Ringing in the Changes

Gently, faintly, I hear the bells chiming again and Bloomsbury Bell is awoken.

I have been spending my time in Oxford coffee shops, pubs and libraries reading and writing and when I have not been doing that I have been in the garden attempting to get to grips with a large, overgrown and rambling cottage garden. In between I have been going back to London for a dose of home.

They say that change is as good as a rest, but maybe sometimes rest is as good as a change. Having had several changes over the last couple of years I have taken time to be restful, be slow and be observant. This hasn't been without its challenges, I struggled to feel content with being slow in a world which encourages speed and change. I struggled to keep myself from a natural fast pace and to believe that it was really fine to take time out of things for a while. Being busy was something I couldn't do without so I found a balance of being busy with 'quiet' things such as gardening, walking, reading and exploring Oxford.

It's time now to walk from the bank and slide back into the stream.

Ringing the changes

The village in snow

It is, once again, a long time since I posted anything. Indeed, since I have written anything at all either online or in notebooks or on scraps of paper that I often look at and think, "what?!" I hope you all had a lovely Christmas and New Year.

So much has happened that I am going to have to speed through or else it will be March and I will still be catching up on December. A week before Christmas Mr Bell and I braved the blizzards and moved house for the second time in a year. Due to the snow we were delayed by four days and caused quite a stir in the village as we ended up being towed in as our van had got completely stuck. In the midst of our frenzied move we went down to Sussex for a lovely family Christmas but we were fairly dazed at this point so everything was a bit of a blur and we never got around to putting up any of our decorations. It felt a bit of a shock to go to mum's and see a Christmas tree as I didn't have time to get obsessively Christmassy (which I usually do). Anyway, I gorged myself on Christmas lunch and had lots of cuddles with my very cute eleven month old niece.

Tonight is the first time we have connection to the internet (long story) and we are still sorting out the utilities (tedious) BUT every morning I wake up to my lovely tabby cat nosing his way into my consciousness as he demands his breakfast and the views from our windows change from day to day depending on the light which reminds me why we moved in the first place. For the past six months we have been without our beloved tabby cat as we couldn't find anywhere in the centre of Oxford to rent that would accept a cat. Ironically, London seems to be more amenable to animals! Anyway, we had to send him to my best friend who lives in Sussex so he has had a six month sabbatical from us, enjoying himself no end and being thoroughly spoilt. We didn't cope so well in his absence. Soft as we are, we never got used to being without him so despite the mad move it has been totally worth it.

So now we are country dwellers. A whole new experience and, so far, an interesting one. We are still a cycle ride from the city centre so we are not too isolated, before you start imagining an hour's hike to the nearest shop, but it is quiet enough that we have more peace, we have a lot more space and it is fun to experience such a contrast from the flat in London that we crammed ourselves into.

In terms of reading, moving house doesn't aid literary pursuits so there has been a bit of a drought. I am currently reading The Group by Mary McCarthy and The Sacred and Profane Love Machine by Iris Murdoch which are getting me through the dry spell. My only resolution for 2011 is to be a more diligent blogger as things have lapsed of late!

And All Shall Be Well

Where have I been? It has been over a month since I last wrote a post on poor, neglected Bloomsbury Bell. I have been having a small dose of respite from all sorts of things and now I am ready to emerge from my shell and crack it from me as I stretch my limbs forward through their slow creak of waking.

Winter Blues is a funny term I always think - the winter has never been blue exactly. It is sparkling, glittering even and the winter sun is gold and pink as it dips down past the Equator and slips out of sight. I enjoyed reading this article about the wonder of winter. Winter is indeed a wonderland at the moment - through the window I can see a white world as a permanent frost seems to have set in.

In two weeks time the world will turn again for me as I'm moving to a cottage just outside Oxford. The trees pictured above will be my neighbours. It is a fairly big adventure for two citydwellers but it is exciting as I have never lived anywhere so rural before. I have had to order my first pair of adult sized wellies (having long ago outgrown my pink pair) and we have even bought a torch to light our way back from the local pub!

I packed my books last night (leaving out a few to keep me going) and really wished that I had stuck to my resolve to only borrow from the library. My arm muscles are wincing in anticipation.

A new blogging adventure!

To my dear Bloomsbury Bell readers, some of you may already know that I have landed a new blogging gig for The Lady magazine's website. I am hoping that it will give me a more structured approach to my writing as I now have a copy deadline once a fortnight! Essentially, it will be more about my move to Oxford and the challenge and adventure that living here is turning out to be after being in London for eight years. You can read it here and all feedback is welcome so let me know what you think!

But, Bloomsbury Bell will very much remain alive and will retain its focus on books and general literary bits and bobs. The last few weeks have been an absolute whirlwind - I went home to Chichester at the weekend for my mother's mouthwatering roast dinner (and to see friends and family of course!) which was lovely. It's funny that even though I haven't lived there for a decade I still feel a sense of homecoming when we arrive in the city. I know every tree, every road, every building and the familiarity is so strong that it induces a sense of ownership. I see it as mine somehow and I feel comforted every time I return. It's a similar feeling to revisiting a book that had a massive impact upon you when you read it for the first time. In my head I connect the feeling with reading Howards End. Perhaps because the feeling that Mrs Wilcox has for the house is exactly my feeling towards Chichester. Are there any places or books that inspire these feelings within you?

As the nights are drawing in I have been stockpiling books and I bought a new hotwater bottle as I am planning to stay in and spend the winter reading. I have fallen behind my reading target for this year as moving and all sorts of things have got in the way. But, wintry evenings are the perfect motivation for cosying up and hiding away from the world with a good book.

Thou hast thy music too

The Thames at Iffley Lock

Yesterday I walked along the Thames towards Iffley Lock. The golden autumn light lit the trees and church tower and rowers gently slid past as I trundled along. I felt a world away from my life of a few months ago and then I suddenly realised that I live as close to the Thames now as I did in London. So, I haven't moved away I have merely moved upriver!

Autumn always feels like a good time of year for being busy. Winter is still curled up, waiting to unfurl and swathe its darkness over the land. So, there is time to quickly busy ourselves and get things done before the long months of waiting for spring. As I write this, I can see a squirrel dashing about in our garden, no doubt planning where to hide his food before hibernation starts. In the last of the sun people come out and bask as they stroll along - the river yesterday was a hive of activity as families were making the most of the weakening rays. I stopped for a drink in the Isis Farmhouse and sat in their orchard watching the people around me. Families chattered, students were alight with finding out all the summer activities of their peers and apples plopped from the over-laden boughs. Autumn is full of smells and sounds - it has its music too.

The day brought the following poem by Keats into my mind. I love autumn and I also love Keats so the two combined is a perfect marriage.

To Autumn

John Keats (1820)

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,
Drows’d with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

The Woodstock Literary Festival

Blenheim Palace

A day spent at a world heritage site in the company of great writers is the perfect way to spend a cold and grey Sunday. This morning my alarm went off at 07.30 and as I rolled over to slam my hand down on the snooze button I remembered that I had to get the bus to Woodstock.

This was a new experience for me as I actually had to arrive at the bus stop for a specific time - after years of living in London I am used to just pitching up and hopping on one of the many buses that would all go to my destination. The Oxfordshire service is a totally different story. I caught the one bus that went that hour and as we chugged along country lanes I did start to wonder if the bus driver was frightened of the accelerator.

I arrived at Blenheim Palace when it was still sleepy and calm. I walked along the endless drive and was awed by the sprawling grounds and stunning palace. It is an incredible sight when you round on the palace but somehow it is too glorious. I found it hard to imagine it as a place of residence, rather than a visitor attraction. I wonder what it must have been like fifty or one hundred years ago when it was bustling with serving staff and groundsmen and was an entire economy in itself.

The first talk I went to was Adam Sisman talking about Hugh Trevor-Roper and it was absolutely fascinating. Trevor-Roper was a historian and academic at Oxford who had a thirty year feud with Evelyn Waugh. They never met but were arch-enemies due to fundamental differences in opinion about Catholicism. Waugh referred to Trevor-Roper as the "Demon Don" after he criticised the behaviour of the Catholic Church during the Second World War. In turn, Trevor-Roper thought that Brideshead Revisited was a fake portrayal of life at Oxford and that it over-romanticised Catholicism.

Waugh and Trevor-Roper's feud was very public as both would write letters to various publications in which they criticised each other. I couldn't help thinking that they both sounded as though they enjoyed goading each other to make the next move; like a pair of ego-maniacal schoolboys.

I also saw Lady Antonia Fraser talking about the book she has written about her thirty-three year relationship with Harold Pinter. I was inspired by her admission that she has kept a diary for over forty years as, in her words, "One good reason for keeping a diary is that you remember the facts but you forget the details" - so diary-keeping is how she can remember a lifetime of detail. Her relationship with Pinter sounds like a true love affair and he was incredibly romantic, writing her love poems and bestowing her with bundles of flowers. The thing that she said which really struck me was that Pinter would say to her "Happiness is not dramatic" - a true statement, articulated perfectly.

And lastly, I saw Colin Dexter talk about his life. He is incredibly witty and had the audience in stitches for most of his talk. It was such a great opportunity to see the author of the Morse novels which I love. He didn't talk too much about Morse but regaled us with tales from his schooldays and his inspirational English teacher who introduced him to Thomas Hardy. By the time he left school he had read all of Hardy's novels. He admitted that he will be appearing in all the Lewis episodes (he appeared in most Morse episodes) but he has to do about six takes even if he is just walking down the street as he isn't a very good actor!

If the Oxfordshire local bus service can take me to such an amazing location to hear fantastic speakers - I can't really complain about the infrequency or lack of speed!

The Pre-Raphaelites and Italy

Edward Burne-Jones, Music, 1877, copyright The Ashmolean

Last night we went to the private view for The Pre-Raphaelites and Italy at the Ashmolean. The exhibition is a fantastic opportunity to see lesser known works by well known Pre-Raphaelites; Rossetti, Burne-Jones, Hunt and Ruskin are all on show. What was particularly interesting is that a lot of landscapes of Italy are on display which was great as I haven't seen many Pre-Raphaelite landscapes before. Looking at all the paintings of beautiful Italian landscapes was a perfect way to whet my appetite as I only have a week and a half before I will be in Italy basking in the autumnal sun and scoffing as many olives as I can find!

I love Burne-Jones and one of the real treats of this exhibition is that Andrew Lloyd-Webber has lent The Fall of Lucifer from his private collection. The painting is haunting and at 2.5 metres high is quite over-powering. The gilded edge contrasts beautifully with the gloomy, lowly colours of the painting as Lucifer and his reprobate angels fall from heaven.

Cycling home through the quiet streets of Oxford is such a delight at this time of year. Our way home was lit by the stars and we were accompanied by the peal of bells as bell-ringers were practising for Sunday. September is one of my favourite months as the smell of woodsmoke starts to creep in and the gentle chill reminds me that cosy evenings are on their way.

I am going to plan the books that I will take with me to Italy. Thank you for all your Italy inspired reading suggestions. I now have to narrow it down so that I leave some room for my toothbrush.

For the rain it raineth every day

Well, this is the view from my (newly finished) study window this morning which immediately brought dear old Feste to mind. Summer seems to have scurried off and left us between seasons. While I wait for the burnished bronze of autumn to sweep in and save us from limbo I am reading three books, fuelled by copious amounts of warming tea and rather too much cake. The trouble is that I need to focus on one as I keep flitting between them.

I have started and am really enjoying The Lessons by Naomi Alderman, not least because it is set in Oxford so it is helping me get my bearings in this new city. I am still reading Jane Eyre, which is perfect to read on a grey day as it is steeped in grey. Grey people, grey places, grey plot, grey, grey, grey. And finally I am reading An Instance of the Fingerpost by Iain Pears, which is also set in Oxford and is great bed time reading.

I am off in search of a hearty pub lunch and, hopefully, a fire to sit beside!

Bimbling about

I am pretty sure that bimbling is not a word. But it is what I spend quite a lot of time doing. This week has been a 'bimbling' week. I have drifted about doing bits and bobs and not very much all at the same time. I was a bridesmaid for a very beautiful bride up on the moors in the far north. I still have the lovely flowers (above) in a jar on our mantelpiece. On our way back down the spine of the country we veered westwards and found tea and cake in Stroud.

I gorged myself on treacle tart and looked on in horror as Mr Bell devoured a coffee and walnut cake; I detest coffee and walnut. Actually, that was probably a cunning tactic on his part so that I wouldn't want to steal any of his.
We found a view to look at before returning back to Oxfordshire.
It is easy to make friends in the country - here is one that we found in a pub in Bampton
As I sat eating a bag of chips in this churchyard last Friday night,
I caught the smallest whiff of autumn. I wonder if summer knows that the next season is impatiently waiting its turn? There is time yet though before the apples fully ripen, so I am going to go and sun my toes in the grass.

Struggling through Jane Eyre

The Oxfordshire Sky

I promise I am trying but I am struggling. Don't get me wrong, it is a great plot and I like the grey/gothic undertone but good lord the syntax. Round and round we go swooping up and down and under and over. I will persevere but in the meantime I'll talk about what I have been up to this week. Whilst avoiding nineteenth century literature.

This week we bought our very first car so that we can do a myriad of not very exciting things like go to the supermarket (no I haven't given up on the market but I like to bulk buy cleaning products) or the local recycling centre. We like to find excuses to celebrate so last night we took ourselves off for a celebratory 'we have a car' meal at the Trout Inn at Wolvercote. A totally picturesque pub outside Oxford with the river running by and this lovely bridge connecting one side of the garden to the other. The pub also boasts its very own pet Peacock which struts around looking for attention.

On our way home we caught a glimpse of Godstow Nunnery through the hedge.

Godstow Nunnery

I immediately made Mr Bell stop the car and I leapt out and climbed over the fence to go and have a poke about, leaving him bemused to wait whilst I basked in a ruin glowing with evening light. Godstow Nunnery was finished and dedicated in 1139 and was made famous through the fact that it was the final resting place of Rosamund Clifford or 'Fair Rosamund'. Rosamund was the mistress of Henry II (who accidentally ordered the murder of Thomas Becket) and is the focus of several legends including the legend that Henry II's queen, Eleanor of Aquitaine, had Rosamund poisoned out of revenge.

'Fair Rosamund' was immortalised in John William Waterhouse's painting of her which he painted in 1917.

As I walked around the site I wondered about the lives of these women. Were they all dedicated to a holy life or were some of them there against their will? Sold to the church to ease their family's financial burden. I had only cows for company as I wandered around a silent site which would once have been bustling with activity. The Nunnery was dissolved by Henry VIII in 1539 and passed through various different hands until it was eventually acquired by the University of Oxford. Apparently, Charles Dodgson (aka Lewis Carroll) took Alice Liddell (aka Alice in Wonderland) to the site for picnics.

Jane Eyre is calling. I fear this is turning into an epic journey of realisation that my veins flow with the juices of modernism - and there is nothing that consumptive nineteenth century types can do about it. But we shall see.

A quintessential weekend

Leaving London for Oxford is proving to be a huge learning curve. On Saturday morning I decided to cycle into town to do our food shopping at the Covered Market. I left the house on my bike and peddled into town as fast as my weak, feeble London legs could peddle. 'How delightful' I mused to myself, and I was halfway to feeling as though I had landed in the middle of a Miss Marple when I was met with a plague of tourists. Not so idyllic. The town was absolutely buzzing with tourists. Everywhere. Now, coming from London I am, of course, used to irritating tourists. But they are easily avoided in London - there is less space in Oxford so we are confined to walk the same streets as the grockles. And I have discovered something, my inner-Londoner has not withered away, she bursts forth as I huff and mutter and barge people out of my way.

Once I had fought my way into the Covered Market I felt that things could only get better. All the fresh fruit and veg, the amazing cheese counter, butchers and delicious cookie shop enticed me in to the relative calm. But I ran into a bit of difficulty. You see, as much as it pains me to admit this - I had absolutely no idea where to start. How much is 100 grams? How do these women around me know what to do? I felt like a complete fraud as I walked around pathetically wondering how much of everything to ask for. And then I realised, I have grown up lacking the skills that were second nature to my grandmother and mother. I am used to going to a supermarket where everything is ready weighed and packaged with a nice price tag stamped onto it. Market shopping is a whole new world.

I rallied myself and dived in. I started with cheese. I bought a wonderful local cheese called Oxford Isis which is absolutely heavenly and very smelly indeed. So far so good - I then bought some strawberries and some delicious figs. It was when I went to the fish counter that all went pear-shaped. I have a weakness for Scallops - which are very expensive but the label had an alright price for 100g so I thought I would treat Mr Bell and myself to a yummy starter. I boldly asked for 100g and was horrified when two scallops were placed in a sorry little bag and handed to me. Mortified, I handed over my cash and fled the scene. TWO SCALLOPS?! I could have snorted them up - so I have learnt that 100g is not very much at all. And I have also learnt that I am not one of the fortunate few who can afford to buy Scallops.

I then gave the butchers a go but feeling as if the word 'novice' was stamped across my forehead I went for the easiest thing to order - four sausages. And then I scuttled away with my hard-won goodies to find my bike amidst a sea of tourists.

Aside from my disastrous first attempt at ordering food by the weight; pootling about the side streets around the college buildings was idyllic in the summer sunshine. I made time to stop for yet another scone at the Vaults & Garden cafe which is my favourite cafe in Oxford. And which is where a couple of Saturday's ago I had the most delicious breakfast of tea and toast (picture above, forgive the poor quality - I took it with my phone). Is there any breakfast more satisfying than simple homemade bread, toasted and slathered with butter and homemade strawberry jam? And for 60p? Heaven. I am going to become a very regular sight in the Vaults cafe as they serve fab tea and I can burrow in and read my book underneath the 13th century vaulted ceiling.

Yesterday I went home to Sussex for our annual family get together at Horn Fair in Ebernoe. I wrote about it in a bit more detail last year here. Four generations of our family were present as it was my six month old niece's first fair - I have been going since I was a baby and I still don't know the rules for Cricket! Perhaps my niece will grasp them more quickly than me! It all seems very slow and is interspersed with a tea break, a lunch break and another tea break. Meanwhile spectators are languishing around with their own thermos flasks and picnics - not really my thing I must say. Don't get me wrong I love a picnic - but not when balls are flying about. But it is somehow wry and a bit subversive of my family to repeatedly sit through this every single year - as only one of my mother's cousin's is into cricket (in a big way) the rest of us couldn't give two figs. But we always clap heartedly when it is required.

Anyway, I am off to battle with Jane Eyre. All your comments from my last post have made me even more determined to conquer the nineteenth century. Wish me luck - I am going in armed with a cup of tea and, oddly, some strawberry jelly.

Too many books

I write this not quite sitting in the kitchen sink but nearly, as I have had to find a bit of space to settle amidst all the boxes, strewn furniture and general chaos. We have, at long last, moved to Oxford. The bell will now chime from a different tower and hopefully more frequently than it has been of late!

All my fantasies about sitting by the river in the warm summer sun are so far coming true as the weather has been wonderful. We have spent evenings strolling along the canal and looking for tucked away pubs in search for a quiet drink.

Moving has highlighted to me how bad my book obsession has become as my arms are now extremely sore from all the lifting and struggling with box after box of precious cargo. In light of the pain, nay agony, that I am now in I have made a dramatic decision. I am not buying any more books in 2010 and from now on I am giving books away after I have read them - unless they are absolutely vital, of course. Hopefully this will solve some of my current storage problems as well!

Over the past few weeks my whole life has been about moving so I am looking forward to having more time to myself to explore Oxford and get some reading done. I don't really theme my reading but I thought that over the next couple of weeks I might read novels with an Oxford connection - so, I asked some literary types and they suggested some great books. I have already read Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials trilogy which I loved so I think that I will re-read them to refresh my memory (provided that I can find the box that they are in!). I loved Joanna Cannan's Princes in the Land (which I wrote about here) and Verity recommended one of her other novels, High Table, which I will borrow from the library. I adore Dorothy L. Sayers' Gaudy Night which is also set in Oxford so that might be another re-read possibility. I would be grateful for any recommendations for good Oxfordian novels.

Of course, the grand-daddy of Oxford novels has to be Brideshead Revisited. I adore Evelyn Waugh and I adore him even more for his great friendship with Nancy Mitford; an idol of mine and not just because she kept a white chicken in her Paris apartment, well almost.

The big move

Poor old Bloomsbury Bell has been unintentionally neglected over the past few weeks due to the impending 'big move'. I mentioned in my last post that things are afoot; I am pleased to say that they are still afoot and Mr Bell and I are packing up our books to go and live in Oxford.

I have lived in London for the past eight years and it is proving to be a wrench to leave, despite the fact that I have been longing for pastures new for a while. We are leaving all of our lovely friends and plunging into a totally new and different life. Both of us have new jobs doing completely different things and we are very much looking forward to getting started. Before we go however, we have a few 'last hurrah's' planned in London with various friends so I am looking forward to making the most of my last fortnight in the big city.

Whilst I have been planning and organising our new life I haven't been able to read anything too meaty. As soon as I found out we were going I cracked open my 50p copy of The Way Through the Woods by Colin Dexter to get me in the Oxford mood. I am now having to curb my perception that Oxford is all dreaming spires and multiple murders.

I have only been to Oxford for the odd day trip so I am excited about discovering what the city has to offer. I have been doing as much online research as possible and have found some interesting places to go for Burgers, Moroccan and Ice Cream. I just need to find a non-touristy tea room with real homemade cake. To this day I have not found a tea room to beat St Martin's Tea Rooms in my home town; Chichester. I wonder if Oxford can provide a rival?

One major source of excitement is that my old dutch bike, which I bought in 2007 for dirtbag cheap (and hardly used), has been tarted up and I even paid extra for a wicker basket to be put on the front. I am now having visions of pootling on my bike to the Covered Market for provisions and a paper before cycling along the river to a shady spot to while away the hours a la Brideshead.