it dawns on me that I am a terrible guest ... not once so far has it dawned on me that the polite thing to do is to BRING DESSERT ... oh the ignorance and thoughtlessness ... memo to self: if we are ever asked again, anywhere, by anyone, BRING A DESSERT!!
after coffee and cherries, Karen shows us her studio, a small shed-like structure at the end of the garden packed with the artists articles of faith ... and an unruly object, the wooden website ...
this is a work of genius ... a subtle, inventive and humoress take on the website, the place without which the internet would be, well, a mess of cables and wifi ... Benedict, artist that he is dives straight in and is soon using the wooden website - complete with its black stuffed mouse, more souris than pointing device ...
however, we cant linger as we must push on ... we have missed Gloucester, but Gavin awaits in Cheltenham ... we say our farewells and once again we are on the road ... we decide that we will head up the M5 leave at junction 10 and loop back into Cheltenham .. so we drive north ... junction 11A comes and goes, junction 11 comes and goes, junction 9 ... JUNCTION 9!!!
what happened to junction 10 ... have we hit a kink in the space-time continuum? has junction 10 entered a higher dimension and will emerge in a parallel universe? did we just blink and miss it?
we come off at junction 9 and join a tedious queue of traffic, take a short cut, end up in a herd of cows and four dogs driving a quad-bike with a man on the back (or was it ... never mind) and 40 minutes later and late we arrive at Gloucestershire University ... which is buzzing with art students and their admiring families and parents ( "ooohh, now that one is very good" .... "did you do this? ... really?" .... "i think you must get this from your grandfather" ... "did you have to take your clothes off darling?")
Gavin's installation is part of his MA and is an amusing mix of sound, video, photographs, posters and bits of reassembled rubbish ... or so I overheard someone saying ... no Gavin, it really is very good ...
photography is big in the University and they have a celebrity che... photographer, Richard Billingham, which is good, because he is good, and is bad, because 95% of the student photographers are taking Richard Billingham photographs ... doooh!
there is only so much art one can take in a day and soon Benedict and I are following Isa, Felix and Mia (Gavin is driving their van on the all-important mission of ordering-a-takeaway) back to their house near Stroud ..
their house sits halfway up the side of a valley and their garden climbs steeply upwards behind the house ... we sit on the topmost terrace beneath the cloudless sky, the evening darkening gently, the stars emerging to fill the sky, bats come hunting over our heads, and the candles lighting the feast Gavin has hunted and gathered for us from the Bath Road Balti as we talk our way into the night ...
I cant quite believe that this is almost it, that this is the last night of our road trip adventure, our trip to St Enodoc with jugs, but alas it is ...
so tonight we celebrate Gavin's show with champagne, we celebrate our trip, we celebrate the hospitality shown to us by so many lovely generous people ...
tomorrow, the road home awaits ...
the intention is to leave Devon, stop at Cheddar to photograph the Cheddar egg-cup I have brought, go on to Bath where we have a lunch date with Karen and Bill, call in at Gloucester Cathedral to see the installation created by Elpida, artist-in-residence, and then meet Gav at the end-of-year-show at the University of Gloucester in Cheltenham .... hmmmm ....
we are late leaving Peter's house and studio ... its very difficult to tear oneself away from such a beautiful creative spot ... but we do ... eventually ...
this means that we have left ourselves 2 hours and 15 minutes to get from 20 miles west of Exeter to Bath ... and as we sit somewhere near Taunton in a constipated convoy of holiday makers heading north it becomes apparent that (one) we will not have time to "do Cheddar" and (two) we will be late for lunch ...
and then the perennial motorway-traffic jam question arises - do we stay on or do we leave at the next junction ... of course the attentive reader will say well it doesnt matter because whatever route you "choose" is already decided - or you might say that if the multiple universe theory is correct, we will take both routes and somewhere in a parallel universe Benedict and John end up taking the photograph of the Cheddar egg-cup in Cheddar and ... but this is going to far - we decide to leave the motorway and head for Bath along the Ablah-de-blah ... and a very pleaseant route it turns out to be, weaving through the Mendips (or are these the Quantocks? or the Bollox?) ... we arrive in Bath only 15 minutes late ...
Karen and Bill live in a small cottage which was once part of the garden and land belonging to a large house on the edge of Bath ... In the Second World War the house was the residence in exile of the Emperor Haile Selassie and his family - after the war he left the house and land to the Council to provide housing for the elderly ... so, on the Emeror's birthday, there are gatherings of respectful Rastafarians, the air thick with ganga and reggae, at the end of K&B's garden ... today it is not the late Emperor's birthday and we are able to park without damaging any dreadlocks ....
Karen cooks a delicious lunch and once Bill discovers I am an archaeologist, conversation turns to the Roman villa under the cottage and then to an archaeologist, one WF Rankin, with whom Bill's father excavated a site just after the war ... or rather, Bill's father was charged with supervising a team of what were little more than navvies ... however a visit by a very young Bill to the excavation with his father and the translocation of collection of Roman potsherds and tile to his bedroom left Bill with a life-long fascination with archaeology ... and inevitably when an actor and an archaeologist talk about archaeology, it isnt long before the blessed Tony Robinson is mentioned ...
it turns out Bill recorded the AN Wilson biography of Betjeman, and I get a fascinating insight into how an actor approaches reading a biography, how he tries to identify the point of view and voice of the biographer ... we both agree that Wilson's portrayal of the "voice" of Penelope was extraordinairily condescending, and that Betjeman must have been exasperating to live with ...
it is now 4pm and we havent seen the wooden web site or Karen's Studio ... and we are not going to make it to Gloucester ....
Charlotte has prepared a feast of fish and rice and salad ... Simon and his partner Sandra are also staying with P&C and soon we are all sat at the candlelit table in the large warm farmhouse kitchen with its aga, wooden floor, setee, wooden cupboards, two guitars are propped against the wall and the glow of good conversation ...
conversation is rightly dominated by the preparations for the exhibition ... who will be where, what needs cleaning, who will finish off polishing what, what will be packed and when will it be moved and on and on and round and round ... its amazing that Benedict and I have been welcomed into this space so focussed on and driven by this massive undertaking ...
outside the sky grows dark but the sculptors are working on ... at about 10'ish they knock off for the evening and Peter brings them in .... Charlotte quickly conjures up more food and the kitchen table soon has David Hat and Ben sat round as well ... at 11 David decides they have to go and the group breaks up and we go to bed
next morning Simon goes out and comes back with bread and milk ... we sit around the table and eat toast and drink tea ... Simon has become a local celebrity since one of his sculptures featured in a garden at the Chelsea Flower Show and he appeared on the television ... he tells the story of arriving at the shop one day in Drewsteignton to find a large police van outside and several burly policeman sat inside ... he went in and inside a policeman turns and leaves with a large box - "they come here to get their cakes" the shopkeeper explains ... and there outside in the sunshine are very large four policemen tucking into cream cakes ...
Simon, it turns out, shares my fascination with quantum mechanics - I tell him that I have decided that if you reach the point where you think you understand quantum mechanics, then you clearly do not understand quantum mechanics ... Simon appears less than convinced by my country road theory of time and space ... that time and space is like driving down a country lane at night, that the present is what you can see in the headlights but the road ahead is already there just waiting to be illuminated ... that in essence the future already exists and our interpretation, understanding and experience of the present and our concept of choice and free-will is no more than a evolutionary biological adaptation ... he is a proponent of M-Theory ...
Charlotte and I talk about children - the tough choices and problems they face, our worries, guilt and pleasures, the universal concerns of the parent ...
and then we reluctantly pack the car and leave ... Charlotte is off to visit Peter's mother, the polishing, carving, discussion continues in the hot morning sunshine, PJ and David are talking equipment and there imminent trip to YSP to install the first elements of the exhibition ... Peter is in long, deep conversation on the telephone with the YSP ... we say goodbye ...
we head to Bath for lunch with Karen and Bill, and hope to get to Gloucester before meeting up with friends in Stroud ...
Peter and Charlotte live in a cob-walled thatched house in the bottom of a wooded valley - a cob and stone barn acts as studio, workshop, and one side to a grassy sloping "farmyard" ... behind this Barn is another, larger more modern barn which is the centre of focused intense activity - two large pieces are being polished, others are being carved and all around lie large sculptural forms either waiting to be cleaned, waiting to be prepared for transport to the Yorkshire Sculpture Park , or palleted wrapped and ready to be trucked north ... we have arrive as Peter is preparing for a major exhibition at the YSP- it opens in 4 weeks time ...
sitting outside the office/barn there is some discussion about where we should sleep - the idea was we would sleep in the cabin in the woods, but this hasnt been prepared so instead we will stay in the farmhouse ...
we make our way through the barn/ studio where PRP is preparing a large abstract drawing and out to where the sculpture are being polished - David is in charge, Simon is on top of one of the large forms carving a detail, Ben and Hat are working on other pieces ... as we arrive, David decides it is time to wet one of he pieces and commence the next phase of polishing - he sprays the form with water and it is transformed from a dull grey to a deep soft grey black shimmering in the evening sunlight ... beautiful
Peter's mother is not well, so he is off to visit her in a nearby village ... he drops us off on the way at a pub and will collect us on his way back ...
the pub is in what feels like the middle of nowhere, low beamed ceiling wooden floor simple tables and benches ... it is full of locals and visitors people ordering meals and exchanging views .... at the bar, three awfully-well-spoken-fifty/ sixty-something-chaps are discussing the state of the sterling euro exchange rate "dont talk too loudly or Charlie will wake up and want to join in " ... Charlie, a large rotund gentleman is sitting behind them snoozing between courses ... the young barmaid tries to get him to decide what pudding he will have ... he wakes up and harrumphs like an old colonel in a Carry On film and after listening to her list the choices goes for the chocolate brownie and ice-cream ... and falls asleep again, waking quite miraculously as the bowl is placed gently on the table ...
When Peter returns to pick us up we sit outside and one of the awfully-well-spoken-fifty/ sixty-something-chaps comes out - he, too, is a John and a good friend of Peter and Charlotte ... it turns out that he cultivates old and rare hops organically... he has been disappointed with the brews that have been produced from his crop and is looking for, well, at first I am not sure what he is looking for but it turns out that Gordon (Benedict's brewmaster lodger) may be what John is looking for - a methodical, meticulous, chemistry trained, brewer - Benedict promises to put them in touch
we head back past Castle Drogo to the farm and food ...
we drive through the drizzle south-west ... the traffic is light in our direction, but already there are queues heading east ... we weave our way through Wadebridge, onto Trebetherick, deep lanes and to Daymer beach ... and the footpath to St Enedoc ...
I cant quite describe the excitement I feel as we walk past genteel houses, ancient trees and gorse and there, in the midst of the golf course, the spire of St Enedoc ...
the golfers seem unaware ... no retired majors and colonels, but rather van-drivers and financial advisors lashing ball from tee to hole, while girlfriends swap tales of masculine inadequacies in some beachside bar ...
we walk past them all, the closer I come the more I realise that this is my goal, the reason for this trip ... the blue jugs are an interesting addition but emotionally this is why I am here, to be in the place that Betjeman loved, the place where he died, the place where he is buried ...
as an archaeologist I am fascinated by the ritual of death, as an artist by the emotion of death and memory ... St Enodoc addresses both of my fascinations and being in the space occupied by Betjeman is in a strange way almost overwhelming and very difficult to rationalise ... I hadnt realised the personal emotions that this would release ...
as we are photographing the place a group of adults, children and dogs arrive .... I stand back and let them occupy the spce around the headstone ... Benedict takes a candid picture ...
we go into the church and I read one of Betjeman's poems, Trebetherick ...
when we come out, the group is still ating heir picnic, so Benedict goes and tells them he has taken their picture and if they email him he will send them a copy ...
the children read Benedicts dyslexic card with incredulity ...Coriander ... "Oh Coriander should have been dead two weeks ago" ... Coriander their elderly aggresive dog runs off to savage a spaniel ... Louis has disappeared, and we discover him later making his way across the golf course, looking hopefully over his shoulder for pursuing parents ... the camera draws admiring words ..."Oh yaaa ... Nettaaaar" ... its a long while since I encountered the upper middle class on holiday ...
so there it is the goal achieved, and it arrives all too soon in the journey ...
we eat a pasty and have a coffee overlooking the estuary ... we scope out the route ahead and then we head on ... we flirt with St Ives but end up in Zennor ... its a tough life, but someone has to do it ...
as we drive down the M5 Benedict calls Anne-Marie to see if we can meet up ... I first met AM and Jo when they were living in Edinburgh - Benedict was exhibiting some work in a gallery curated by Jo at the Out of the Blue nightclub ... in the old Edinburgh bus depot - Alistair Darling had an office in the same building ... that was in 2001 and since then they have moved to Shefield and now live in the shadow of Bodmin Moor
on the way we stop at the Jamaica Inn for the second blue jug event of the trip ... well, its really an egg-up event - as at Bourton we decant from the car with cameras, scope out the location and then "bosh bosh bosh" as Benedict would say we take the pictures ...
we take a meandering route and meet AM and Jo in Fowey ... we park in the car park by the river and like a genie emerging from a lamp, they come paddling into view ...
once the kayaks are out of the water, we make our way to the Fowey Hotel for a cream tea sat in the garden until the sun sets behind the houses and the side of the valley ... a small child takes a shine to us ... and it soon emerges that Anne-Marie is pregnant ...
we stay with Jo and Anne-Marie ... the trip back to their house takes us over Bodmin Moor, past ancient cross and engine house, ponies and sheep grazing the short green grass, through deep-cut roadways cloaked by lichen-shrouded trees to a simple cottage in a wooded valley ...
before we go to bed we go outside and stand under the starlit sky, a multitude of pasts all visible at once ... the stars are stunning, every time I see the milky way, the constellations, satellites, a shooting star I am almost overwhelmed ... it is awesome
next morning we have breakfast, ten a secong breakfast and then we say our goodbyes and on we go ... Trebetherick calls ...
we make our way to the outskirts of Bath and soon we are climbing up ever steeper roads until, when it seems the next road will take us from earth to sky we arrive at Annie's house, perched at the top of the hill looking out east and south, Solsbury Hill bathed in evening sunlight ...
Annie's house and garden are beautiful, a reminder of past places in my life ... she makes us incredibly welcome ... after a cup of tea, benedict and I climb the rest of the hill to the green which sits on top, surrounded by modest stone cottages, children playing football, shadows lengthening ...
we eat and talk and soon it is dark and we all are tired out and call it a night ...
next morning, we discuss the possible route ... Annie is well versed in the ways of the roads to the south-west and she suggests, after discussing the pros and cons of the road to Lynmouth, that we ought. perhaps, to go straight to Trebetherick ...
she is of course absolutely right ... so after breakfast, coffee in the garden, and the distraction of a furry pussy, we set off, sad at the parting with Annie, but excited by the road ahead...
Trebetherick and St Enodoc calls ...
A slow start to the day at Lawrence's ... coffee showers and patience to take our turn in the loo ... as Lawrence said it was as hot coming out as it was going in ... hmmmm
like a well-brought up boy, Lawrence hangs up his washing and we then drop him at New Street so he can make his way to Leeds ... we then make our way through the Saturday traffic past the asian markets and shops on the A34 through Sparkbrook and beyond ... coming from Scarborough this melee of multi-culturalism is refreshing and invigorating
on we go and the white middle-class and M&S emerge as we tiptoe slowly into Solihull ...
soon the green fields and pasture of Arden engulf us ... Stratford next ...
but the highlight is McKechnies, Godiva Award winner in 2008 no less ... we park up and have coffee and a truly delicious sandwich ... and share our concerns about motobility scooters with the two people sat in the firing line on the edge of the pavement
and then a raid on Boots for film ... the architecture may be different but the shops are the same the same the bloody same .. the monotonous uniformity of the British High Street - is this what we really want?
and then on to Bourton-on-the-Water ...
... 1245 and the car-hire man arrives ... hooray ... 40 minutes later and a substantial amount of money transfered to their account and I have loaded the car - a black Astra - two hours later I am in Leeds ...
between us we fill the car with ... stuff, stuff and more stuff ... the road to Bimingham is startlingly free-running and we are at Lawrence's bijou penthouse pad in Digbeth (or wherever it is) by 7pm ...
I am amazed that we dont get lost in Birmingham's maze of roads - but lets face it how many fools are driving INTO Birmingham on the Friday before Bank Holiday - precisely - so thats why the roads are clear
we take a taxi to Ladypool Road and curry in the Lahore Kebab House - we have a bag of beer, and the maitre d'hote (!) apologetically says it is a totally alchohol free restaurant, and indeed the customers are all from the local asian community ...
but no drink is no problem ... we hide the bag of beer discretely under the table and set about ordering a pile of pakoras, dahl, mixed veg curry rice and nans ...
the tables are all rectangles of marble bolted onto metal frames ... in the corner is a large round table with a plastic red and black tartan covering and a sign saying RESERVE parked prominently in the middle. An old man in a brown suit is reading a pakistani paper. Beside him two guys, one of whom spends a lot of time eyeing the three of us suspiciously .... could be the Soprano's
the food is excellent and cheap ... outside the locals are racing up and down in BMWs ... the police are questioning two drunken english down and outs on a bench ...
we get a taxi to the town centre where we explore the bars - gothic crazy club bar full of lovely girls ... on to the exuberance of the Theatre Bar next to the Cathedral - and the truly astonishing architecture of downtown Birmingham ... classical structures, modern brutalist, modern-post-post-modern, victorian gothic, pedestrianised lanes and streets, trees jewelled with light ... who would have thought Brum could be so beautiful ...
the view of the city's night skyline,from the balcony is beautiful ... ruby, emerald and diamante, all flash and sparkle ...
I open a can of beer, but am too tired to drink it so at 2am i retire to bed
