Long road ahead
‘Did you sleep OK?’
‘Yes. How about you?’
‘More than five hours. It’s the most I’ve had for weeks.’
‘Me too.’
‘Do you think the bells are about to start ringing?’
‘Half past six? It might be a bit early. Apparently they always ring them on a Sunday though.’
‘It was funny when Fiona became a flesh-eating zombie last night wasn’t it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Were you scared when she said she’d seen a ghost?’
‘Not really, no. I thought it was funny when you said “ Bella?” and she said “That’s not Bella”’
‘Are you frightened of living opposite the graveyard?’
‘No. Beautiful sculptural shapes and subtle colours.’
‘So are we painting this morning?’
‘If we don’t, the paintings won’t dry in time for the show.’
‘Tea?’
‘Coffee.’
We finally moved house this week. Matt has been unable to take part very much. He has been caught in a vortex of anxious concentration, intensely absorbed by the edit of his forthcoming series. He heads off to London early in the morning, returning late at night. I taxi him carefully through the lanes at dawn, avoiding roe deer and muntjac (car-destroying encounters with deer are commonplace round here) and attempting to avoid suicidal rabbits in the dark. We were halted near the station by a violent drunken brawl last night – the re-enactment of a eighteenth century engraving warning of the dangers of drink. Twenty people screamed and shoved their way into the high street A man ripped off his clothes in fury. Someone swung a belt around his head. The buckle was about to make contact. The women fought as viciously as the men.
‘Stop, stop, they might attack us’ said Matt.
‘Go, go! Quick or they might attack us’ said Matt.
‘Oh, God that was exciting! I wish we had stayed longer to see what happened next’ he said.
During the day, the roads are choked with combine harvesters moving from field to field. I went to buy supplies for the new studio yesterday. As I left a huge combine rolled in to a nearby field of wheat, and by the time I came back the job was almost done. If only the studio could be made ready as quickly.
Dangerous revolution by Gillray in the 1990s , dangerous drink today.
Oh welcome to your new home Emma – a far cry from London. I hope you can revel in the the new expanses…
(how is your wrist by the way?)
Thanks for the enquiry Concetta. The wrist is entirely back to normal, I am happy to say.
And thank you for the welcome. In spite of the combative similarities with Holloway, it is entirely different in almost every other way.
Ah, I love all the possibilities of a new Studio! What wonderful creations will be born inside ? I find setting up and organizing supplies soothing though the actual packing up and MOVING in horrible! I moved my studio to the country two years ago…it’s HEAVEN! I’m NEVER moving my studio again
Glad to hear all is well! (I loved the brawl analogy!)
Thank you Terri. I hope I find it as pleasurable as you obviously have done. As for the wonderful creations — well, I hope I manage to make some!
Welcome home, Em.
Thanks Nancie. Fights in the street — yes — I feel right at home. As to everything else, it still feels like a para-military assault course, outward bound, self-punishing holiday. Real work starts next week, and then we will see!