Missing Joe to e-mail to remind to listen to Eugenie Grandet on Radio 4, adapted by Rose Tremain, with Ian McKellan as Grandet, a dramatisation dream team.
Glad of Glenn e-mailing remind me to listen to the Tallis Scholars singing Tavener on Radio 3 and of their keeping it available to listen for a whole month, since it's the kind of thing you need the right moment to listen to, or rather the right hour and three quarters, still, it's lovely when people think of you like that.
Missing Molly. Glad of Tom. Pretty much all the time.
When the kids come, we convert to paper plates to avoid trouble with washing up. This time a strange fit took me: I smoothed out some packing paper, folded it and printed it with potato prints and gouache,
and voila, seafood-themed throw-away table mats and runner.
I put them with bright yellow paper table napkins, blue paper plates and yellow bowls, but forgot to photograph that.
They came and went, had walks on the beach and round the market and by the watermill and dinner out, as ever. We appreciate their coming but worry more and more about the stress of the journey and of adolescent recalcitrance on all concerned. More changing and passing. My nice step-son-in-law and I spent an enjoyable afternoon talking over cameras and photos, and he gave me some useful and simple tips about the camera which I shall try to put into practice. His photography skills are way above mine but he is internet shy and lacking in confidence without so much as a Flickr or Picasa web account, and does nothing with his photos except keep them on SD cards and look at them sometimes, which is a great shame.
As well as Kerbiriou for Tom's birthday in September, we're booked for a sea trip on the old sailing boat la Sainte Jeanne at the weekend, and to see Jordi Savall at the Cité de la Musique in October. The kind of things we said we'd do one day when we could, and not hang about before doing them, though it still feels a bit strange and not quite real, like it won't actually happen. The train booking for the latter went pear-shaped, I got flustered by an unsympathetic ticket clerk and unwittingly, or half-wittedly, ended up committing us to a horribly early start to get to Paris, which made me feel stupid and miserable, I'm normally more competent than that in such matters (though it was a bit cheaper). By contrast the Ste Jeanne people were lovely, they held on to the over-subscribed places, even though they didn't really do phone bookings, till we could get there to pick them up, and the little office and those in it were bright and friendly and full of colourful boat pictures. Saying how I'd wanted to make such a trip for a long time, I found myself telling them about Mol, quite calmly, and received understanding and kindness.
I'll take pictures of the boat trip, all being well, and get the last couple of months photo collages made too.