Witterings about lots of things.
It began with the rambunctious, big-hearted Disney adaptation of Jilly Cooper's Rivals. What an opening, as the archetypal rake, Rupert Campbell-Black, and his companion, join the mile high club on Concorde while fellow passengers smoke, read Vogue magazine and pop champagne. Tres amusant! As soon as it was over I ordered the books. Wintertime... Continue Reading →
Wandering around the shops today I saw a man walking very fast, carrying a bunch of red roses. Ah, Schmalentine’s Day. I’m a little envious of people who don’t have a fuck to give about this. I wish I could be so cold and unfeeling. I tend to go overboard with the paper heart bunting.... Continue Reading →
I hated Glasgow for the first four years that I lived here. Before I moved, I’d been warned that it would rain interminably, but ‘the humour’ would make up for it. The city seemed to me (eighteen years old and fresh from the Highlands, as green as you get) just a big brawling mass without... Continue Reading →
Important Daily Activities: An Incomplete List Make coffee. Dress. Neglect to check mirror for errors made while dressing. Check Facebook, Instagram, What’s App, news websites and Twitter. Stare out of window at high rises. Feel tired. Download a Taylor Swift song. Arrive at work Attend meetings that go on for 56 hours Answer several million... Continue Reading →
In the winter of 2009, I spent four days in the dark windswept wilds of Shetland. Without any phone signal or internet, I was reduced to digging my book out of my bag. Luckily, that book was Lanark by Alistair Gray. It was just what was needed. It reminded me of the days when I... Continue Reading →
In the afterword to Lolita, Vladimir Nabokov wrote: "Every writer [...] is aware of this or that published book of his as a constant comforting presence. This presence, this glow of the book in an ever accessible remoteness is a most companionable feeling". Nabokov goes on to describe Lolita and his view of his completed... Continue Reading →
Here it is again, the arse-end of winter. What's a girl to do but stay in and eat condensed milk straight from the tin with a spoon. I've also been buying lovely things, as is my wont. (And reading The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie, so I can brush up on my Morningside accent and use words... Continue Reading →
Whenever I talk about Doris Lessing, I tend to become a little incoherent with infatuated love, and talk about her I do, a lot, to anyone who is reluctantly cornered and can't get away. I first encountered Doris Lessing when I read The Golden Notebook at twenty-one. I was an immature twenty-one. I flailed around... Continue Reading →
"Imagine your shadow burning off the page / As the dear world and the dead word disengage" - Don Paterson, 'The White Lie'. In the midst of autumn the many lovely libraries of Glasgow are even more tempting than usual... and there's something especially secret and special about the libraries that have maintained that dim,... Continue Reading →
While searching through the bookcases in search of tutoring materials, I pulled out a beautiful 1969 print of Edward Lear's The Owl and The Pusscat. It's so utterly beautiful and of-its-time that I want to frame every single page. Except that I can't bear to rip the book up to do so. Weren't the sixties great? Dreamy, trippy - even the fish in the sea are absolutely gorgeous.
I was on a roll by then, and found some other delights, most of them from the 70s. The World of Uncle Peter deserves a place in my heart for featuring a protagonist (Uncle Peter, naturally) who is an ex-art school dude who frequently has daydreams that looks suspiciously plant-based... (this was 1979).
There is also a definite Royal Tenenbaums feel to the list of characters. I love that mix of old staid portraits and sleepy cartoon animals.
Another gem was 'The Witch's Hat', which was one of my favourite books when I was a little critter. The bat-print on the inside cover is exactly what I'd like in a t-shirt these days...
And the illustrations (from 1980) have a certain Pink Floydd appeal to them!
Lastly, 'Magic' and 'I thought I saw' used to haunt my dreams as a little one. There was something about bright colours with sparseness of illustration that really got to me - I have no idea why. Now I think they are an inspired bit of art.
Part of me really wants all this stuff on my walls - some of it is so perfect. But I don't think I'll ever be able to dismantle the books. They're all little works of genius.
Amy Jardine 