thank you!

Thank you to all who came to watch at the TNT Show.  Fascinating to walk past the vast queues that were waiting to get into the Ideal Home exhibition and to find an altogether more fun and focused assembly at the Travel Show, for the young and young at heart.   No blips in the talk except the announcements every ten minutes in the hall booming over my voice announcing...that I was talking in Seminar Room One. Hey ho, I did a dance every time they spoke.    

I hope those who came enjoyed the talk as I gave them some very good tips about what makes a strong travel book, and its nothing about getting the facts right about the destination, or the journey for that matter.  A lot of it is about passion and the ability to convey it.  

One girl asked me at the end 'how do you become as passionate as you are about traveling?'   I don't know the answer to that one.   I have always loved to explore the new, discover or rediscover,  and am curious and tenacious by nature.    And I believe without passion, or at least having someone or something to be passionate about, what is life about?   

TALK AT THE TNT TRAVEL SHOW EARLS COURT 10.30 AM

For any of you who have the time and inclination, I'm talking at the TNT Travel Show at Earls Court this Saturday about how to make the most of your adventures and how to get your travel diaries published.  So many of those I meet have utterly fascinating stories to tell around their travels and don't write it up, even for their own benefit or that of their immediate family.   It's a personal choice, but deciding to write about an adventure, even before you plan it, can make all the difference in turning a great journey into an extraordinary one.  The talk will focus on the why, what, where, when, who and how to write up the adventures and then,  if you so decide how to get it published to a wider audience...  Please come!  10.30 am on Saturday Earls Court TNT Travel Show for all those intrepid explorers out there...

poetry in emotion

I had a stinking argument with my ex last night.   For the first time ever I put the phone down and wished he would actually choke on his money.   But then some time ago I wrote this poem below.   And although in the bright light of day I still wish he would choke on his money, I realise that once upon a time.....  

WEDDING VIDEO

 

Faded smiles of a sunshine day

In Autumn’s flush when colours already begin to smudge

Ghosts dance around shadows in the room

Their spirits bright despite the crackle of time

The shining young so full of hope and denial           

Their egos full

Morning suit affectation of pot bellied bankers

Guffawing the last bubbles of nonsense

First wives about to give birth to their first home truth

And I watch myself

The girl in white, so open and stupid

Who couldn’t and wouldn’t even glance at her groom

as she walked down the aisle

and I want to shake her and hold her tight

And tell her to love the man she just married with all her heart

and try harder to be

interested and interesting

even when he is deathly dull

and she is tired and bored

And to compromise but never

Compromise herself.

She got those two mixed up

And I want to tell him to be less angry

and be less afraid and to be stronger.

And that she truly loved him but not herself

The singer and organist playing portentous

hitting the right notes at the wrong time

As did the bride and groom

We should have known.

and I hush the sound and fast forward through the dull bits

as we would do in life if we could

and wonder if I would rewind any moment of my life

and my marriage now it is merely a crackling faded memory

how I would change an old wedding video

My twelve year old watches his mum and dad now

separated

but magically reuniting on screen with smiles

now knowing it won’t last unless in some wiser parallel universe it does

Although the spark of happy ever after sits cuddling by me now reminding me

It was so worth it.

 

MIRO, MIRO ON THE WALL...

I have just returned from a whistle stop tour of Barcelona and Palma, following the life and times of the artist Miro.    Commissioned for the Tate Magazine, I felt privileged to walk around the galleries and be told about this man, how he had evolved as an artist, and how, unlike many others, was in fact, quite a happy balanced soul.  No cutting ears off, taking drugs, committing suicide, manic depressive here. No infidelities. He had a very long and happy marriage, a daughter he adored and travelled extensively, influenced greatly by the Japanese and his own sense of love of life and passion for his country and nature, which formed his artistry along the way.  He was an artist who I would have really liked to have met him. (Unlike Gaugin who was a philandering ex banker who sounded like a real conceited shit, albeit extremely talented - unlike most philandering ex bankers).  

I watched a dvd of Miro painting in his studio in Palma and he had smiling eyes, and an interesting face, one that had seen a lot and filtered out only the good stuff and turned the negative into positives.  His style was graffiti, almost a precursor to Banksy although I am sure the art historians and experts will call me a charlatan. (I do not care).    He died at the age of ninety, but as I wandered round his garden of half finished canvases and gazed at the twenty or so canvases that he had prepared to paint on next (and in some cases burn), I felt he died too soon. Miro still had so much to give and grow.  He used the walls of his home to practice his art, even sitting on the toilet seat he drew, and found out paintings at flea markets which he bought and painted over (and managed to enhance by doing so). His sculptures are hypnotic.   He mixed with poets and writers as well as the likes of Picasso, and children 'get' his paintings whereas adults frequently don't.  I am writing the piece as Miro will exhibit at the Tate this year.    Please go see. Wonderful art, lovely man, beautiful story.  

My guides were wonderful - Maria and Marisse.  Thank you to all those who helped with the trip, it was brilliant.    They made the journey in finding out about this artist a pleasure and enhanced every step of the way.   My experiences will be out in the Tate magazine next month. 

PAST IMPERFECT

I was commissioned last year to write about Libya as a place to visit. I quaintly described it as 'bewitching, dramatic and historic', because those adjectives seemed appropriate at the time. Checking through my files I found the article again and re read it. How hollow and trite and irrelevant it now seems as I sat hypnotised this evening by the news watching the horrific haunting images float by, which are the tip of an iceberg of civil war. We are all watching history in the making. Revolution has gone viral, the start of a perfect storm, and I hope the people win. But I remember watching the film, The Last King of Scotland and couldn't help think of that film and that mad, diabolical, comical man came to mind as I watched the streets of Tripoli being set ablaze. How impotent and pathetic our politicians and the UN seem with their toothless resolutions. And all we send is our prayers while our governments probably send in armaments - but to which side and what end?   
this is what I wrote......   
'Most of this country – 90% to be exact - is engulfed by the Sahara, creating vast sand masses the size of the UK. Best known for its politics and leader Muammar al-Qaddafi, there is wealth far richer than the oil it produces – it is a living outdoor museum. The Phoenicians, the Greeks, the Romans, the Spaniards, the Knights of St John of Malta, the Turkish, the Italians, they have all passed through Libya and all have left their foot print on this remarkable country.   
   
Hosting some of the best examples of Roman and Greek cities in the Mediterranean. Tripoli alone, Libya’s largest city and capital is not only the country’s principal seaport but has a wealth of museums including the Natural History Museum, the Archaeological Museum and the Ethnographic.   
   
Arguably the most inspirational and exciting museums in Libya are to be found in the cities of Cyrene, Sabratha and the magnificent Leptis Magna. Each have stunning examples or Roman and Greek architecture that echo a history most of us have only seen in films or books. Towering columns, statues, temples, baths, markets, mosaics, paintings, cemeteries and awe inspiring amphitheatres stand almost intact, statues of Gods and mythological animals look out and down over the ruins which have been kept intact in time.   
   
Drive to the haunting oasis towns of Ghadarnes and Ghat, where you’ll find date palms, olive and orange trees framing lakes, fringed in turn by huge sand dunes. Discover the traditional architecture, folklore and art, as well as Roman and Libyan remains at Ghadarnes and the old city, Ottoman Fort and traditional architecture of Ghat. Head on to the extinct volcanoes such as Waw al-Namus where black volcanic sand borders multi coloured lakes. Trek even deeper into the desert and you’ll find one of the world’s finest open air art galleries of prehistoric rock art in Jebel Acacus. A journey to Libya is a trip back in time.'   
   
 I pray for them.  
  
 

WHERE HAS ALL THE HALF FULL GONE?

My son has been asked to read up on his current affairs for an interview for his next school. His father has suggested he reads the newspapers and watches the news because the headline stuff would be the sort of thing he would be asked about.

My son tells me watching the news on TV everything is either extremely depressing or stupid. And confusing. There is nothing positive. No light hearted happy ever after 'and finally' any more at the end of the news reports. It's all misery or snipe TV and journalism, nothing is fair, everything reported to provoke envy, fear or rage. Watching daytime TV this morning he saw a gay couple talking about adopting children. He didn't ask me if this was normal or natural or un PC or PC to say it was normal or natural and I felt if I turned it over he would ask more questions. I have my own views, but don't know if I'd be a bad mother telling him what they are. They gay couple were on between the news that Katie Price and Alex whatever his name is had split up due to irreconcilable bank accounts and the annoying disruption in Tunisia which was causing British tourists a whole lot of bother. If they had been any other nationality we would not have heard about it. And then there was a bit about Posh Spice possibly having a girl. It's the plastic toy of journalism you get in your box of Weetabix in the morning. Throwaway and useless.

Hey, but there's after school, after homework. He can watch the six oclock news. Six oclock news, less bling, but more about bonuses, (cut to bankers looking smug, suited, drinking champagne, throwing £10 notes out of window during riot last year etc etc, Bob Diamond said we should all stop this witch hunt on city traders who are nice people really, honest, and even if they're not, they give the country a lot of money and we would be bankrupt without them so put up or shut up blah blah blah) NHS cuts (nurses and doctors looking tired, harassed, people looking sick and dying, put up or shut up blah blah blah), overall impression - the poor getting so much poorer and suffering and the rich getting so much richer and not caring (Tom's words, not mine).

So we turned to the newspaper. Inflation rising, headline 'toxic year ahead', Olympic stadium biggest white elephant in history, Barclays misleading older customers, fast food nation embracing greed, boy crying on front page at the funeral of his brother who had saved him from the floods. A thirty something year old man being attacked on the underground, people watching on. No one helped. An item on the journalists winning awards for their journalism. Another on actors winning awards on their acting. Another on David Dimbleby not winning the right to commentate on Wills and Kate's Royal wedding (although I understand that one). Media writing about media reporting on media, and media's interpretation on media. Item on David Dimbleby being snubbed for not anchoring royal wedding of Kate and Wills although I completely understand that one. More depressing, more stupid. I change papers.

BUBBLES

This year is going to be a roller coaster. I can feel it already as though I'm at the beginning of a ride that I know will go on for quite some time.    I feel instinctively I should rest but am restless when I do. Antici....pation is such a funny thing, isnt it?   I spent Christmas in two different worlds - bubbles if you like.   A lot of those I know live in bubbles all of their own making. Romanticising situations which if they ever stepped out if it and popped their own illusion, they would find intolerable, untenable.    But if the bubbles are short lived, and you see and appreciate them for what they are, temporary highs, they're fine.   For Christmas I was in Portugal which was lovely and warm at a lovely hotel staffed by what I would call contented people.  The staff stay there for on average more than 18 years which is longer than most marriages these days.     Although I missed my son, I knew he was happy and that's what's important.   I was by the sea and walked along the beach on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day as I did as a child when I had all the family around me.   Inspirational places beaches out of season.

With my lover I smile and walk

in echoes of shallow shadow footprints

in search Of fragile shells

I stoop to collect feathers thrown by angels

And stand to find myself alone on the beach

Staring at the sea reflecting my whispered emotion

Breathing them in and breathing them out

Not absorbing as trees do,

but sharing like a knowing teacher

much stronger than myself.

Grey sparkling light of dusk hides my tears

and the waves crash loud awakening me

To the answer to why I love to stand and watch the sea

When sad and lonely

It draws me up and it makes me stand to attention

Even when in day s gone by half blind in drunken despair

I found my way to the beach and stood as I do now.

And I let the waves flow through and around me

All questions to my answers and

All answers to my questions are in nature

And I always find my peace

on the beach

At dusk

alone

There were bubbles at New Year as well.    New Year was a fancy dress party in a village hall and a barn theme on 'around the world'. All those who attended had travelled far and wide to exotic places and ended up in Hertfordshire.   I had the choice of dressing as a slutty French maid or a slutty Indian squaw.   I chose the maid as I couldn't find my axe and head gear, but could the feather duster.   They party like it's 1999 in Hertfordshire.   Or 1979.   I handed round jelly sweets and pringles. They're very fun loving people but I've yet to think of a poem.