Twilight Tales and Merely a Stroll

A short and sweet blog post this week.  

Following our catch up with friends at the weekend (and a cheeky afternoon glass of wine for me), I indulged in a spot of windscreen photography on the twilight journey home.  Before we proceed, I probably should point out that I wasn't driving.  Quaffing wine and handling a camera whilst driving a car would of course get a swift driving ban and a spell in prison!

Windscreen photography as I call it, is something I frequently do, as it enables me to capture familiar scenes from a different perspective.  The sun was setting and the landscape took on mauve hues and a golden lustre.  

This cyclist, with his light illuminating his route home, was a gift.  

I managed to catch a glimpse of the setting sun through our Beetle's rear window.

This tree, whilst not perfect (ISO noise and slight motion blur) was still a shining example.

Much of this week has been consumed by other more mundane activities.  In addition, the incessant wind and a minor foot injury has put paid to many outdoor explorations...so let's fast forward to this weekend.

Last night was my first Islamic house wedding shoot, and what an experience!  I had a 10 minute heart stopping period early on when my photos in preview suddenly appeared to be partially blacked out.  After running a few tests and with 20 minutes to spare before the groom was due to arrive, I made a frantic phone call to my mentor, Jenny, who conducted a quick telephone trouble shoot and then went off to Google the issue.  Within minutes she had a suggestion, which mercifully worked a treat!  Of course it's Murphy's Law that I had tested my little used flash all week, without issue and the one time it decided to test my sanity was on a job!

After that, the evening went relatively smoothly.  Set to a soundtrack of ululations and Islamic wedding songs, my biggest challenges were not treading on anyone's toes, not being distracted by the incredible outfits and henna tattoos and not getting some of the elders - who did not wish to be photographed - in shot.

Until I have edited the 100 plus photos and delivered them to the clients, I am unable to share any here.  However, here's a photo from a previous wedding shoot.  Here, the bride, Leyla, wears her red henna hand decorations with pride.  Aren't they exquisite?

I have only experienced the riotous sound of the ululation first hand once before, at Leyla's wedding.  However, last night's ululations were confined to four walls, so the neighbours would have been in no doubt that there was an almighty celebration taking place.  

The practice is rooted in the culture of North Africa, but is pretty widespread, reaching central-south Asia, the Middle East and even parts of Europe such as Cyprus.  It has also been adopted by certain Jewish communities.  However, one ululation doesn't necessarily sound like another.  Each has its own unique sound.  

Ululations denote joy, celebration, victory and honour, and have also been used in prayer, hunting and resistance against colonial powers.  The roots of the sound go way back to the ancient civilisations of Greece and Egypt, appearing on the inscription of the pyramid texts of Unas.  Homer mentions ololuge (ululation) in his works, as does Herodotus, citing ululation in North Africa - where it is still practiced - saying: 

 "I think for my part that the loud cries uttered in our sacred rites came also from thence; for the Libyan women are greatly given to such cries and utter them very sweetly."

With my ears ringing, I bid my farewells at the end of my allotted time, but not before my hosts insisted on issuing me with a carrier bag full of Indian foodie treats to take home with me.  The kindness of strangers!

This afternoon, we took a leisurely stroll to a favourite spot close to Enville - Mere Mill; a Grade II listed, early 19th century red brick, tiled roof water mill.   There were puddles and overflowing ditches courtesy of the gloomy weather.

Mere Mill has suffered from an air of abandonment and neglect for as long as I can remember, but there is something magical about it.  The area surrounding the mill is devoid of road noise, the only sounds being running water and the rustling of trees.

https://www.facebook.com/100000164335945/videos/389907776468964/

I took a short video of the location to capture said tree rustling and running water.  Those of you with keen hearing might just be able to pick out the timeless sound of clinking bottles.  The story behind this is thus.

Whilst many locals are unaware of this building, sadly a few determined fly tippers seem to periodically make a pilgrimage to the mill, leaving anything from plant pots and a child car seat to today's discovery.  I heard Gareth tut at a carrier bag full of empty bottles.  His wombling instinct kicked in and he picked up the bag of bottles to add its contents to our recycling at home.  The weight of the bag immediately suggested that the bottles were not empty.  On further investigation, there were no less than 6 bottles of wine - still corked and sealed.  They had obviously been there for some time...but then wine ages well.  

Did we bring them home?  That is the question. I'll leave you to ponder on that.

 

The Spirit of Christmas

Our website woes stubbornly remain, but there is perhaps a chink of light at the end of the cyber tunnel.  The most recent jotting in my record of this sorry timeline, is a scribbled note of the words - verbatim - of one in a long line of customer care assistants I have spoken to this week.  It reads: "It's fixable."  For now, that's good enough for me.

I've not really been feeling in the mood for Christmas.  I'm sure I'm not alone.  The constant off, on speculation about the festive period and fun in general, has delayed any planning on my part.  Everything has been late this year; from Christmas cards to gift buying (not that we go overboard on any given year).  For me, Christmas is more about the feeling - an intangible, almost mystical thrill and optimism, but this year, I've yet to experience that December magic aka the Christmas spirit.

However, I have seen a little donkey...well two actually.  That's quite Christmassy isn't it?

...and had a Christmas revelation.  It all started with a clearout.  For way too long, I have held onto treasured possessions of dear, departed relatives.  These things are so firmly etched in the memory and entangled in emotion, that they become somewhat invisible.  But this year, whilst erecting our now carbon neutral Christmas tree - purchased because cats and real Christmas trees don't always get along - I had my revelation.  I don't need things to remember people by, particularly if those things are not particularly to our taste.  So I boxed them up, alongside a load of DVDs, thereby freeing up precious space on the bookshelf for books!  

I also donated 3 bags of clothing to a local charity shop (still by appointment) and took a trip to Bridgnorth (where they are more than happy to accept donations without prior appointment) to drop off a few bags of books at Cancer Research.  Cathartic!

Here I am, load lightened, donning a recent charity shop find - a pastel lemon beret with its original £12.00 Top Shop tag still attached (exactly the kind you find in a second hand store).  The rest of the outfit is entirely second hand; vintage suede jacket, High Street (M&S) striped soft knit top, ribbed polo neck (EBay purchase) and iconic American Frye boots. 

Remembering those no longer with us is not always easy; some unpleasant memories still linger, but they do diminish.  Whilst gathering holly and ivy from the garden, I also collected some Corkscrew Hazel twigs and a Hydrangea Lace Cap flowerhead and decided to create a simple, homespun Christmas arrangement for Gareth's Mom's grave, rather than risking an unwanted Omicron Christmas gift by heading to the shops.  She would have appreciated the frugal gesture and no doubt provided a lengthy critique of my flower arranging skills.

A few special mementoes remain; my grandmother's 1950s flocked Christmas reindeer, which makes it's annual appearance on our fireplace...

...alongside my paternal grandmother's musical Song Thrush....

..and some hand blown glass baubles from the in-laws, made just down the road in a local glass museum.

For those still reeling from the artificial Christmas tree revelation, here's one we planted earlier.  

This tree was our first Christmas tree at this house almost two decades ago and was planted out in the garden on the 12th night.  I'm starting to lose sight of the top!

On long winter walks, my Dad often accompanies me in thoughts and memories.  He was a true outdoor person.  He hated spending prolonged periods inside.  As a child I would moan for England about the long weekend walks he planned and rain soaked camping trips (I'm definitely a fair weather camper), but now I reflect on them fondly and can trace my love of nature all along an invisible thread leading directly back to him.  

For this week's winter walk, we took to the Staffordshire Worcestershire canal, a 46 mile stretch linking the River Severn at Stourport with the Trent and Mersey Canal at Haywood Junction by Great Haywood.  The towpath is a mere 15 minute walk from our house and is something I think I take for granted.  We have a choice of routes along this lovely stretch of canal, which passes through the soft undulating countryside of our region and skirts around Birmingham, without ever becoming truly urban.  

We chose a particularly cold day for our walk.  Mercifully there was no wind chill factor, but by rights, us Brits should look permanently youthful in a Botox'd kind of way, given the levels of face freezing cold, moist air regularly seeping into our skin.

For this walk, I wore another, predominantly second hand outfit comprising red Crocs wellies, Zara jeans (both Ebay finds), and a purple Monsoon jumper (charity shopped) hidden beneath a long, leg warming coat I found in a charity shop a few weeks ago.  The jury is still out on this - it's long, cosy style was the main attraction, although I did also like the houndstooth pattern and its general winter brightness.  However, when I later discovered that this Baukjen wool mix coat retails at £299, it grew on me.  The fleece lined hat was an online purchase last year and the Harris Tweed scarf was a souvenir from our 2015 trip to the Outer Hebrides, chosen for its beautiful colours which evoke the colour palette of the machair (low lying grassy plain) flanking the glittering white Hebridean beaches. 

So join me for a deliberately dark and murky stroll along some Black Country towpaths. We glimpsed the impressive Prestwood Pumping Station through the trees across Smestow Brook.

Here's a better photo (sadly I'm unable to provide a photo credit) of the building, erected in the early part of the 20th Century.

We obsessed over tree reflections (anyone else hear Dave singing "Reach out and touch faith" when looking at this?)

and symmetry

spotted a bargain to be had...

...and saw the canal dwellers desperately trying to stay warm

and embracing Christmas in their own unique style.

  

We elected to walk from Ashwood towards Stourbridge, 

...branching off at Stourton...

and heading towards Wordsley and the Glass Quarter, 

before leaving the canal and walking home through the woods and fields; all in all a walk of approximately 6 miles.

Back at home I indulged in a spot of home baking.  I avoid milk and butter and vegan mince pies are often void of alcohol - what is the point of a non boozy mince pie I ask you?!  So, even though I will probably only eat one or two, I subscribed to that Christmas tradition of baking mince pies.  I have to admit, when I spotted a Sainsbury's Taste the Difference Mincemeat containing clementine, winterberries and gin, my enthusiasm increased immeasurably.  

Naturally, once I was some way into my preparations, I realised that my Mom's old pastry cutters had gone AWOL, so instead, I used a cut glass brandy glass and tumbler, which perfectly served up the requisite sizes for the pastry tops and bottoms.

The verdict?  Delicious.  The zesty clementine and fragrant gin perfectly cut through the usual sickly sweetness of mincemeat.

So, with tidying and gift wrapping still to do, I'll leave you with this little ditty, which, in my humble opinion, is the best Christmas song of all time and which always makes me tear up.  

The Pogues and Kirsty MacColl - Fairytale of New York - YouTube

Happy Christmas and here's to a bright and positive 2022!  In the words of The Pogues' Shane MacGowan (who, incidentally, shares a birthday with Jesus): "Cram as much pleasure as you can into life and rail against the pain that you have to suffer as a result."  Yes, it might sound a little as though I'm advocating too many sherries on Christmas Day and spending a night in the cells, but I do like a rebellious life motto!

See you soon. x