Peacock for Breakfast

We have a tradition in our household that calls for the adults (that’s us) to bugger off on the birthdays off the offspring (that’s Harrison in this case) and leave them a cider-stocked house to enjoy with their friends and the cat. This has only been since the first 18^th, I hasten to add - we were very much present at birthdays 1 to 17. It’s great, especially this year as we spent his actual 21^st with him, before setting off for our latest three-day adventure!

Aside from a hiccup at the very last moment with the sat nav, our journey was pretty uneventful. The farm was satisfactorily off the beaten track, off the grid actually, giving us no mobile signal thus no communication. That, along with the sight of Pippin the Gypsy Caravan through the part opened gate to the orchard, filled my heart and melted away the stresses of my hectic life. I mean, hell, just look at that…

*

We were welcomed most heartily by Dothie, Will’s mum, who was in the middle of preparing our ‘welcome hamper’ and leaving us kindling for the Queenie stove. Had we arrived at the proper time (4pm) this would’ve all been ready, but it did give us the chance to talk through all the bits we needed to know. The most important being how to heat the water for the shower, an innovative piece of kit that would’ve impressed my dad no end! Nothing innovative about the hot tub mind – it’s a tub, encased in cedar, that’s hot.

Steampunk Wet Room

Water Pump & Cedar Hot Tub

*

The Roma lifestyle has always played an intrinsic part of my psyche. This stems from my birth on a gypsy camp I suppose, though having my hands ritualistically crossed with silver florins by one of the oldest Romany families in the country may have left a spiritual mark too. I’d like to think that old Eli was looking down on me, nodding his weatherworn face and winking a twinkly eye in approval. I hope my skills with the fire and Queenie stove didn’t disappoint. I definitely nailed ‘getting the bed out’!

"Grab both handles & gently wriggle the bed out until it drops into place..."

Though I left Nige to sort out the bedding…  

…Whilst I tackled the shower. I went for a cold one in the end as I really had no success lighting the fire. Anyway, it was an extremely hot day.

"Use paper & kindling, add wood, heat up to 35˚c & turn tap 1 full turn"

*

Has anyone ever been to Totnes? No, me neither, though I can’t think why! What a beautiful town with some bizarre old houses and even more bizarre people (and I’m from Bath!). We got there early evening, looking for a place to eat, but despite being famished, we took our time, looking into shop windows, making a mental note of ones to visit the next day. Then we stumbled upon The Wild Fig Deli. A very unassuming little place, not massive on atmosphere but we were encouraged by the great Trip Advisor rating and the smiling face of the guy inside. A very good job too, as the tapas were excellent and the smiley man was an utter delight. If you find yourself in Totnes, do please seek out this little pocket of friendliness, you will not be disappointed. 

Totnes East Gate by Noel Hefele

*

Back at Pippin and almost immediately into the hot tub. We are hot tub virgins no more! So taken were we, that before long we were discussing where we could fit one in our garden.  (There’s a perfect spot at the top, by the way). Our first Roma evening spent under the stars, with hot bubbles, red wine and juvenile giggles.

*

We arose the next morning bright and early. We weren’t being virtuous, just desperate for a wee and once out of the bed we were reluctant to clamber back in. Anyway, the 7am start meant we could start the breakfast and coffee pronto and so eat by a decent time! I kid you not, the Queenie stove was in no hurry to heat up the coffee pot and Nigel’s open fire cooking skills were a bit amateur to say the least.

This gypsy needs coffee!

And this one needs bacon & eggs!

Even the cat, Patchy, got fed up waiting for the bacon and buggered off. I loved the Queenie stove though and could imagine that on a cold day it’s warmth a true welcome to the little wagon. But in this heat I wasn’t keen to keep it alight any longer than I needed to. Nigel, on the other hand, was in fire making mode and took himself over to the shower. I left him to it, choosing instead to roam around the farm. Dothie was feeding the hens so I joined her. We nattered on like old friends, talking about ducks, chickens, foxes, badgers and then dogs. She gave me 2 more eggs and told me of Totnes Market. That’s part of our day sorted then, I thought. And it was. So after his shower, Nige drove us back to Totnes where we wiled away an hour or more rummaging through the vintage style market and visiting the shops we had earmarked the evening before. I was in my element! We did visit other places; Salcombe (briefly) and Kingsbridge but these were accidental – Nige was actually trying to find Bigbury. We shall save that particular jaunt for another holiday.

*

Back at Pippin and the shower was still hot! The peahens visited too, with all their chicks. Patchy really doesn’t like them though and once she caught sight of them through the tall grass, she bounced off down the lane. I thought they were very regal, like princesses parading their children through the court. Jane paid us a visit, asked how we were getting on and told us all about the peacock and his harem. Lucky guy. It was cooler tonight so a fire was needed. We snuggled around the flame with our brie and crackers and bottles of beer. Patchy returned too. I knew she couldn’t stay away for long!

*

On our last full day we visited Slapton and Start Point. There’s a wonderful café/ B&B there that does the most amazing food. We had a Devon Cream tea before climbing up the steps to the coastal path and clambering over the rocks back to the car. We could’ve stayed longer, paddled in the sea even, but Nige was hankering for Dartmouth and who am I to disagree. My feet wanted to mind you, categorically deciding not to be picked up too high, only shuffling through the hilly streets of Dartmouth to the Seven Stars pub for fish and chips and a pint of ale. They were so relieved when we stopped at the park and stretched out on a bench for half an hour or so. Dartmouth is such a picturesque harbour town, with the steam train winding it’s way through the landscape and the steam ship ferrying people from one place to another. We left there, knowing that a return visit is required to explore further, especially the Agatha Christie tour. In fact, there seems to be a lot to do and see in Dartmouth and there’s a wonderful energy there that positively encourages us to stay there on our next visit.

Back at Pippin and a very quiet evening planned. Of course we spent most of it in the hot tub, taking in, for the last time, the evening view of the orchard and our tiny wagon. The fire was still ablaze, Patchy washing herself beside its warmth and the peahens bravely picking their way through the grass. Idyllic, for sure and a tough ask to give up so soon. 

*

On the morning of our departure we awoke to Patchy on the steps and the elusive peacock waiting for breakfast. It wasn’t a luxurious affair but he seemed content with scrunched up cereal bars and pastry crumbs. Patchy took herself into Pippin and as the peahens arrived with their chicks she quickly leapt up to the bed.

Not everyone can say they had peacock for breakfast!

What a scene to leave, more perfect than the one we’d arrived to, if that was at all possible. Farewell Pippin, farewell Queenie, quirky shower, gorgeous hot tub. Farewell Patchy. Veni, vidi, vici. Yes we did!

*

If you fancy this Canopy & Stars break, please click on the link Pippin, the Gypsy Caravan

©Lisa Lee 2014

13

So I was just trying to think of all the things you've missed, but 13 years is such a long time. 

I remember thinking, as we sat in the cinema to watch the first Harry Potter film,

'God, Ben would've loved this.' 

Then we watched Fellowship of the Ring. Man, you'd have adored those films too. All through our childhood you talked about when a decent Lord of the Rings film would be made, how special effects couldn't handle such fantastical imagery. But it did. The year you died, you silly sod.

You missed the whole 'twin towers' thing too. I'm not sorry about that. I feel sure you'd have upheld the conspiracy theorists view with vigour, challenging us all. Never fear Ben, Harry and Gabe did a sterling job in your stead. Not at the time mind you, but in the subsequent years. Actually, Harry is so like you it often makes me ache. He can take any subject and any view of it and argue inexhaustibly until we all pretty much see things the same way. It's uncanny, really, how he can do that! If he wasn't so lovely, he could be a politician.

Just like you.

You didn't see Nick and Shelley get married. To be fair, none of us did but we did see him happy which is something he so richly deserved after losing his house, his dogs. You. He's been poorly for the last few years, which has been a worry. It's really knocked his confidence, I think. Things seem to be getting back on track for him now. In fact he'll be here tomorrow, to build a wall. 'Here' is Bathampton. We moved back in 2012. It's wonderful Ben. I see more of Seb now too, as he and Anoushka adore Bath. I'm secretly hoping they'll settle nearby in the future.

Well, he doesn't have much to keep him in Sherborne.

We lost Adelaide you know. Not in that sense but as well as. She was always a headstrong young bean and so I feel this will not surprise you in the slightest. Seb didn't cope with it at all well. He was sort of in the middle of it all, watching helplessly as things just fell apart. I know this sounds heartbreaking and tragic but he had Anoushka and baby Grace to temper the blows and has emerged a stronger, finer and lovelier man. If that was in any way possible. So as I write this, 13 years on, your boy has a good, strong sense of self, a stunning wife and a gorgeous little family. You'd be so proud. I wish I had news about Adelaide but that's how it is. Sorry.

Gabe's buggered off to Guildford. He's at ACM university, studying music. He'll go far, that one. In fact we're relying on him to pay for our old age! No, not really. Though I'm sure he would if he could. I think you'd love my boys, Ben. They're both elements of us three - the better elements, obviously.

What else. Current affairs? Well, we're Tory again. But Labour, by the end, was verging on the Tory anyway so... The future is a worry. UKIP seem to be marching ahead, gathering uneducated supporters and filling them with hate. That's all we need isn't it, more hatred in the world. Where is the love? Another American high school shooting yesterday. That's 143 in America alone since after you died. 143 Ben. I think of all those sisters out there, victims of these shootings. So many thoughts, so many tears.

Ahh, time to go. I thought I'd just get these few things out of my head before I open the wine.

©Lisa Lee 2014

To You, From Me and Back Again

As Christmas approached and gifts had to be bought,

I have struggled with what to buy you…

I wanted a change from real ale and so thought

You may want a change from that too

Or not.

The year had thrown up some surprises for me,

Names and places new to my ears.

I learnt so much more ‘bout our great family

Going back o’er one hundred years

We’re Welsh!

For no matter what tales they all have to share,

The distance created a void.

Better to hear from someone who was there,

(So long as you don’t get annoyed)…

As if.

So read through the questions (they are really not bad),

And let your dry humour pervade.

This is your life as told by you, my dear dad,

So get scribbling, don’t be afraid.

Tee hee!

A small person within a small family

So little is known of its past.

However, it’s true,

That thanks largely to you

The tales that I have are quite vast.

But there’s richness within the words that you choose,

The characters that shaped your childhood

Are vivid to me,

I can practically see

Them. So write it down, if you would!

Love Lizzie

©Lisa Lee, 2012. Sleeping in Open Letters

I Don't Like:

Well,

Fleas don't please, lice aren't nice and I'm not sure why we need stick insects...
A clown makes me frown, and a man in a dressing gown and I'm not too struck on over formed pects...

A glory seeking Tory with an over-privileged story,
A fame seeking wannabe with an under-privileged story,
A second rate musician with a *sob sob* story...

Engaging in small talk whilst sat in the chair
At the place where they expertly colour my hair :)
Chick-Lit too makes me feel kinda meh...

That may be unkind, 

as I don't really read 'em.

So I guess I don't mind

and we probably need 'em. 

(Just to make us feel better about our own lives...)

Oh, and,

I can't stand litter, or people who're bitter and I don't really get the point of Uggs (sorry Gem...),
Caffeine free coffees, and those flat 'Penny Toffees', actually Quality Street in general - I don't like them... 

Can't stand ignorance,
Not keen on arrogance,
And all that self-importance
Is a complete and utter farce.

Can't stand racism,
Not keen on creationism,
And you can shove your chauvinism
Right up your arse! *Ahem* (So ladylike...)





©Lisa Lee, 2014. Sleeping in Elvegren Life

Squirrel

Strolling through the woods, fallen leaves all squelchy and soggy under my wellies. One long step to get over the fast-flowing brook that's carrying twigs to the bottom of the hill. 

Silence, except for the snap of dead wood as I pass.

Looking up to the morning sun, reaching through the boughs of the naked trees, stretching her warms fingers over the strange woodland inhabitants. As the sunlight bathes the huge body of the oak, I tiny door is lit up at his base. A tiny, wooden door with a tiny holly wreath fixed to its knocker. 

Silence, except for the snap of tiny crackers being pulled behind the tiny door.

Several pairs of eyes are watching me. Looking up, I catch a glimpse of two, no, three bushy tales, spiralling up and up, to the uppermost branches. 

Giddiness, from the sunlight and the motion cause me to look away. But as I do, I notice something drop from the mouth of one of my watchers. It spins like a sycamore seed in Autumn. I catch it as it gently bounces into my hand - a tiny green stocking. For a tiny squirrel's paw.


©Lisa Lee, 2014. Sleeping in Elvegren Tales

'One Giant Leap'

One bright and starry night, on a planet far, far away from here there sat a little alien called Graham.

He was the youngest Graham on the planet and a great weight was weighing down upon his bumpy, orange shoulder-like things.

"Oh dear," he sighed, "Whatever is to become of us all?" Graham glanced at the bare 'leap patch'. Not a single leap had grown there since Graham had been made 'Watcher of the Patch' and unless one grew very, very soon, the planet would die and that would be the end of the Grahams. He sighed again and lifted one of his heads, the green one, up towards the stars. "Stars, please hear me tonight," his green head said. "Without leaps in our tummies, nothing will live and the whole planet will die!" But the stars just shone. Except one. On the right. Which seemed to throb and then fall. Graham didn't notice though as he replaced the green head and rested his red one in his hand.

The next morning, as the stars shone brighter, Graham cautiously opened his eyes. "Wow!" he gasped. Then, getting up to his foot, he hopped over to where the other Grahams were still napping. "Wake up!" he shouted.

"What's all this young Graham?" questioned the elder Graham, as he too hobbled to his foot. "Look! Look at the leap patch!" They all followed Grahams gaze and with joint amazement, started swaying backwards and forwards on their feet. There, right in the middle of the patch there was a green shoot just surfacing above the pink soil.

The Grahams all leant forward, eyes widening as the shoot carried on growing!

By the end of the day, as the sky grew even darker, the leap covered the entire patch. Little Graham watched in wonderment as it stopped growing and became still. A leap. One giant leap. Big enough for all the Grahams on the whole planet to share. He looked up into the sky once more. "Ooo," he said. "What's that?" Up in the sky, to the right there was a new star. It was bigger and brighter than all the rest. A glow grew around it and moved towards the planet. "Could this be what helped the leap grow?" he thought. All of his eyes widened as the sky lightened. He felt warmer too and a smile spread across his green head.

And so the Grahams lived. The planet lived. All thanks to a massive, glowing star and one giant leap.

©Lisa Lee 2010, edited 2014. Sleeping in Elvegren Tales

Where I Grew Up...

I spent my early years on a farm, in Walnut Grove, Minnesota, running through the endless meadows, arms outstretched, feeling the warmth of the constant sunshine. I even adored school, such as it was. There were just a handful of us, sitting in a wooden hall, on simple wooden chairs using slates to write on, when we had to write. Most of the day we were outside. I learnt about every flower, plant and animal indigenous to Minnesota. I learnt about the land and what would grow well there. I loved the wild flowers that filled the meadow between the school and my little house on the Prairie, I can still feel the scratchiness of the stems, smell the subtle scents as I ran happily through them.

At home, Ma always cooked a huge dinner and Pa would sit at the head of the table, where he said Grace. At sundown my sisters and I went to bed with a lamp. We’d put on our mop caps and nighties, give each other kisses and, then, Pa would lift me up to the loft, where I slept. I loved it when he did this because the ladder used to shake when I climbed up, causing me a bit of a lurch in my tummy. As I curled up under my patchwork quilt, lovingly made for me by my Grandma, I would dream of adventures. I was always with friends and always happy.

As I grew up, I had to move on. I could feel myself growing away from the farm and it’s inhabitants. It was time to find a bit of grit. A bit of real life with all it’s grey areas as well as it’s light. So, at just 17, I sailed to England. I took a job as a servant in a small town in Cornwall. My new employer was a wealthy tin mine owner and the job came with a room in his home. It was nothing like the farm I’d left back in Minnesota. It felt cold, damp and there were pockets of gloom in every room, until Mr Poldark walked in. My teenage hormones turned virtual somersaults and although I had been warned about falling in love with an employer, I couldn’t resist him, nor him, me. If you’d been able to see us then you’d have known we were perfect together, for a while, anyway.

This is, sort of, where I grew up. I was a child, an adolescent and an adult who lived in her head. I would say, and I do believe, that we all do. But in weaving this tale, I have come to realise, that the truth is as strange, if not as romantic as the world in my head. For I grew up here, Calne, a market-town for porky pigs.

I was pushed along in my pushchair to the squeals of pigs being slaughtered and the river Marden running red. 
I learnt to walk in the shadow of the monstrous red-bricked abattoir that cast a shadow, no matter what time of day, along the ancient, and beautiful, Church Street. 
I met my husband in the uninviting, unattractive and unfriendly Trotters pub. 
Then, finally, I moved to King Bladud’s city of Bath. 
You know, the guy with the pigs.

©Lisa Lee, 2012, sleeping in Elvegren Life

RED

She never usually wore red but today was different.

“Tis only a whore that’ll dare to wear red!”

Her granny once told her, before she was dead,

“Fur hat and no knickers!”

Was another of hers,

“Especially on Sundays!”

I think I’ll wear furs…

She takes the faux fur coat from the wardrobe and tries it.

“I’m right!” said a voice from the pot on the shelf,

And she took it off quickly in spite of herself.

“Gran?” she said nervously,

And picked up the pot.

“You look like a cheap whore!”

She replied, “I do not!”

She sat on her bed with the pot in her hands.

“You don’t understand Gran, you don’t understand!”

She sobbed to the pot that lay cold in her hand.

“No, indeed I do not,”

Said Gran with a sigh.

“You’re a beautiful girl,

Explain to me why?”

She sniffed back her tears and started to talk.

“Remember Tom, Gran, with the dark floppy hair?

He told me he loved me then ran off with Claire!”

“He never, the bastard!”

“He did Gran, he did,

Now they’re getting married

And having a kid.”

She stopped her tears and looked down at her dress.

“I’m wearing this dress Gran, I’m making a stand,

I may look like a whore but it’s already planned.”

“Well, it’s not too bad.”

“I should be in that,

“That hideous peach dress,”

“What, and the peach hat?”

She looked at the peach mess that hung on the door.

“A bridesmaid? His bridesmaid?? You gullible fool!”

“I know Gran, I know but I knew Claire from school.

That’s how she met my Tom.”

“You stay dressed in red,

Bugger up her big day

And knock ‘em all dead!”

She loved her Gran, she did, though she couldn’t always talk to the pot.

“We’re scattering you next week. With Grandad.”

“Aw, well, that’s nice dear. Now, where’s your coat?”

©Lisa Lee, 2014. Sleeping in Elvegren Tales

NURL

In a land of cats,

Far, far away,

There stands the angophora tree,

Where the kobold flits

From leaf to leaf,

Salchows from branch to higher branch,

Whispering her ancient plea:

“Oh almighty Nurl, I ask of thee,

Show me the sphendrone of this tree!

For these tresses of mine,

So gold and fine,

Are alas, too wild and free!”

A clowder of cats,

On this cold day,

Observed the King's own jabberknowl,

‘Twas a sight to see,

The gunsel here,

Moved by our kobold’s earnest words,

He offers his Nurlish soul:

“Oh what kind of mana is this, pray,

That I see before me today?

The angophora there,

Holds a maiden fair,

For my Nurlish heart to slay!”

The mew of the cats,

Did not once stay,

The himbo’s now much heightened lust,

As their eyes first met,

Hers first, then his,

For a moment she thought it Him,

“A Nurl? Oh surely it must!”

“Oh sweet thing I implore you be,

Mine forever then you will see,

What a love I can give,

If you’d only live,

In the King’s castle with me!”

The eyes of the cats,

Fixed their wry gaze,

Trying to see her intentions

She looked at our chap,

Ozena filled nose,

Knew then this was doomed and did cry,

“A fico to your attentions!”

©Lisa Lee, 2014, sleeping in Elvegren Tales. Illustration ©Belinda Allen

Scribbles

So, there's a little black notebook that lives in my bag. It's full of colourful scribbles about a little black cat...

 ... and colourful people who live in the woods.

©Lisa Lee, 2014. Sleeping in Elvegren's Scribbles

The Birds in Haiku.

Back in 2010 I decided to Haiku The Birds in Tweets. 

This is them:

"Two leaning love birds, in Tippi Hedren's front seat, I'm watching 'The Birds'"

"Cold wintery day, snuggled up on my sofa, drinking Earl Grey tea"

"Old films. Stunning film stars. Impossibly gorgeous. I wish I was alive back then. Ah well."

"Bodega Bay School. Cathy is singing a song. Watch the climbing frame."

"Boo Annie is dead. Cathy is safe but still sad. Mitch is a bit of a dick."

"Lydia is odd. Cathy is sick and crying. Melanie is scared."

"Oh God. It's getting bad. Now all the lights have failed. Oh no Mitch, they have not 'gone' yet. No Mel!"

"She cannot get out. She's overwhelmed by the birds. Melanie looks dead."

"Carefully does it. Get her to the hospital. DON'T BRING THE LOVE BIRDS!"

"The end. Not very clear. Why did the birds attack? Were they just heavily pissed off? Who knows?"

"Now, should I haiku 'The Mummy' or take advantage of the absence of my children and close proximity of husband? No contest - tweet later xxx"

©Lisa Lee, 2014, sleeping in Elvegren Reviews