other side of the familiar stretches of water featured on this blog.