Diamond Jubilee

We are a divided household on all matters royal. Personally, I love history and tradition and celebrations and was keen to revel in the excitement of being in London for the Diamond Jubilee. Marto on the other hand is not so much an anti-fan as decidedly negative about the monarchy as a whole. Still, I wasn't about to let such a weekend pass without some kind of celebration. 

We reached a compromise. A lunch billed as a celebration of the first anniversary of Delilah living with us. Marto used the first two courses as an opportunity to open a bunch of old wines he and a friend bought a while ago. I used the pudding course as an opportunity to be jubilee themed, making a patriotic pavlova and serving it on jubilee plates and napkins. The cheese course was neutral.

I haven't had as much time as normal, I can't think why, to read about the weekend, to watch programmes about it and look at photographs. I'm not even sure exactly what events are planned, aside from a flotilla tomorrow which I will try and watch, because it appeals to something in me. The romantic perhaps? Plus, I love boats. It reminds me a little of the call for small boats to sail to Dunkirk and the procession of them gathering in the Thames and sailing in company for the meeting in Ramsgate before navigating the channel and helping rescue troops from the beaches of Normandy in a heroic act which helped raise the morale of the nation. {One of my favourite books is a children's book by Hester Burton, In Spite of All Terror. The description of Ben joining his grandfather in the 'little ships of Dunkirk' resonated far beyond my reading of the book. So much so, in fact, that I wrote my university dissertation on children's literature and the Second World War, with In Spite of All Terror as one of my key texts. But that's another story, for another time.}

Perhaps what appeals to me the most about the jubilee is the opportunity to reminisce, to celebrate the past as the present. It's not about the monarchy, per se, but British history, of the passing of time but also continuity. Much like marriage and our own families, the monarchy represents the same to me but on a national scale. This jubilee ties me to the jubilee of my parents' generation (they were graduating from university and were married the year after). To street parties and beacons and what feels like the definition of  British *history* and *celebration*. For no other reason than any other wedding or anniversary, and the buzz of excitement, because at the very least, everyone likes a party and a bonus day off work.

And this photo, to me, represents all of this. An ordinary couple, a lifetime of commitment. To each other, as well as to the nation. Perhaps that's why I find the Queen so reassuring. I'm not sure whether this photo was taken to celebrate their own personal anniversary, or whether it was released to commemorate the jubilee. Hell, I couldn't even find a photo credit. It doesn't show a queen, there is no glamour or glitz to it, just a (well taken) snap shot. And, in the first photo, an amazing jacket being worn by Princess Elizabeth (I assume it was taken prior to her coronation based on her outfit as it appears more 1940s than 1950s to me, although I am very willing to stand corrected). 

Anyway, happy jubilee weekend, whether you are celebrating or not.

{I found this photo on google images with no photo credit. If anyone knows of one, please email and I will add it. I can't imagine the shopping website's facebook page where it was posted was the original photographer, but if it was, I will gladly update this to include a link}

The weekly

We had our first day out. And not only did we survive, we had a fantastic time. We went to Whitstable, driven by our friends. A long leisurely lunch at the Whitsable Oyster Company with Pip sleeping in her pram and then stirring to be fed just as we were ordering our coffees. I fed her at the table which allowed me to have the first caffeinated coffee since I found out I was pregnant. And then a walk, pottering in the shops whilst the boys swam, a drink outside the Old Neptune pub and then a walk along the beach in the evening sun, a trawl round the chip shops for supper (have you ever heard of a chip shop running out of fish?) eating them snugged out of the wind in the lee of a groyne, watching the sun dip below the horizon.

And then back, to London.

Where we drove past our collective previous selves Saturday night out. I could see us, standing outside Indo in Whitechapel, trying to get a taxi; sitting outside 333 in Old Street wearing the teeniest American Apparel black dress, smoking. Of nights in Brick Lane, Spitalfields, Shoreditch, Hoxton, Old Street, Upper Street. Past offices worked, pubs we spent hours in. Of meals eaten and drinks drunk and cigarettes smoked. Of dancing, of talking, of the drunken search for late night food. Of bus stops waited in, high heels in hand. The whole of my 20s viewed from the back seat of a car, across a car seat where my sleeping daughter and my new life lay.

The weekly

It's been a week of ups and downs. Whilst there have been flashes of sunshine, both literally and metaphorically, I feel like I've been wading through greyness and puddles for the vast majority of the week.

This morning though, M surprised me with a massage that he had organised secretly for me, followed by lunch, then pottering in the local shops, where we bought Pip a sun hat and a beautiful pair of organic cotton chocolate leggings (which she loved so much she immediately pooped on them). We then bought cheese, bread and salad for supper and had tea and cake in a lovely Danish cafe - although bizarrely, we actually were drawn in because they serve Monmouth coffee - that we hadn't been in before, but which I would recommend.

Yesterday, I met M's dad for lunch and then pottered in the shops, idly looking for something to wear that I can still breastfeed in and trying on boots that I can't afford, before returning home and having tea and biscuits with an old friend. As soon as I have the photos of her present, I will be sharing them, because they are too gorgeous not to.

It was only yesterday and today that doing normal things, with the addition of the baby, felt, well, pretty much normal. I'm not sure why this surprised me, that it took so long, because every time we make any changes to either our living situation or my working situation, I feel out of sorts for at least three or four weeks. And Monday will be four weeks.

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Photo by caravinagre via flickr

She's here...

Pip

23.04.2012

8 lb 11 oz

57cm

As you may have gathered from my extended silence, or have read if you follow my Pip blog, Pip has arrived. We have been largely existing in a new baby bubble for the past three weeks. We had chosen not to find out Pip's gender, although we believed all through the pregnancy that Pip was a boy. However, when she was born, we discovered that she was, in fact, a girl. A daughter.

Sponsored Post: Vanish

Vanish have asked me to write a post about their products. I actually already use Vanish and have done ever since I started buying my own clothes, when my parents gave me a clothing allowance when I was 13. I remember my mum teaching me to use that little bar of soap to remove stains, and it was a constant in my cleaning cupboard, especially as a student.

These days I use the oxi action powder and the whitening version, a scoop in with my whites and towels. Looking today at the Vanish website however, I was interested to note that they have a handy table for different types of stains, not only recommending the best of their products to deal with the specific issue but also useful advice on using the product. I was particularly interested in the advice on tea stains and red wine stains, as these are by far and above the two problems I deal with most. Only yesterday I was removing a tea stain from a duvet cover after laughing too much whilst eating my breakfast in bed and slopping tea over my favourite Toast striped duvet cover.


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This is a sponsored post

Still here, still pregnant

My brain has shrunk to the size of a walnut. Between organising our new flat, preparing for Pip's arrival, attending appointments and stockpiling sleep, I don't really feel I've had time to achieve anything. Certainly not the time for writing and blogging that I hoped I would have. Which isn't to say that I'm abandoning this space. I am still thinking about writing, it's just I've not yet managed to get my thoughts out. In the meantime, I have been writing over at thelittlepip, which is much more a sort of diary of being pregnant, but it's where you can find me more frequently than here, these days.

The Silence at the Song's End

Last night, an email from an unexpected source made me revisit this post, which I wrote on my previous blog, Little Miss Rachel, in 2007. Inspired by both the email and re-reading my own observations made me dig out the book and start reading. If you enjoy poetry, or have an interest in sailing, you will not be disappointed.

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From 1 November 2007

“What we were, we will become

As we give our heat to the desert sun”

These are the words which Nicholas Heiney used to describe death; in the summer of 2006 he committed suicide following a long but hidden battle with mental illness. The son of Libby Purves (one of my favourite authors and columnists and for whom I have had great respect since my early teens) Nicholas Heiney first came to my attention in Purves account of a family sailing round England in her book One Summer's Grace. Nicholas was 5 and his sister Rose 3. In reality, Nicholas was the same age as me. I was deeply saddened to read of his death last year.

Yesterday, Purves wrote a column in The Times entitled A Testament of Youth describing her son, his writing and the book that she and Nicholas' professor at his Oxford college have compiled from Nicholas' lifetime of writing. Called The Silence at the Song's End the book attempts to fulfill Nicholas' goal which was "to write something I could show to people". I have not yet had a chance to read this book but I have no doubt that Nicholas achieved this goal many times over.

This poem is one which has been featured in extracts from the book and is so moving it makes my heart hurt, for him, for the sea, for the Nicholas of One Summer's Grace, the family and with hope that wherever Nicholas is now he is able to be singing and sailing through eternity. (Read Frieda Hughes' response to this poem in Monday's Times here)

"The morning runs

on, a springtime secret

through the avenues

and avenues which lure

all sound away

I sing, as I was taught

inside myself.

I sing inside myself

when wild moments

slice some tender evening

like a breeze

that rattles gravel

and digs in the dirt

I sing, as I was told,

inside myself.

I sing inside myself

the one wild song, song that whirls

my words around

until a world unfurls

my ship’s new sail

I catch the dew

and set a course amongst the ocean curls

The silence at the song’s end

Before the next

Is the world"

Nicholas Heiney (1982-2006)