Sunday June 8, 2008
To the holiday camp over hot, sunny roads, air-conditioning keeping me cool and happy in my little silver Ford. It’s a darn shame that petrol prices–£1.31 per litre–have made me wary of unnecessary journeys. I suspect that my definition of ‘necessary’ may be in for a change.
I have been looking at painters and their paintings again, in my text books and on the Internet. Mostly Impressionist and post-Impressionist. An idle occupation at first but I became more and more immersed as I went on. I don’t think I learned anything I didn’t already know but with each passing decade my viewpoint and perspective changes what and how I see. I was particularly struck when I was reminded that Vincent van Gogh produced all of his work in the space of ten years.
My fingers itch.
Graham is more and more certain in his intuition that we shall imminently find a buyer. I tremble with anticipation.
Lunch was brie, crusty bread, and the sweetest little tomatoes I’ve ever tasted. I washed the fruits carefully and served them on the vine to maximum visual effect. I drizzled a tiny splash of olive oil over one end of mine but Graham passed on that one.
Dinner was Caesar salad with a small mushroom quiche and rather tasty ‘new’ potatoes. Between the caravan and the house we seem to have built up rather a glut of very small and exceedingly tasty tangerine oranges that need to be consumed in the next day or two.
“Mmmm. Tasty,” said Graham. “It’s good to be home.”