Come away with the raggle taggle gypsy-o
You’ve all seen those crazy Facebook quizzes, which Disney princess are you, which Greek goddess are you? what flavour smoothie are you? Well today I’m sharing what kind of chocolate I am. Of course I’m never the same, but on Mondays I’m this kind of chocolate,
that’s scary, grumpy and menacing.
Thankfully on Friday, that’s tomorrow I’m more like this,
Dark, mysterious and irresistible 🙂
Tell me what kind of chocolate are you?
Sprinkled with rain drops
bold,brash, bursting with passion
petals of desire
Sleep? Very funny. I have a bad case of sleep envy. Is it only the young that can lie down and fall asleep at the lowering of an eyelash? I certainly can’t remember lying awake for hours in my youth can you? I can’t remember turning from my right side to my back to my left side and repeating the whole cycle for hours either. I can’t remember ‘killing’ pillows and having to buy new ones every few months, because the weight and swivel of my head leaves an unfillable crater in them, whether they cost £3 in the bargain shops or £30 in John Lewis.
Dreams were rare in my childhood. There was a nightmare that had a couple of times, self-inflicted I believe, and about rats. I used to play near the panny you see, a tunnel built to channel the North Brook under the road, for about a mile near where I lived. It was a sort of dare game, the place was mucky, wet as brooks are and as dark as tunnels under the road are bound to be. There were also eels in the water, so the choice was wading through it with them swimming over your toes, or trying to walk on the narrow edge where inevitably rats were scurrying over your feet. I’ve been rat phobic ever since and these images often come to me when I’m on the sleep threshold.
When I eventually get to sleep these days, my dreams are more sophisticated. I had a spell where I had very lucid dreams, like the one about the mansion. I’d be strolling through an endless set of rooms, each more grand, exciting and vibrant than the last. Very ornate, elegant and full of important paintings, sculpture and literature and I was always on the top floor of the mansion. So, as I understand it, dreams about the top floors of buildings are about the psyche, the fascinating stuff of our minds, what’s in our head space. I’ve often wondered what this dream says about me.
Another very powerful dream that’s stayed with me, was in a very definite place, at the top of the hill on the Moretonhampstead road, after you drive over the first cattle grid on Dartmoor. A deep valley is on the right and in my dream it was on fire. I want to get my family to safety in our tiny 2CV, but I know it’s futile because it’s more than just a fire. I hold my children in my arms and wait the end of the world.
My eyes are sleepy now. I might take my book to bed, but it’s rather good and will keep me awake. I need a boring one instead. I hope that you sleep well and wake refreshed.
I’ve written this in response to the Daily Post today, by Michelle W.
Our journey on the Bus Turistic continued past Sagrada Familia and through the trendy Gracia area. Our destination for the morning was perhaps the furthest point on the blue route, Parc Guell. We jumped off the bus, following a few others and turned a corner into full sun. Parc Guell is in the the Zona Monumental and a monumental hill faced us! Pretty soon our water bottles and our tummy’s were empty so we sought out a café for an early lunch. Surprisingly, considering the vicinity, the first one we came across was cheap, a little local place where we had pizza, churros and coffee for just a few euros. Refreshed, we tackle the rest of the hill, resisting the tacky tourist shops along the way.
Eventually we turned the corner and had our first view of Parc Guell.
We were hooked right away, and headed towards the entrance.
This wasn’t it, originally this was built as the porter’s lodge and entrance, but for now it’s one of the exits.
The selfie sticks available in all those tourist shops were being put to good use. So we strolled a few metres more, up the path to the ticket office,
where we were told that we wouldn’t be able to go in for another four hours. We bought our tickets to enter between 5.30 and 6pm, for seven euros each,
and feeling hot and irritable, but glad we would be able to go later, walked all the way back down that monumental hill.
So, we’d had a little peep at what was to come and had to entertain ourselves on the blue bus for a while.
What could we do?
What does “enveloped” mean to you? It could be your post-bath toddler wrapped burrito-style in a huge fuzzy towel. How about the ever-present fog that meanders through your city? Is it the well-loved hammock you lie in devouring novels as if they were candy? Maybe it’s your favorite fluffy comforter, edges worn from love and use?
Krista asks this question for this weeks photo challenge and as often happens when I’m stuck, I let my imagination run away with me. When I need to escape or when I’m tired I let myself be enveloped in a book. It could be fiction – a novel perhaps, my ‘comfort book’ is Miss Austen’s Emma, a short story, or perhaps a poetry anthology. The shelves in my house are stacked with books on a wide variety of subjects and include some antiquarian books. Here is one of them.
It’s packed with treasure from the natural world, such as the metamorphosis of gnats, delicately sketched.
The life of a spider,
bees and wildflowers
This book has a dedication inside that reads:-
Third prize for
General Improvement,
merited by
Rose Weller
Cambridge House July 1879
That’s a long time to be enveloping people in its magic!
A lovers spring walk
hand in hand through greenery
fresh as their romance
When I was a little girl the area around Exmouth dock was scruffy, full of fishing boats and a bit smelly. You walked across a bridge that always seemed to wobble, and it led to Shelly beach, at the mouth of the estuary. Shelly had a long row of wooden chalets, some little more than beach huts and some were permanent dwellings. I suppose they were a little worn out and shabby but I would have loved to live there, right beside the beach where I could tumble out and paddle whenever I wanted. Then some years ago progress arrived. The chalets were pulled down and I suppose there were less fishing boats than before.The dock became an expensive marina with posh boats, and the chalets were replaced by expensive apartments, I doubt the chalet owners could afford them. Exmouth dock was gentrified.
Shelly beach is now called Cockle Sands, there is still sand when the tide is out, but very few buckets and spades. I’m sure you’ve guessed that I preferred it before Progress came.
Jude at Travel Words has nominated me for the ‘Five Photos, Five Stories’ challenge, and I would like to nominate Cheryl Andrews, a writer and poet who reviews books and takes part in Wordless Wednesday, for my day five.
This would be an easy challenge for you Cheryl, if you feel like taking it up, no worries if you don’t have time.
The challenge is to just “post a photo each day for five consecutive days and attach a story to the photo. It can be fiction or non-fiction, a poem or a short paragraph and each day nominate another blogger for the challenge”.
Riding around Barcelona with the views from the top of the Bus Turistic , the city is even more beautiful than I expected. The Via’s are wide and tree lined and every where you turn is another striking building, placa or fountain.
Buildings often have exquisite design features, some by Gaudi himself, others influenced by his work.
Why have plain when you can have intricate?
There are streets and streets with apartment blocks like this, with the volume of traffic going past they must be very high maintenance.
I always wonder about the people living behind the windows, can they ever open them and enjoy their balconies in the continuous city noise?
Of course if you live in one of the luxury apartments in Casa Terrades, a Gothic, fairytale castle, I’m sure you wouldn’t have to worry about the outside world, can you imagine Rapunzel’s hair flowing down from here?
One of the places I’d like to see when I return to Barcelona is the modernist Casa Mila, known locally as La Pedrera, it’s a UNESCO world heritage site and Gaudi’s last civic work. It’s given the name Pedrera which means ‘Stone Quarry’because of its rough exterior appearance. I’d like to go up to the roof and get a closer look at the art looking back at you, fascinating stone sculpture that you see from the street.
This pretty building was one of my favourites, but I don’t remember what it’s called, does anyone know anything about it?
This fantastical building is Casa Batllo, one of Gaudi’s greatest masterpieces. I really wish I’d had time to see it, if you go to Barcelona allow as much time as you can, there is so, so much to see and you will quite likely feel as frustrated as i did, having to miss things like this out!
The blue Bus Turistic also stops at Sagrada Familia ans we got off long enough to find out that there was absolutely no chance of going inside at that time. The ticket office said go away and book online, no tickets were available that day. We were so glad we hadn’t waited until the last day.
I’ll be posting again about Gaudi’s greatest and unfinished achievement, meanwhile for now I’m ending with a photo of Barcelona by night, at Placa d’Espanya.
Enjoy!
Lucid Gypsy 