Contents 21 June,
2013
Muyinga, Burundi:
Chrissie Mougne
Cherries :
Roger Morton
Pesticides & Health (sourced by G
White)
A Turkish Park: Joselyn Duffy Morton
Aging: Claudia Ward Cartoon
Cover caption: Roger Morton
The last cover for the blog was shot in
Esperaza (near Carcassone). We were there visiting a very good friend, Vivienne
Chandler. Sadly 6 June, Vivienne died of the cancer that she had been so
fiercely battling for the past four years.
More than 40 years ago we met in London
through an agency called Gentle Ghost, who we had approached as we were looking
for a lodger. In those days, we lived in a 4-storey house in Kentish Town. The
evening Vivienne arrived to look at the room, we had dashed back from a press
screening of a film ‘Duck you Sucker’ with James Coburn. (Our
old friend David Warbeck, from NZ who went to Southland Boys with Roger and
then won the Queen Elizabeth scholarship to RADA was also in it.)
So was Vivienne – it was such a wild
coincidence that we became instant friends (she, of course, moved in to 91 Bartholomew
Road, with us). She was lots of fun, generous and very beautiful. The French
journalist that Roger worked with on Rock and Folk magazine fell in love
with her as soon as he saw her. They were on the front page of one of the
dailies ‘Week of L’Amour in Kentish Town’. We all drove to France in a blizzard
of snow for the wedding.
When Roger’s parents came to visit from
NZ, we drove down to see Vivienne and Bernard on the way to Greece. Over the
years, there were many encounters. It is hard to accept that there will not be
any more. She will be always be a very Gentle Ghost.
On 24 June, Vivienne’s 21 year old daughter,
Oonagh Bush is participating in the Cancer Research UK fundraising run, she would definitely appreciate your
support.
http://www.raceforlifesponsorme.org/oonagh-and-oena?ref=nf
http://www.raceforlifesponsorme.org/oonagh-and-oena?ref=nf
For years I have known that the only way
to successfully learn a language is to sleep with someone. However I rather
imagined the circumstances somewhat differently to the 6 days and nights I have
just spent in Bordeaux. I shared a room with Bernadette (we had both just
undergone surgery) the most lasting memory is the heat. (But my French did
improve).One wall of our room was all window, my bed was alongside it. The sun
was relentless, I thought ‘I haven’t undergone all that surgery just to get
slowly cooked alive’
I desperately needed to cool down. I was
allowed a shower but afterwards my efforts to clothe myself in my stripey Croix
Rouge pyjamas were a sad failure.With my limited spatial intelligence, it all
proved too difficult. I couldn’t figure out how to get all the tubes, drips and
what-have-you up the trouser leg. I rang Roger to bring me boxer shorts and in
case his were too wide, to also bring me a black skirt covered in tiny flowers
which I have been wearing around the house and in the garden summer after
summer. He arrived and cheerfully handed me the bag he had brought. Inside was
a very smart silk chiffon dress (our daughter had bought it to wear to a
wedding and afterwards decided it was too grown-up for her and gave it to me).
‘Where’s the skirt, Rog? I asked. Confidently he pointed.
I said, ‘that’s a dress’.
‘Is it?’ he demurred (this is a man who
can identify spanners, crow bars, chisels in the dark at a 20 metre radius).
In all these years, he had learnt
nothing from me.
I couldn’t lie in bed in a frilly frock,
they would think I was barking mad (I couldn’t pull a sheet over to hide it, it
was much too hot for that.)
I willed the boxers to work. Luckily Roger
had also brought a pair of the grandson’s. They fitted perfectly. I wore them on
top of the regulation Folie Bergere black stockings, with the 10cm lacy frill
at the top. (These are to prevent the dreaded DVT) There was no way I was pulling
a sheet over me – I was already frying in the heat. I lay there in all my
daftness, willing the sun to feck off.
My room-mate was decked out in a nightie
with short sleeves (she had obviously read all the pages of the pre-admissions).
Now I am home again, I am aware of the
bravery of Edward Snowden, the floods in India, the protests in Brazil and Turkey, Russell Brandt talking total sense,
the NHS cover-up of the tragedy of the dead babies scandal, the US hostage who
the Taliban might swap for 3 hunger-striking top guys from Guantanamo Bay, the
bankers bonuses and the fact that rents in London have gone up 8 times as much
as wages and the BoJo Mayor doesn’t seem to give a flying fuck.
However, it is almost as though
post-operative euphoria has encompassed me and I have landed in a problem-free
bubble. Soon I am sure the pain of it all will penetrate. Meanwhile, long may
it last.
Joselyn Morton
