Sunday, April 22, 2012

Krakow Szopki (Nativity crèches)... What to do with your Easter egg wrappings...


Butterfly collection and sweet wrapping hoard... all awaiting 'treatment'.
Ever since I can remember, I’ve loved the tinsel-like foil and jewel-coloured cellophane sweet wrappers that envelope such mixed goodies as Quality Street and Roses Chocolates. These I have coveted almost as much as the contents of such packaged treasures. While the pleasure of eating these chocolates and toffees is very fleeting (and the consequences less so) the magic of the rustling empty wrappers lingers on, always making me want to hoard this precious stash, Gollum-style. I find it hard to part company with this treasure and so usually end up indulging the ingrained hoarding instinct. Naturally the harvest of Easter eggs with their metal-foil covering has just added to the magpie dilemma and led to more pondering over the question of what to do with such riches. The magpie’s eye hasn’t brought me inspiration yet, but I think this year’s tinsel treasure will somehow be used with the filmy, filigraine butterfly napkins that I came across. 
 However the whole creative thought process reminded me of a truly magical exhibition that I saw here in Reims several years ago. Sadly this was before I had a digital camera, a computer or any notion of what a blog was, or any internet research, for that matter…  I don't have any photos of my own,  and don't want any trouble from 'borrowing' other people's so here are a few videos to give you an idea.

This mesmerizing Christmas exhibition featured the work of Polish craftsmen, and many children (past and present) who do know exactly what can be done with such under-valued domestic detritus. Their craftsmanship is largely brought to light precisely by elements of such recycled treasures that are generally neglected or meet total disdain in our squeaky-clean, one-use-only culture. These were the Krakow Christmas Crèches – the szopki – of all shapes and sizes and levels of sophistication. All demonstrated, of course, the skilled use of shiny scraps that seemed to replicate the jewel-like colours of the best stained-glass Gothic window from all over Europe. 


 Even if many of our children don’t even notice these same lavish wrappers and coverings in their initial form, over the generations Polish children have coveted and collected theirs in preparation for the decoration of their szopka construction. This is largely in order to enter the annual Krakow Crèche competition, although, needless to say szopka creation is a long-established tradition in Poland and is one that has reflected, to varying degrees, the social, political and cultural fluctuations over the centuries.
From Wikipedia: User: Cancre.
The city of Krakow is considered to be the historical capital of Poland, both displaying and maintaining Polish culture. Wawel cathedral, often featured on the szopki, was considered to be one of the holiest places in the country and was the site for royal coronation, and burial for the majority of Polish kings. It was perhaps fitting then, that the Krakow crèche exhibition should be held in the banquet hall of Reim’s archiepiscopal palace - the Palais du Tau – next to the cathedral where French kings were crowned up to the reign of Charles X in 1824. 
A coronation in the 13th century: Reims cathedral.
 However, to see the largest and most beautiful examples of szopki you need to visit the historical museum of Krakow itself, in the Grand Square, or otherwise witness the Krakow crèche competition that takes place on the first Thursday of December, each year, around the statue of the Polish poet, Adam Mickiewicz. 
Archiepiscopal Palace: Reims.
 On the traditional sound of the bugle call from the nearby Church of Saint Mary at midday the szopki are transported to the museum for inspection by the official jury. The beauty of the surrounding buildings is reflected in the szopki which seem to compete with the original architecture in their elaborate, ornate constructions. Nevertheless, these architectural references are but one element of these crèches on which symbolic characters from legend and actual history vie for a place amongst the more customary Nativity scene figures. 


It is above all in this strange, ever-changing mixture of symbols and references that the Krakow crèche differs from any other.
In Poland the term jaselka, literally meaning ‘cattle manger’ was used to describe the Nativity scene portrayed in special presentations from the Middle Ages. These scenes were said to have originated in Italy in the 13th century through the influence of St Francis of Assisi. The jaselka took on a dual aspect for these could be either be the crib scene itself, shown in a set complete with figurines to recreate a visual impression of the birth of Christ or were pastorals which were acted out, accompanied by speech, song and dance as a ‘living crèche’. In this manner, the jaselka were not unlike the pastorals from Provence in the South of France. 

Indeed, like the Provençal version, the jaselka was expressed in local dialect and did not limit itself solely to the Biblical elements of the Mystery; figures of folklore and local legend play an integral part. However while the living crèches of Provence were largely replaced by inanimate model Nativity scenes following the suppression of religious expression in public presentations and Midnight Mass during the French Revolution in 1789, the early jaselka appear to have evolved in another manner. The Provençal crèche scenes were populated by santons (‘little saints’) – small figurines that decorated the sets that were used for personal viewing in each home as a vital element for the observance of Christmas. Both the sets themselves – often sprawling affairs that would bear landscape features – and the santons too – boasting such exotica as giraffes, reindeer and even a hippo - remained essentially static. The jaselka, meanwhile, was incorporated into sets that became increasingly elaborate and animate

 The initial key characters, once silent and immobile, were gradually replaced by animated ‘speaking’ rod puppets which inhabited the crèche sets which themselves evolved to incorporate mini stages. Such theatrical performances brought a new liveliness and vitality to crèche scenes, an aspect that was further enhanced when monks introduced humorous dialogues and stories to the usual Nativity presentation. 
Santons -  Provençal market: Reims
 Like the Provençal scenes the jaselka would depart from the strict Biblical accounts through their gradual interweaving of secular and religious symbols, and the blurring between reality and the imaginary, the mixing of the serious and the satirical. The comic element of the jaselka reached a point where the performances were deemed unsuitable by the bishop and were banned henceforth. These irreverently flouted the liturgical mission of educating an illiterate congregation on the Mysteries of Christ, in the same manner as Gothic stained glass windows. The spread of lay material in the jaselka of the 18th century meant that the general public, faithful or not, came to the church in growing numbers to be entertained by sketches considered bawdy and inappropriate. Barred from the church, the jaselka evolved in order to satisfy the demands of the people and thus assumed a somewhat modified identity…


Freed from the rigor of ecclesiastical sobriety and the physical confines of the church the jaselka was changed in terms of material content and mobility. Enthusiasm for the performances was such that these were taken up by craftsmen and students who would use portable crèches to transport from village to village during their caroling ritual (kolednicy) between 26th December and 2 February. 

Perhaps it could be said that it was during this period that the jaselka gave rise to the szopka – as the crib gave way to the shed construction that became ever-more elaborate. Whereas the initial Bethlehem crèche scene had been relatively modest (even when allowing for the puppet stage) this had been expanded to incorporate other aspects and elements. The set allowed for 3 levels – representing Heaven, Earth and Hell – all of which would be freely used especially in the demise of wicked characters, such as King Herod. Peripheral characters were now given space to perform on the puppet stage set as the original stable acquired a roof and an upper floor and then two church towers flanked the central construction. The key Biblical figures would open the performance, soon accompanied by characters such as Death and the Devil or heroes and beasts from Polish legends, folklore or local history. The Wawel Castle Dragon could find a voice next to Polish saints such as St Faustine or St Maximilien Kolbe, or noblemen such as Pan Twardowski, or rub shoulders with folk dancers, or vendors from Krakow’s Market Square. The scripts themselves tended to be freely improvised and were passed on orally, although some were later transcribed in the 19th century.


 Like the original Punch and Judy performances or those of the French Guignol, the szopka puppets gave expression to themes that were of social and cultural concern, voiced in a satirical manner which offered a certain cover and protection and had a certain social role in the diffusion of ideas especially in periods of political unrest. 
At this time the Krakow szopka came truly into its own, for although most regions had their own varieties it was there that the form reached the greatest level of sophistication. The Krakow szopka could take on such vast proportions that puppeteers manipulated the kukielka from below with rods or from above with strings. 

The distinctive towers presented the Gothic tower of St Mary’s Basilica or the Renaissance-style dome of Wawel Cathedral and these finally gave the whole a castle-like form that developed even further over time. After the First World War the szopka was to evolve yet again - giving rise to a form that was no less impressive materially or aesthetically, on the contrary, but would lose its theatrical aspect as it largely abandoned the use of puppets. The Austrian occupying forces had banned the practice of door-to-door caroling with portable szopki due to the latent political content and when the country finally regained its independence in 1918 the socio-political mood had changed and had tempered the concept of the szopka performance. 
In an attempt to revive the flagging interest in the szopka tradition of the city authorities decided to organize a szopka competition in 1937. Apart from the war years of 39-45, the competition grew in dimension and popularity over the decades to become the institution that it is today. The competition szopka has taken on its own distinctive character as form and construction have become increasingly complex and cultural references have become ever-richer. The traditional jaselka figures and other characters faithfully reappear each year, along with newer ‘guests’ such as Marie Curie, John Paul II or a perched eagle – symbol of the country itself. The former puppets have given way to immobile figures but the sets themselves now incorporate lighting, mechanized parts and other animated features that bring a modern breath of life into the szopka. None of this detracts from the magical fairy-tale quality of this art form of cultural expression. Complete with their shimmering, shiny surfaces, intricate detail and bright jewel tones the szopki recall the stained glass windows of their Gothic roots and continue to reflect the city itself. And finally ,just to finish, the tradition of jaselka performances – the living Nativity scene - is still treasured today, largely in schools while that of theatre puppetry was revived after 1956.
 
I wish I’d known all of this before seeing the exhibition here in France and certainly before actually going to Krakow and Warsaw many years ago! I did manage to visit Auschwitz, but that really is another story, and a very dark chapter in human history… 


Tuesday, April 17, 2012

Exotic Easter...

Well, actually Easter was not at all exotic, but we did go out to the garden centre and some of the plants there were most exotic-looking. This made a change from a distinctive un-exotic lifestyle which seems to consist of preparing and marking exam papers in a very un-tropical climate (we're back into minus° figures in the morning here... Freezing!).

Some of the flowers that we came across seem to resemble strange reptiles, with their lizard-like speckled markings and bizarre colouration.



Others looked like strange seaweed, or maybe even straggly sea creatures, with odd tendrils that look like crustaceans' feelers or long, stalky legs. The one below reminded me of an elongated sea anemone...

 Others again looked like exploding coral...

Some plants don't appear to be natural at all, but composed of some synthetic fabric instead...

 Or perhaps made of just plain plastic, or rubber...

The aspects, textures and colours are so extreme that they are a shock to the system...

Others look quite daunting with their strange, alien pod formations that make you wonder what will finally burst out.

Some fascinate with their bizarre billowing forms...

And finally there are others that are just striking in the modest delicacy of their petals...

 And then the feather-like petals, clustered around the hidden stamens...

And the tender pastel water-colour shades with flecks of pollen - unfortunate in the case of pansies as I seem to be allergic to this, but that's a small price to pay!


And finally some flute music to go with that - James Galway playing Pachelbel. I included this as my daughter likes it, and also because when we discovered the magic of the garden centre the background music almost killed off the atmosphere of the place. Only almost, luckily!

 

Tuesday, March 27, 2012

A St Trinian's Twist to 'High School' Playlist....

 A thank you to Miss Simmonds for tagging me for a High School Playlist...
However, I do have to admit to a few things - the most important being the fact that I'm not exactly sure what period high school represents, but I assume it means the years leading up to 'O' Level exams, as they were known back then! 
  So I confess; firstly, as a dinosaur my 'high school' days date back to the later seventies and very early eighties; secondly and perhaps consequently, this is such a long time ago that the term 'high school' was rarely, if ever used except in American cults such as Happy Days and of course...... Grease; thirdly, I can't think of 5 people to tag for this because the last lot I tagged for their Seven Sins were otherwise occupied or were maybe above such things anyway; fourthly I couldn't limit myself to just 5 songs so I increased it to make up for the 5 people I won't be tagging! So here we go - although not necessarily in any correct chronological order.
As I was saying, the notion of high school was a weird amalgam of images revolving around bobby socks, boob tubes (Olivia Newton John style), bubble gum, bangs (alias a fringe), orthodontic braces (I did eventually get a much-needed one) and the Brady Bunch. High school definitely seemed to be an exotic American concept that was very far removed from our class of hybrid English roses from the all-girl grammar school, who, despite uniforms, socks and scraped-back hair bore little ressemblance to Britney Spears... St Trinian's, of the vintage late 1950's variety, does spring to mind even if we never had to actually wear a gymslip or hat.
 
 Nevertheless, we did live through the Grease years first hand, though I don't think I really 'got' any of it at the time. Being about thirteen then must have been the equivalent to being about eight years old today, with even less pocket money, street credibility and wisdom, certainly in my case at least. All this was in the days before any mod-cons (videos/DVDs/CDs - YouTube) so it was really something to actually possess a copy of the (vinyl, of course) album. Somehow we did manage to follow the official clips with great devotion on Top of the Pops and religiously track the progression of the records on Sunday night's Top 4O on Radio 1! It makes me laugh to listen to the lyrics now, especially the ones to Look at me.... because I hadn't really got a grip on what virginity actually was. This was only two years after some street-wise girl asked me (fresh in from the country) whether I was "still a virgin" and I just couldn't work out at which point I was supposed to have actually started sharing a similarity with Jesus' mother. No, sadly I'm not making this up; my only knowledge of such terms was from hymns and Christmas carols (... "the Virgin's womb" and such like...). In the end I decided it was a safer bet to strongly deny being a 'Virgin'; I don't think she believed me!



The result of watching Grease was that I was desperate to have a girlie 'sleep-over' (and sadly never did have one) and also pined for a baby-doll nightie (this I sadly did obtain). Some time before my Grease period I had a best friend who lived 'up country', well, actually in one of the nearest big towns in the county which wasn't so far away, but I had to get a train (alone!!) to get there. This girl was very pretty and incredibly 'with it' and went to a big comprehensive school, complete with boys, who needlessly to say, found her irresistible. She took me to a disco, and tried to teach me a few basic steps that TOTPs hadn't. This was when Bay City Rollers were still comparatively hot and my friend actually had a pair of the compulsory flared trousers with various scraps of tartan - the ultimate touch of cool. I don't think I really passed the test on any front and remember her face when she later enquired if I happened to know any girls who'd "got in the club" (ie pregnant). I asked what club she was talking about, thinking that whatever the club was, it had to be really cool....and that I ought to be in it. 
Fast forward a few years and out came the single from Squeeze, 'Up the Junction' whose lyrics are quite moving in fact. 

Go on a little further in time and there was a similar theme in another of my favourite songs - The Specials 'Too Much, Too Young' - a statement that could never have been applied to me.


The first real teenage record I acquired was Jilted John's 'Gordon is a Moron' whose novelty feature was the relatively daring use of 'rude' words on the BBC, and the funny dancing, of course...
The name Gordon reminds me of another great track a few years later by XTC - Making Plans for Nigel. This makes me think of a choice specimen of a Nigel who I used to observe in the church choir when I accompanied my friend to Sunday morning Mass. The observation was not out of admiration because he had certainly not been blessed in the physique department but because he was in among the other boys dutifully singing away (we were at an all-girls school so boys were obviously thin on the ground). We would try to catch the attention of the more palatable males while the offended and offensive Nigel would make most un-Catholic gestures at us when the priest wasn't looking!


Despite her relatively strict Catholic education my friend actually read NME (how sophisicated did that seem!), listened to Radio Caroline and generally seemed to be in know of all things trendy and introduced us others to such things in due course - a pattern of affairs she kept up for years. She was a big fan of the Boomtown Rats and I followed suit - severely lacking any capacity for such innovation myself. Nevertheless I can still rattle off all the lyrics to 'Rat Trap'...
  

 If all else failed, we could always resort to parents' records if we thought it worthwhile - good taste not necessarily being one of the criteria. 'Werewolves of London' by Warren Zevon used to be brought out regularly from my parents' collection. The lyrics are so whacky...



My first choice of real album - 'The Kick Inside' by Kate Bush - was and still is of remarkably good taste and I play it now - preferably on my record player (replica) which faithfully picks up all the scratchy bits so that my ears anticipate the old jolts on the vinyl.

Just after I bought the album with my carefully-saved summer job money all those years ago it got warped in the sunlight, yet always managed to play (wouldn't really like to comment on the resistance of temperamental CDs). I thought Kate Bush's Wuthering Heights was magical, and have treasured her music ever since. We used to listen to all the tracks and marvel...especially at this one, Moving, with the whales' songs in the intro.
Another great female singer was Lene Lovich - my favourite was 'Bird Song'.
 

A little later I discovered Peter Gabriel with Solsbury Hill, and seemed to work my ways backwards from there as I came across his work with the old Genesis line-up. I loved the real weird, whacky lyrics, make-up and costumes... 
  
In spite of lots of great music, being 16 years old was no fun - and I have a whole host of depressing memories based on nothing particularly substantial or specific, just teenage fog, mist and misery and would not wish to sample 'Sweet Sixteen' again. The year was hideous on all counts, but I did manage to get the necessary 'O' Levels and life after that was great! Funnily enough, in that last year of 'O' Levels the grammar school system (segregated sexes) was scrapped, but our classes still didn't get to share lessons with the boys!
 
I did vow dramatically at that age that my life's ambition was to live in France. I'd already been severely linguistically challenged by Plastic Bertrand's 'Ca plane pour Moi' (and still can't sing along to it) and then won over by Visage's 'Fade to Grey'.



So listening to Fade to Grey takes me right back to that period and then leads, logically, onto my final song - from Talking Heads - 'Once in a Lifetime' which in turn leads me to the present time with a few questions I may well ask myself....

Tuesday, March 13, 2012

Brumes et Pluie... Baudelaire

 
Spring is finally here and the bright afternoon sun and relatively warm temperature certainly reflect this right now. However, the early morning shows a more mysterious, murky side...  I went out around the cathedral today to see the eerie effects of the mist around the towers and spires before they disappeared, literally into thin air...

The mist gradually lifting and blue skies emerging...

                                                       Brumes et Pluie - Charles Baudelaire
                                         Ô fins d'automne, hivers, printemps trempés de boue,
                                         Endormeuses saisons ! je vous aime et vous loue
                                         D'envelopper ainsi mon coeur et mon cerveau
                                         D'un linceul vaporeux et d'un vague tombeau.

                                        Dans cette grande plaine où l'autan froid se joue,
                                        Où par les longues nuits la girouette s'enroue,
                                        Mon âme mieux qu'au temps du tiède renouveau
                                        Ouvrira largement ses ailes de corbeau.

                                        Rien n'est plus doux au coeur plein de choses funèbres,
                                        Et sur qui dès longtemps descendent les frimas,
                                        Ô blafardes saisons, reines de nos climats,

                                        Que l'aspect permanent de vos pâles ténèbres,
                                        Si ce n'est, par un soir sans lune, deux à deux,

                                        D'endormir la douleur sur un lit hasardeux.
Milky blue skies....
Jeanne d'Arc fighting against all adversities...
Reminiscent of the stone angels in Doctor Who...
I'm thinking of going to see Woman in Black for a dose of misty atmospheric England, even though I haven't heard any good reviews of the film...



Thursday, March 8, 2012

Domestic drudgery...

No time to write anything because all the household hassles are homing in on my free space. However, just as I was thinking that things couldn't possibly get worse on the domestic-chore front, I remembered this advert that I used in one of my lessons, and realised that they could, indeed, be a whole  lot worse....

I don't know which would be the lesser evil - being the happy recipient of such a glorious 'gift', or having a husband who would actually propose such an item in the first place and then expect to be "thanked" three times a day. I would like to know if the "little woman" would be able to fit the head of such a thoughtful husband into the opening of the In-Sink-Erator both "quickly and quietly".

Saturday, March 3, 2012

Catleya....Cattleya... The Flower Duet.

I like looking around the very old ‘atmospheric’ parts of graveyards where the tombs are rarely carved from ageless, yet soulless marble, and you may come across the flights of spirituality and creativity displayed through the graves. However, what I particularly enjoy noting are the names of those long-since departed, ornately engraved into the headstones, even if now barely legible. With the erosion of time and the elements many of the inscriptions seem to have melted away like the icing on some intricate wedding cake.
But that’s not all – the very names themselves seem to have dissolved from our repertoire today so that however original we think we are when naming a child the result is somewhat bland in comparison. How can you compete with the resonance of Seraphina, Euphemia, Ophelia, Zillah, Cornelia, Araminta, Phineas, Clarence, Lucius or the beautiful name Zepherin that I discovered inscribed on a stone today… Some would seem more than a little heavy today, and would prove to be a great weight to carry, but I rejoice in seeing them nevertheless. Yet even if I mourn the passing of such unusual, yet dignified names I do occasionally encounter some odd specimens in the living world of today. Cattleya, as a girl’s name, must be the most noticeable one to date….. 
 Cattleya is the innocent-sounding name given to the highly-popular species of orchids that decorate interiors far and wide. Originating in Central and South America these were brought to England towards the 1820’s, apparently largely by fluke, as legend has it. Indeed the plants had been used to bulk up the containers of other botanical specimens to be shipped abroad. Finally arriving in England these ‘new’ plants were cultivated out of curiosity by a certain William Cattley. Producing unusual scented flowers of lavender, crimson and gold with distinctive frilly-edged labellum, this particular orchid was named Cattleya in 1824 in Cattley’s honour by a famous botanist. The term was to be applied to the other 113 species of the genus and the cattleya heralded the beginning of a craze for orchids amongst Victorians already avid for exotic ferns and foliage. Today the thirst for the ubiquitous orchid seems to be stronger than ever, to the point that I see them everywhere, but sadly never notice them anymore…
 Since everything seemed to be have been killed off by the cold weather last month I decided to go to a garden centre just to see something bright and blooming. Looking closely at the orchids I rediscovered just how incredibly exotic these plants truly are. The colour, shape, texture and the visual perfection of the petals are oddly artificial in their beauty. They truly seem to have a form that goes beyond mere physical function – the attraction of pollinators… 
  The 19th century French author Marcel Proust (1871-1922) presumably read more into the form of the Cattleya too and certainly gave the flower a whole new meaning. In his novel Un Amour de Swann, second part of Du côté de chez Swann from the vast A la recherche du temps perdu, the reader encounters the nascent infatuation of Swann for the demi-mondaine, Odette de Crécy, and witnesses his amourous overtures. In an attempt to gain a sentimental and physical proximity to the object of his ‘love’, Swann chooses to reposition the orchids that Odette pins onto the plunging neckline of her evening gowns. Seeing that this flower-arrangement ploy brings him what he most desires, Swann uses the expression “faire catleya” to signify the physicality he wishes to pursue.
  I remember our (male) French teacher explaining all of this to us in class, telling us to look at the orchid itself in order to understand the expression better, and I certainly recall how we embarrassed we were when the saw the flower in question… I had forgotten that Proust had chosen to write his verb with a single ‘t’, and so on encountering the student of that name I couldn’t believe that parents would give such a heavily-weighted appellation their unsuspecting offspring. How raunchy – even if we are in France! I didn’t like to inquire in front of the class, but later realized that she was named in honour of the virginal orchid after all! I was a little disappointed… 
I did see the film Un Amour de Swann when it came out in 1984. I don’t now remember what I thought of the film itself at the time, I was too busy trying to keep up with the French language and look at Jeremy Irons!
Un Amour de Swann
Watching extracts again today I just love the elegance of the clothes and interiors, with or without the Cattleya. I grew out of Jeremy Irons…
 The orchids I saw recently reminded me of the Lakmé opera by Léo Delibes – the Flower Duet. This was a work based on the novel Rarahu by the French writer Pierre Loti, describing the ill-fated love between Lakmé, an Indian girl, and Gerald , a British colonial officer. The romantic exoticism of the piece contrasted with the social naturalism apparent in art and literature in the latter part of 19th France and fed an interest for all things Oriental. 
Clicking on the computer I discovered an association of names that certainly hadn’t occurred to me…  I had never fully appreciated the beauty of Charlotte Church’s voice. Her classical singing seems to defy all natural barriers or concepts – it goes into a realm that seems unnatural in its perfection. 
Below is Lakmé’s part in the Flower Duet scene, singing with her servant Mallika as they gather jasmin and roses by the river. The opera was first performed in Paris in 1883; I don’t know if Proust would have seen a performance at a later date.
Proust’s tomb can be seen at the Père-Lachaise cemetery, Paris – in sober, black marble – again I was a bit disappointed...
                                                Dôme épais le jasmin
                                                A la rose s'assemble
                                                Rive en fleurs frais matin
                                                Nous appellent ensemble
                                                Ah! glissons en suivant
                                                Le courant fuyant
                                                Dans l'on de frémissante
                                                D'une main nonchalante
                                                Gagnons le bord,
                                                Où l'oiseau chante, l'oiseau, l'oiseau chante
                                                Dôme épais, blanc jasmin
                                                Nous appellent ensemble!

The humble cabbage - the only 'flower' to have survived winter in the town centre!

Wednesday, February 29, 2012

Maybe Slightly more than Seven (Deadly-ish) Sorts of Sins...

Seven Deadly Sins -Tableau de mission - François-Marie Balanant (1862-1930)
Having recently being nominated as a Versatile Blogger (thank you Miss Simmonds!), I now have to carry out the following missions, if I've understood correctly:

  • Write down seven things that are (or rather were until now) little known about myself...
  • Nominate a certain number (15) of other new-ish bloggers - this could prove difficult... 
  • Let the nominees know of their nomination, so that they too may continue the process...
  • Link back to the  person who nominated me in the first place... 

At least that's what I think I'm supposed to do - I may well have got this wrong!!! Thank goodness I'm not in charge of the Oscars!

Strangely enough, most of my seven 'things' seem to be linked to some form of sinful behaviour or another, but don't appear to find a direct animal symbol (well, maybe a few 'obvious' ones...). In the old tableaux de mission spiritually-errant individuals were reined back in from the temptations of evil and sin through imagery that needed little interpretation to be understood, even by the most incalcitrant (would-be) sinner...In the subsequent scheme of things the toad came to symbolise Avarice; the snake - Envy; the lion - Wrath; the snail - Sloth; the pig - Gluttony; the goat - Lust; the Peacock - Pride...

Beach-combing started seriously at a tender age... Two spades - not just one.
It has long been recognized that most frowned-on behaviour first manifests itself in early childhood. Such negative traits and tendencies may have developed through Nature and/or Nurture. They are therefore either brought about by detrimental external influences, or simply through genetic makeup -  so that we are congenitally corrupt and riddled with mini time-bombs of vice even before birth.... Someone or something has a lot to answer for!

1/ Beach-combing and general magpie-style scavenging.
One of my earliest memories was that of being 'spotted' trying to wrongfully enter the peacock enclosure via the undergrowth in the Botanical Gardens in Birmingham - determined to get my grubby hands on some peacock feathers. I will never know whether this determination would have led me to actually pluck any stray samples still attached to the resident peacocks because the squawking of the women deterred me somewhat and I left empty-handed! Ever since then I've been obsessed by peacocks... I even saw a white peacock a few years ago which duly opened out its fan without any prompting or coercion - truly magical! It was probably a good thing for both of us that a rigid metal fence made sure there were no close encounters of any kind. My fingers were positively itching...

2/ Nymphomania...
My friend and I were fascinated by the painting 'Hylas and the Waternymphs' by John William Waterhouse, 1896, and used to race off on our bikes to the local beaches after school to bathe in our suitable nymph clothing (red mini dresses, as it turned out). This was, of course, a purely seasonal activity (too cold in winter) that we soon grew out of once we'd got 'proper' boyfriends of our own to drown. Similarly, the film 'The French Lieutenant's Woman' was responsible for our 'churchyard phase' when we momentarily took to draping ourselves over ivy-clad graves, striking atmospheric poses for photos in black and white.
Hylas and the Waternymphs - J.W. Waterhouse (1896).
3/ Chocolate factories...with or without Willy Wonka.
 Discussing our life ambitions at the (not so) young age of 11 years, I remember being unimpressed by my friend's aim of living in America, though I don't recall how she responded to my seriously-stated objective of working in a chocolate factory. Sadly I don't know if she ever made it to the U.S; I certainly never became a Cadbury employee, but have been on several visits to the Bournville factory since those early days. Wafts of chocolate smells literally lead you up to the main building - sensations worthy of the great Roald Dahl book! Cadbury has itself now gone largely 'Yankee' and living in France means that supplies of 'real' chocolate are in short supply, and are at astronomical prices. Since a girl has to make do with the things at hand, I have resorted to Nutella to fill that vital gap.
 Actually I do have a long-standing relationship with Nutella... Having heard that you could lose vast amounts of weight by simply eating one type of food, and nothing else for several days, I decided to combine duty and pleasure by eating nothing but... Nutella. Funnily enough the diet didn't work, if I remember rightly, and my boyfriend was rather annoyed (it was his pot of Nutella, after all). However the good news is that the experience failed to put me off this foodstuff-of-sorts and now I just raid my children's stock whenever I need a chocolate fix or the fancy takes me.

4/ Hard as Nails...
When I was at school I read an article about South-American drug-addicts who grew their little-finger nails in order to use these home-grown tools to shovel up cocaine for 'snorting' purposes. While I had no interest in this usage, I did want to see just how long a nail could grow and so endeavoured on my own nail-growing mission. The nails proved to be most resilient and didn't break once in the two-year stint. Nevertheless they finally met their demise when I had to cut them off for fear of frightening the children that I looked after as an au pair girl. My dad promptly made a silver fixture for the nails which I promptly wore as earrings!
These look like miniature yellowing walrus tusks now... Yuck!
5/ Life has its Ups and Downs...
My life is pretty pedestrian these days, but I did accomplish a few notable ascents and descents in my comparatively adventurous past. I think the most spectacular Up moment was climbing to the Temple of the Moon near the Machu Picchu site. We got trailed from the outset by one of the stroppy resident llamas who proved to be difficult to shake off and seemed to be particularly surly because we didn't feed it. I was hoping not to experience the spitting capacities of this stalking local at first hand and at close quarters.
This wasn't actually the Indian temple, but still... I certainly wouldn't have been grinning like that if it had been!
One of the more memorable Downs was the race to descend from another high-perched temple. This one was situated in Southern India, and had boasted an early-morning feeding session for the Holy eagles that soared in the skies above the surrounding hillsides. On arrival we had to remove (and leave behind) our shoes before ascending the never-ending stone steps that wound their way up to the temple's feeding platform. Then we simply had to wait till the eagles deigned to present themselves. Fine, except that on the day of our particular pilgrimage the eagles simply never turned up... By the time we finally decided to abandon the mission the blazing midday sun had transformed the stone steps into burning coals destined to test the faith and endurance of any mere mortal - not to mention bare feet. With the wind at our heels we sought damage limitation by running back down as fast as possible but were not entirely successful. Firewalking, indeed.

6/ My meaningful 'other'... A feline friend.
Our cat is a Siberian whose characteristics include, amongst other things, having incredibly tufty paws. These may have afforded he and his fellow Siberians ample protection from the vigours of the Russian winter climate, but they aren't wholly adapted to life as a flat-dwelling feline where smooth surfaces are made all the more slippery due to felted 'Hobbit' feet. Drawing to an abrupt halt is virtually impossible as Krasnogorsk (or just plain 'Oggie') continues his trajectory, willing or not, and often ends up crashing into things or sliding off the edge of launch/landing pads.
Oggie.
His favourite early-morning trick is sucking my right ear to the point that the lobe actually became rather distended at one stage.... This certainly beats the traditional alarm clock.

7/ Queen Bee...
In this particular hive it is, indeed, I who rule. As Queen I try to reign with a steady hand and steely will but despite my unstinted efforts there is frequent civil unrest which manifests itself periodically over the thorny issues of housework/homework. Here are some workers photographed at the beginning of their long-term training programme. Although considerably older now, they still need to be re-directed and reminded of their tasks with great regularity to the point that 'droning on' takes on a whole new meaning in this household; I'm the drone.
Work-shy workers from the hive of activity.
Here is my list of nominated fellow bloggers. I've found this part tricky to draw up as most of the blogs that I follow are well-established and the writers probably wouldn't really wish to state their seven personal facts (deadly or otherwise) and certainly wouldn't really want to read about those of a whippersnapper blogger like myself... I'm not actually sure the nomination receivers below will be too thrilled either, but there you have it!
Anyway, here are a few blogs - though the list doesn't meet the 15-nominee requirement. Sorry! 

And so a final Thank You to Miss Simmonds...

I also love looking through people's windows...that can get you into a lot of trouble!