An eclectic mix I admit but...and apolgies for typos, am working on an Indonesian keyboard
Went to see the film "Julie and Julia" a couple of weeks ago. It will ring bells for expats and bloggers alike . "Where is home?" ask Julia as she and her husband move on to another posting in Oslo.
"What do I do now she asks?" on the first day her husband goes off to work leaving her to fend for herself in a new country.
Delight when Julie gets her first comment on her first post on her first blog (even though it is from her mother)
Am in Bali at the moment. What an island of contrasts. Lovely people, fabulous food, palm trees, it,s the got the lot. It also has lots of feral dogs on the beaches, rampant dangerous potholes in the streets, tight security and a humidity at this time of year that makes one go a little crazy and headachey. Not that I'm complaining..
Everyone is talking about the heavyhandedness of Julia Roberts' security guards though. The big star is here on the island filming "Eat Pray, Love" and there has been a bit of a to do over it all and how a tourist who took a photo of the filming got their camera confiscated. Not much "praying or love" with the Hollywood set then....
Saturday, November 07, 2009
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Art for art's sake or just leering?
Update on daughter. She phoned from AUSTRALIA on her MOBILE for the ingredients to a recipe, and asked me to phone her back -The most expensive recipe ever, perchance?
Meanwhile D and I had another "cultural day away" to see a heap load of art at the Hermitage Art museum in Lausanne. It's one of my favourite art galleries, stuck in the middle of glorious parkland. I especially liked the one by Félix Vallotton, of the writer Félix Feneon.
Meanwhile D and I had another "cultural day away" to see a heap load of art at the Hermitage Art museum in Lausanne. It's one of my favourite art galleries, stuck in the middle of glorious parkland. I especially liked the one by Félix Vallotton, of the writer Félix Feneon.
He's hunched over his writing, it's obviously in the wee hours of the night, a 19th century version of us lot today hunched over our laptops, and (if you are like me) usually very late at night too.
I then went and looked at a book about Vallotton in the museum shop afterwards to see what else he had done. Loads apparently, including stylish designs, very elegant indeed.
Yet... when I see hundreds of paintings by one man of women in the nude, women draped over beds, getting out baths, etc I always wonder. Is this an artist who appreciated the female form, who like other artists at the time was experimenting with his art, blah de blah or was he quite simply a bit of a dirty old man who used his art to entice women to in his studio to see them with their kit off?
Here's what the Vallotton foundation website says about him "Secret et passionné, réfléchi et sensuel, misanthrope et séducteur". Judge for yourself. Maybe I'm just a heathen who knows nothing.
The museum's present exhibition is called from "Cezanne to Rothko - Passions Shared" and has the works of many great artists on display, all under one one roof and all from Swiss private collections. I wonder who these owners are and where they hang these great works. Is there somebody in my town who owns one? If so, are they true art lovers who look at these paintings every day, admire and appreciate them? Or are they Russian oligarchs who buy art as an investment and they don't really care? Are these paintings simply hidden away in bank vaults? Do the visitors to the houses where these paintings are, recognise that a work of a famous artist is hung up on the wall ? Does it matter if they don't?
I remember a story that someone told about Jeffrey Archer (before his fall from grace) Apparently at Archer's London penthouse parties, if anyone asked where the loo was, he would say "Down the corridor, turn right at the Picasso and left at the Warhol" (or something like that) Jeffrey obviously wanted everyone to know what he owned.
There was a Warhol at the Hermitage too,which I liked. (I then had a sudden urge to go home and play Bowie's track that has the words "Andy Warhol looks a scream, hang him on your wall")
but there was also a load of other tosh by other artists, a few daubs on a piece of canvas with the the most pretentious twaddle written below them.
But then as I said before I'm a heathen and know absolutely nothing (obviously).
I personally thought there was more beauty outside the museum with the light above the lake that day. Lots of yachts were out sailing, they're just pinpricks here on the photo but they were simply lovely.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Breaking all the rules..
It seems to be perceived wisdom in blogging etiquette that you should never write "sorry I haven't posted anything for a while". Apparently it looks unprofessional. But as there have been no posts on here for over a month then it seems a tad remiss of me not to explain why.
Nothing disastrous has happened, we are all well, and in fine form. In fact August was rather an excellent month with 25 years of marriage and a BIG birthday to celebrate. The latter was fabulous. I woke up in Addingham, the village I grew up in to a glorious morning. We stayed with some good friends of my parents and before breakfast, D and I got up early to go a short walk over the Roman road which looks out on Beamsley Beacon. This is a small mountain (large hill?) that overlooks the village and was part of my childhood. We also got *married in Beamsley so lots of memories associated with it. The chapel no longer exists in the building but has been turned into a very worthwhile project. The scenery around here is stunning (it's also near where they filmed Calendar Girls)
The first week was just awful. I'd been warned by other mothers that this would happen but I didn't believe them. How wrong I was.
Anyway three weeks later I admit it's got easier. The odd sms sent from the Australian outback and the occasional phone call has helped and it's suprising how quickly you adjust to a new status quo, I've also gained a spare room which is great for dumping the laundry, but of course I would much rather she was there than the washing pile. But she's not and that's the way it should be.
Nothing disastrous has happened, we are all well, and in fine form. In fact August was rather an excellent month with 25 years of marriage and a BIG birthday to celebrate. The latter was fabulous. I woke up in Addingham, the village I grew up in to a glorious morning. We stayed with some good friends of my parents and before breakfast, D and I got up early to go a short walk over the Roman road which looks out on Beamsley Beacon. This is a small mountain (large hill?) that overlooks the village and was part of my childhood. We also got *married in Beamsley so lots of memories associated with it. The chapel no longer exists in the building but has been turned into a very worthwhile project. The scenery around here is stunning (it's also near where they filmed Calendar Girls)
But I digress.
The day brought cards, phone calls and messages from all over the world including an sms from friends holidaying in Iceland, an sms from friends who were half way up a cable car in France,
a friend who called me and then played "Happy Birthday" on her piano from her summer cottage on a Norwegian island. Other friends (mother, father and nine year old daughter) called to sing "Happy Birthday" from their holiday in the Ticino region of Switzerland. The evening rounded off with an night with friends at family my village pub. A very good day, a good night, a very good celebration.
I don't really have any angst about turning the big 50. I reckon if I have friends and family, am in good health, haven't seen any wars, never been made redundant, never known hunger, am still married after a quarter of a century, have had the opportunity to travel and can afford a good bottle of wine every now and again, then there's lots to celebrate.
OK I'd love to lose around 14lbs in weight, I wish my mum had lived to see our daughter been born and her and my Dad to see her grow up too, it would be nice to have a few less wrinkles, but what the hell. If this sounds like a load of pious, sanctimonious twaddle I don't really care.
So August was fabulous and then....... it became a bit of a roller coaster. From the highs of celebration we dipped to a bit of a low after our daughter left to go travelling on her gap year.
I had always been so dismissive of those mothers that talked about empty nest syndrome. "Pah!" I thought if they are so wrapped up in their childrens' lives, then there is something wrong if they can't accept it when their children leave home.
Boy, am I eating my words now. As parents we are busy people and have lot's going on, so we didn't exactly live our life through our daughter, but we were very much a part of her life and she very much a part of ours. We've been a family dynamic of three for 18 years, we have moved across continents and countries and been through a lot together. Suddenly it's gone back down to just the two of us. The day we said goodbye to her on her way to Australia we were bereft. I felt a bit like the face in the photo below.
The first week was just awful. I'd been warned by other mothers that this would happen but I didn't believe them. How wrong I was.
Anyway three weeks later I admit it's got easier. The odd sms sent from the Australian outback and the occasional phone call has helped and it's suprising how quickly you adjust to a new status quo, I've also gained a spare room which is great for dumping the laundry, but of course I would much rather she was there than the washing pile. But she's not and that's the way it should be.
I left home and went travelling at the age of 17 and 11 months and spent 3 days on a bus from London to Greece. My mother must have been bereft too and she didn't have text messages to console her or cheer her day up. But I do and am so grateful for that.
Since she left D and I have had a few away days so there's lots to report on from the most sublime Coldplay concert in Berne to a disastrous trip to see the Van Gogh exhibition in Basel.
But this post is getting far too long and apparently, that's another thing you musn't do in blogging etiquette -make posts too long. So that's two rules I've broken already, but "tant pis".
I reckon when you get to my age you can break all the rules you like........
Monday, August 17, 2009
Beautiful Britain - Part One
We have returned from a fabulous ten days away in England and Scotland, catching up with friends, celebrating birthdays, reminiscing (more on that later). So much to say so much to report back on, but in the interim here are some photos. A wee soupcon of the beauty of the British Isles.
Sheep in the Yorkshire Dales
Sheep in the Yorkshire Dales
Friday, July 24, 2009
In my letter box this morning......
Was a flyer for a place that sells fresh milk "automatic 24 hours a day".
What it this? A cow by the side of the road perhaps? You never know, this is Switzerland.....
There haven't been any posts on here for a while as I'm doing lots of stuff over on Living in Nyon and it's.... Paléo!!!!! My favourite week of the year.
What it this? A cow by the side of the road perhaps? You never know, this is Switzerland.....
There haven't been any posts on here for a while as I'm doing lots of stuff over on Living in Nyon and it's.... Paléo!!!!! My favourite week of the year.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Montreux Jazz - Just a bit too cool for its own good this year
Ok, so I've raved and written about Montreux Jazz festival before because yes, it is in a fabulous setting, yes it does have some great bands and I really like the town. But this year I think it just got a bit too cool for its own good.
Most festivals have the main band with supporting acts that appear before them, which is fine, and these days concerts at Montreux often have two supporting bands which is OK too.
But... when the supporting bands start late and then there is a massive wait between them, it means the main band doesn't come on until really late. Perhaps it's not so bad at the weekend, but during the week when most folk have to get to to work the next day it's tough. As many travel to Montreux from Geneva or Lausanne then it often means they have to leave before the main band has finished performing. Not good when you have paid a small fortune for the tickets, some tickets are 240 CHF.
Case in point. Last week we went to see Jamie Cullen, he was very good but didn't appear until 00:15. As the train for Geneva leaves at either midnight or 01:00 then you either miss him or just get to see an hour and have to leave before he finishes the set. The alternative is the train at 02:00 which stops everywhere, involves changing in Lausanne and doesn't get to Geneva until 05:12. Not good for the workers. Even if you drove, it's still an hour's haul back to Geneva.
When I went to complain about this to the administration they replied with characteristic French Swiss ennui. "Buh, mais c'est Montreux" ie: "we have this great reputation therefore we don't care and anyway how dare you complain?"
Well sorry mate but there were a lot of disgruntled people talking about this on the train on our way home, so next year they may be voting with their feet and simply not going. In these restrained financial times, Montreux should take note.
Sunday night was another example, two supporting bands, one of them Sweet Georgia Brown (she was very good too) but then there was another long gap to wait between bands. Then came a charity auction which lasted half an hour and just seemed to be some promotional outlet for a guy's art gallery (he was a poor auctioneer too, it would have been easier to take a Swiss franc off the ticket price towards the charity). This meant that by the time the great B.B King came on it was once again very late. By that time most people were flagging and fed up.
Claude Nobs may have created a great festival and has put the town on the map and all over the world. He is famed for entertaining all the stars in his lovely chalet above the town during the day, which of course he is entitled to and deserves to do. But if the stars are busy partying away while the punters are waiting patiently below for the bands to start then something isn't quite right.
Montreux is cool, but this year its attitude to its fans left me ice cold.
Most festivals have the main band with supporting acts that appear before them, which is fine, and these days concerts at Montreux often have two supporting bands which is OK too.
But... when the supporting bands start late and then there is a massive wait between them, it means the main band doesn't come on until really late. Perhaps it's not so bad at the weekend, but during the week when most folk have to get to to work the next day it's tough. As many travel to Montreux from Geneva or Lausanne then it often means they have to leave before the main band has finished performing. Not good when you have paid a small fortune for the tickets, some tickets are 240 CHF.
Case in point. Last week we went to see Jamie Cullen, he was very good but didn't appear until 00:15. As the train for Geneva leaves at either midnight or 01:00 then you either miss him or just get to see an hour and have to leave before he finishes the set. The alternative is the train at 02:00 which stops everywhere, involves changing in Lausanne and doesn't get to Geneva until 05:12. Not good for the workers. Even if you drove, it's still an hour's haul back to Geneva.
When I went to complain about this to the administration they replied with characteristic French Swiss ennui. "Buh, mais c'est Montreux" ie: "we have this great reputation therefore we don't care and anyway how dare you complain?"
Well sorry mate but there were a lot of disgruntled people talking about this on the train on our way home, so next year they may be voting with their feet and simply not going. In these restrained financial times, Montreux should take note.
Sunday night was another example, two supporting bands, one of them Sweet Georgia Brown (she was very good too) but then there was another long gap to wait between bands. Then came a charity auction which lasted half an hour and just seemed to be some promotional outlet for a guy's art gallery (he was a poor auctioneer too, it would have been easier to take a Swiss franc off the ticket price towards the charity). This meant that by the time the great B.B King came on it was once again very late. By that time most people were flagging and fed up.
Claude Nobs may have created a great festival and has put the town on the map and all over the world. He is famed for entertaining all the stars in his lovely chalet above the town during the day, which of course he is entitled to and deserves to do. But if the stars are busy partying away while the punters are waiting patiently below for the bands to start then something isn't quite right.
Montreux is cool, but this year its attitude to its fans left me ice cold.
Sunday, July 05, 2009
That's bad... and sad.
Bizarrely I've found myself reading and watching quite a lot about M.J at the moment. I'm even typing this on a Sunday morning watching Larry King on a CNN programme " Remembering an Icon". Crikey, I even spent 8 CHF on Time magazine's tribute issue to him. I didn't expect I'd be doing this, I used to be a fan but had cooled off considerably, all the stuff in the last few years had definitely put me off him.
And then... I came home late one night last week and caught a programme about his early days. An old black and white clip of when he was around 8 or 9, giving such an electric spine chilling performance, I was reminded of why he was so great.
Reminded me why (at my insistance) in the 90's we drove over 4 hours from Paysandu in Uruguay to Buenos Aires to see him perform in the River Plate Stadium. It was rather a bizarre concert to be honest, because Michael Jackson although massively popular, couldn't match the popularity of Maradona. When he walked into the stadium as a V.I.P guest, the roar was phenonemal. The roar for Michael was loud, but not as loud. Jackson may have worn jackets that looked like he was a member of royalty but football is the king in Argentina.
His performance was good, but he kept coming on stage to sing a song and then he disappeared for ages leaving the audience kicking their heels waiting for the next song. This was when all the allegations had started and when he eventually cut his world tour short. To be honest it was a bit tedious.
Despite this, when he was on stage and the first notes of the old favourites started up, "Beat it" "Don't stop" etc, the stadium was rocking.
I'm glad that we went. His steady decline into eccentricity was bad and sad, and probably inevitable, given all the circumstances of his life.
But his music. You just couldn't and can't, beat it.
And then... I came home late one night last week and caught a programme about his early days. An old black and white clip of when he was around 8 or 9, giving such an electric spine chilling performance, I was reminded of why he was so great.
Reminded me why (at my insistance) in the 90's we drove over 4 hours from Paysandu in Uruguay to Buenos Aires to see him perform in the River Plate Stadium. It was rather a bizarre concert to be honest, because Michael Jackson although massively popular, couldn't match the popularity of Maradona. When he walked into the stadium as a V.I.P guest, the roar was phenonemal. The roar for Michael was loud, but not as loud. Jackson may have worn jackets that looked like he was a member of royalty but football is the king in Argentina.
His performance was good, but he kept coming on stage to sing a song and then he disappeared for ages leaving the audience kicking their heels waiting for the next song. This was when all the allegations had started and when he eventually cut his world tour short. To be honest it was a bit tedious.
Despite this, when he was on stage and the first notes of the old favourites started up, "Beat it" "Don't stop" etc, the stadium was rocking.
I'm glad that we went. His steady decline into eccentricity was bad and sad, and probably inevitable, given all the circumstances of his life.
But his music. You just couldn't and can't, beat it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
