Rush Hour

What does your rush hour look like? Mine looks like this:

The long and winding road...

At first glance, it tells you that I live in the countryside, away from the hustle and bustle of the city, the maddening crowds, the urban pollution, the sprawling suburbs, and the stress of modern life. It implies a certain quality of life that I am able to enjoy around the rural environment: oodles of space, no crowds, little to no noise, panoramic views, closeness to nature - not to mention low crime figures.

But a rush hour like this comes at a cost.

It means either I live far from the town and city, and still endure long commutes to work - not an enviable option. Or my work is land-based: farming, agricultural - and what should be an a labour of love has turned out to be hardship because this is how the State rewards those who feed the nation: crazy legislation (especially under the EU), heavy taxation, red tape, long unforgiving hours, and low pay - because the food distribution channels have squeezed out your profit margins. That means added pressure on your land for it to yield more (using fertilisers and hybrid GMO-ready seeds) and for your livestock to yield more (demanding more milk from the dairy cows to make up for your losses, expanding your chattel, taking up loans and moving the farm under an industrial model, while pumping your animals full with antibiotics and growth hormones). On your side of the game, there is no winner: your land wears itself out, your livestock wears itself out and you eventually wear yourself out. You'll consider yourself lucky when the State finally catches up with you with a cash lump sum for your farm, rase it down and have a motorway built through it.

With a rush hour like mine, one might assume that I am a stay-at-home mum or I work from home, maybe as a freelancer? Would money be no object? Either because I am financially secure... or I parted ways with the rat race!

Tickle is up for it!

I parted ways with the rat race years ago. A rush hour like mine comes at a cost maybe more to you than it does to me. Firstly I gave up on the lure of the materialistic way of life I used to enjoy. A carefully thought-out and wise decision because those material mirages were taking me nowhere down the road to happiness and fulfillment. In many ways, I feel happier now: no longer a slave to the wage, to the mortgage, to the loans, to the designer apparel.

This doesn't mean I am now living the life of an ascete or I am destitute. It doesn't mean I do not treat myself or my husband, or buy things for the home. It just means I do not follow the whims and craves and fads and trends of the market that influence life all the way to the check-out. This is a lifestyle choice.

It means I do not keep up with the Joneses either. What Joneses? We are the only residents in the hamlet for virtually half the year. What Joneses anyways? We live on a flipping island!

How about feeling deprived? Because no matter how much I sugar-coat it, a rush hour like ours comes at a cost. We live in an old family house where comfort is rustic and certain modcons like gas central heating and a fitted kitchen are lacking. This is the price to pay when you come off the rat race: it depends upon what you can now afford and adjustments inevitably have to be made.

We are cut off from quality services and conveniences that we took for granted back in UK or USA or mainland France. We live in a system that is politicised. And living as virtual hermits is in no way healthy. Humans are naturally gregarious. Birdsong is divine, and silence is golden - but too much of it rusts your spirits away.

A rush hour like ours may be a blessing to stressed-out urbanites seeking refuge from their urban shortcomings but beyond the eye-pleasing scenery, the reclusive life we live sooner or later takes its toll. A change of scenery would be most welcome.

What does your rush hour look like?

Lisbon, Portugal

All Saints' Day Survivor

In the Christian calendar, November 1st is a celebration of the dead, All Saints' Day, a bank holiday in France. Traditionally families purchase chrysanthemums, heather or cyclamens (usually impressive potted displays) and take them down to cemeteries in order to fleurir les tombes, flower their (loved ones) graves. Needless to say, florists and garden centres make a tidy profit that gears them up into the festive season, by then less than 8 weeks away!

Mum's the word! (June 2017)

You guessed it, All Saints' Day has been co-opted into a consumerist feat, with a sea of floral displays that pours out of the flower shops onto the pavements and inflates in volume by the day, in the run-up to November 1st. Then plants migrate from flower shops to car boots and from car boots to the tombs, and before Christmas most will have migrated from the tombs to the cemetery bins - in heaps! Incredibly wasteful and downright ridiculous but this is the way it has been programmed into the French.

Because sadly family values in France are not as sacred as they once were and catholic religion has taken a nosedive, graves are rarely visited, although All Saints' Day remains the one and only yearly reminder still anchored in the collective psyche that encourages the modern busy Christian to pay graves a visit - and leave a proof of their visit behind, in the shape of a big fat chrysanthemum that battles it out for space with other relatives' mums! Don't you bother watering your offering because par une opération du Saint-Esprit, by the Holy Spirit intervention, pots will somewhat self-water or at least absorb little morning dew they can in order to survive the run-up to Winter if they don't get knocked off the tomb by the competition and the elements and roll down the alleyway like a poor cosplay version of Jackie Chan to end up wedged between the tool shed and a bench.

Chrysanthemum to the left, nasturtium to the right, under the watchful eye of Némo! (Sept. 2017)

Life as an All Saints' Day chrysanthemum is all about survival: it's mean out there. Tampered with genetically in order to yield all sorts of crazy colours and patterns, chemically fattened up in order to grow fat and fast like a Christmas turkey of the floral kind, produce blooms ten a zillion that will magically burst open in time for the Day of the Dead. Showtime in the graveyard but by November 2nd there is no-one left around to admire the flowers! Then the draughty unforgiving graveyards take a toll on their petals into a crumpled-up, dried-out worn-out affair. Lack of care its toll, and the trip to the bin is a short, disdainful and unceremonious whack and go.

Through this tale of doom and gloom interspersed by a brief showtime stint and casting couch moment on the florist's shelf, one of those mums I saved from the basket of deplorables. Now it takes pride of place on my south-facing terrace, pampered and watered and whispered to! I saved it from my village's overflowing cemetery bin last December as I was gingerly walking past with Tickle, casting a sideways glance in search of a discarded, unloved, unrequited empty flower pot container (or filled with a dead plant) which I could save from trash and call my own and take home to repurpose into a pot for my Winter seedlings.

Pride of place! (Nov. 2017)

The mum was totally dried out, a browned-out crispy sorry sight! I took it home, disposed of the dead twigs and stored the pot with the soil in it in the cellar for a good month, almost forgetting about it. Then one day I noticed a shoot on the surface of the soil and then another one! I took the pot out onto the terrace, took a long hard look at those incredible green shoots battling for survival. I watered them and witnessed the gradual resurrection of the mum! It has since rewarded me with several flowerings. It is currently a feast of multicoloured blooms of white, canary yellow, orange and magenta red, a rainbow of delight! Let me tell you: I am the proud mum of one proud mum!

The moral of the story: when everything looks dead and done, give it another go, it might surprise you!

Espadrilles with Attitude

My love of espadrilles knows no limit: I would be lost without them! They are my essential Corsican Summer footwear, inside and outside. I don't just wear them, I wear them out: a pair lasts me a season (sometimes less according to the quality/ finnish or the wear and tear I put them through). When I lived in colder climes I would wear espadrilles essentially at home during the Summer in lieu of slippers (much more pleasant) and out, weather permitting. My love story goes back a long way: I first started wearing them as an 8-year-old, if I remember right, and have been wearing them year upon year ever since.

My pair of Little Marcel espadrilles, which I have worn a few times...

Talk about versatility: espadrilles are available in every colour and pattern under the sun, from basic white to coastal blue, via chintzy Liberty fabrics, warm Catalogne/ Basque Region stripes, pastel shades and polka dots... Along the way, fashion designers have pimped up the pump with gusto: dressed up in leather, adorned with sequins, laced up, filigreed in gold, propped up with a wedge heel... Anything goes.

'Madcarina' Wedge by Christian Louboutin: espadrille-inspired braided rope and a chic turban twist toe detail

Espadrilles are a social leveller in my book. Everyone can afford them at their most basic. Their understated chic makes them preppy, while their vivid colours and bold patterns lend a boho vibe. Their restrained Summery look makes them resort. Their overall design makes them as comfy as a pair of no-frills sneakers. Depending upon their colour and the way you wear them, you could get away with wearing them at church, at a town hall meeting, at the doctor's surgery or a garden party without anyone blinking an eyelid. Just dress up your attire and lend a little sassiness and confidence to your step.

'Vogue 125' Sandals by Soludos

I doubt orthopedists would recommend the regular wear of espadrilles because in all honesty their canvas upper and basic jute sole combo does not support the feet adequately like a pair of good quality flats would. Though for pottering around the house and garden, running a few errands, driving, and walking down the beach and back, they cannot be faulted. Despite the fact that I do routinely walk miles in them (flattish urbanised terrain of roadside and pavement - and the occasional dirt track), I wouldn't expect anyone to trek rocky terrain in those: this is not what they are made for! Consider the espadrille a week-ender, a city slicker with a garden for countryside, not a country lass per se.

SoludosⓇ for J.Crew Espadrilles in Chambray

Despite their very basic no-frills construction (no Air Max technology, ergonomics or air-cushioned soles here folks!) and their identical right foot/ left foot, espadrilles are comfortable for what they are, then again strictly for dry Summertime (not weatherproof unless you upgrade to the Sea Star Beachwear Beachcomber Espadrille) and to be worn on flat terrain. Their canvas upper makes them tempered and breathable. So no nasty sweats like you would with plastic beach sandals or even with the not-so-innocent flip-flops.

'Elisa' Espadrille Wedges by Tory Burch

The sole is natural woven jute (which absorbs perspiration like a dream), usually with a thin rubber underside, and sometimes with the insole lined in canvas (which I recommend because it will make your walking experience more comfortable).

'Baja' Satin Espadrilles by J.Crew

Espadrilles, especially if worn daily over a whole Summer, will harden the soles of your feet, yet by the same token you will never get a blister wearing those little darlings: bonus for a carefree Summer and to keep those tootsies in tip-top condition!

'Joanne' Embroidered Espadrilles, by Polo Ralph Lauren

Espadrilles are affordable if you are looking for basic ones (less than €10.00/ $11.50/ £8.80). But how high can you go in price? I mean some of those featured here are pimped up, dressed up variants, still reasonable in price and they may last the distance by a few more miles than the standard espadrille.

Wearing my (now worse for wear) Mellow Yellow Liberty Espadrilles on the beach with Tickle!

Espadrilles are essentially still manufactured in their locale of origin, the Pyrenees, Catalogne and French and Spanish Basque region. China and Bangladesh now produce them too. Regardless of how you look after them, one downside is that overall quality can be flaky, and funnily enough I find that this is not dependent upon the country of origin. The weakest link is the stitch that frays and comes undone and/ or poor-quality fabric that gives way and/ or splits in the big toe area or the heel... 

The Chut Charlotte espadrille atelier in the French Pyrenees

Espadrilles are flats with attitude regardless: versatile, slip-on, unisex, easy-going and still able to pull a dressed-up look together. They are comfy but not sloppy, and no matter how much you put them through their paces, they shall never lose that vacational, continental, sun-kissed, sand-filled, sea-salt-stained mojo!

Toxic Love in a Southern Garden

There is a deathly obsession going on in gardens of southern France and elsewhere in the sunkissed regions of Spain, Italy and Greece. No matter how toxic the relationship, the likes of my mum and my unfortunate next-door neighbour will pursue the affair nonetheless, despite the warnings.

'Oleanders', oil on canvas by Vincent van Gogh (1888), via The Met Museum

The affair involves misleading lust for mediterranean flowers of the easy kind: easy come, easy grow, easy show, easy go. A native of the Mediterranean Basin and the Middle East, it was later introduced to the Far East and Central America. Give them a good watering in times of peak Summer heat, they take care of themselves the rest of the time. They even remember to flower year on year in time for Summer and would even do a little dance if they didn't look so conceited. They're a novice gardener's delight, thus can be pruned back, hacked hard and generally grossly mistreated. Still they will manage to summon enough gusto to thrive back to shape within a trimester and reward you for your carelessness with a myriad blossoms.

The Terrace at Méric (Oleanders), oil on canvas by Frédéric Bazille (1867), via WikiArt

Those come out all over in a rash, in shades of pink and white. The blossoms may look prim and proper as you drive by but get off the car and take a closer look: they are messy. They discard leaves and flowers on a whim, like a furry pet sheds hair, and the freshly-shed flowers end up sticking in clumps to the pathways and pavements and garden tables and the sole of your shoe. Maybe Charles Baudelaire spared them a thought when he penned The Flowers of Evil. You might call them pretty if you're my mum or the woman next door but that sort of beauty is lethal: avoid it at all cost!

(pict source)

They look impressive to the easily impressed, but it's all falsely affected to the tune of fakery in a flurry, like soul sisters begonias and petunias. They're a fifties garden fashion throwback that never actually went away - or went anywhere for that matter - passed on from generation to the next like a heirloom. Why? Because - remember - easy come, easy grow, easy show, easy go. Ubiquitous, so they are, especially when originality is unsummoned and garden space needs to be filled, a hedge be hastily erected at a moment's notice: Nerium oleander is the shrub of choice.

Fatal attraction

No surprise to be had: they behave as expected. The plants are easy on the dollar sign too. In their droves, they charm the charmless garden and will even endeavour to hide a multitude of sins like the ugly breeze-block wall they are backing onto or the irregularities of the terrain. They may fool you with their myriad petals and get you to absolve them of their sins. But their aroma shall fool you not with the old sweaty tee pong, yes the soaked-out worn-out garment that should have been thrown in the wash (or best, in the bin) but clocked an extra day instead. Sweaty pong is all there is to get out of that shrub, and if you stand long enough nearby, you may decide the heavy lingering aroma is posh speak for 'putrid'.

Pretty poisonous is the ugly truth!

Call it oleander all your might, it is of ill repute, plaguing life and playing with death, for it is toxic through and through. My next-door neighbour knows it, yet she amorously planted a couple of those next to her plum tree and allows for the branches to get jiggy with it under the midnight sun. And she still won't come to her senses, instead dragging her chaise longue across her patch of land so it stands exactly right under the flimsy shade of her protégés, admiring their pretentious stance from underneath as she lays down. A morbid rehearsal to God's waiting room?

Putting on a show!

My mum built hedges of those in her dreams and now her dreams are coming true. Leave it to her and leave her to it: she'll talk to them and caress their finger-like leaves with maternal care. Care for them to grow big and vigorous and take over her front lawn like a corporate mission statement: bold and boring. She'll refuse to notice the sap seeping out of the branches and scores of ants and white flies glued onto it. My mum taught me as a child about the toxicity of oleander and now she can't have enough of it in her garden's front row. Such a puzzling contradiction!

Where's Tickle gone? To the safety of the nearby bougainvillea!

I don't see birds showing an interest and rare are the butterflies that do so. I don't take an interest either: I actually dislike the plant with a passion and, as a nature lover, this is one strong statement. Tainted love for some, quiet desperation for others!

Inspire Aspire - ASMR

Before you pop the $100 question, here is the four-word answer (and I cheated for it!): ASMR stands for Autonomous Sensory Meridian Response. As cryptic as it appears, it is even more cryptic to explain it. Basically it involves the senses but is no pseudo science - merely sensations that are triggered by a relaxation technique. A word of warning: it may come out woo-woo to some of you. Or you may finally be able to put a name to that sensation you have experienced for years (maybe since childhood) under certain circumstances. Call it goosebumps, but more generally felt as a tingling, kind of a hot tickling, that radiates from the crown of the head down the nape, across the shoulders and down the spine. A fuzzy head, feeling cosy, comfy and sleepy, almost in a meditative state.

A feast for the eyes and more! Certain sight, sound and/ or smell trigger ASMR.

It appears that the sensation (or state) which is probably as old as humanity, has only been officially reported, documented and researched over the best part of the last decade, and debated in earnest by the wider online community. Some individuals have even become internet sensations (pardon the pun) and household names in the process, and have spread the word. From being unacknowledged altogether until recently, ASMR has turned into a juicy lucrative business on dedicated YouTube channels and the likes. Maria at Gentle Whispering is an ASMR phenomenon and the go-to ASMR personality! She clocks 925,000+ followers and some of her videos have garnered more than two million views within the space of three months, and a staggering 10 million views over 12 months! In my eye, Maria is the best ASMRtist out there! Her videos are relaxing and send you tickled up to sleep!

Now the very first time I came across ASMR as such was through YouTube astrologer Karen Lustrup who had recorded a short relaxation video back in 2014, aimed at lulling insomnia sufferers to sleep. I realised straight away that I had indeed experienced ASMR before, for many years but had no idea this had been recognised and identified under some name.

Tyndall Figures, Lake Hoare, from "Gondwana" (2012), photography by Diane Tuft

Actually as a way of relaxing in the evening and basically fall asleep I find certain astrology channels to be conducive to this state of relaxation with all the tingling effects that go with it. Therefore sometimes astrology as a topic becomes secondary to me, if all I seek is a little respite that sends me to Nod.

Anything soft, delicate or muffled may trigger ASMR.

Here is a non-exhaustive list of ASMR triggers. First and foremost, anything soft, delicate or muffled is a potential trigger:

• Sound triggers: light breeze rustling tree leaves ― windcharms, the harp, bells and other twinkling sounds ― rain drizzle, gently tapping against a window pane or a car roof, ocean waves ― crackling woodfire, flickering candle ― twigs cracking underfoot in the woods ― certain TV programmes (cookery, make-up, wildlife, gardening, cultural visits to châteaux and art museums) and this depends entirely upon the programme and the personality of the presenters, their demeanour (poised and relaxed, thus no Megyn Kelly material!) and voice (calm, serene, soft, slow, empathetic and mellifluous) ― cool jazz music, slow, moody classical music, ambient electronica ― light office environment (typing, rustling paper, muffled sounds, humdrum of printers, phones and other electrical equipment) ― guided meditation, yoga ― whispered conversations ― (un-)wrapping gifts and sweets, etc.

• Sight triggers: slow, meticulous, detail craft work (knitting, embroidery, dress-making, drawing, painting, calligraphy, jewellery-making, ikebana, bouquet-making), baking, clothes ironing, etc.

• Smell triggers: perfumery/ beauty counters in department stores, aromatherapy (essential oils, depending upon personal preferences and susceptibility) ― percolating coffee, frothing up cappuccino, home-baked cake straight out of the oven, etc.

• Touch triggers: light warm breeze ― gentle beauty and wellness treatments (facials, head and body massage, jacuzzi/ bubble bath) and hairdressing ― soft materials (silk, sateen, lace, fur, feathers) ― touch (caress, stroke, tickle), etc.

Oftentimes a combination of triggers work out the ASMR. Not everyone is aware that they experience ASMR, yet if they do, might dismiss it. Approach the subject with caution with your grandma or your boss: you might get a funny look or two!

Five Mantras to Live Your Life By

Life is a bed of roses: beautiful and spiky, delightful and prickly. It throws fireballs at us and teaches us lessons along the way. Up to us to receive the teaching as a learning, or else, repeat mistakes and errors of judgement and go down the wrong path, sabotaging chances. However eventually most of us will mature and develop wisdom through the proverbial school of life (a.k.a. life experience) or school of hard knocks - when life rocks the boat senseless and tests you hard.

Wisdom makes life and lifestages easier to handle and puts things into perspective thanks to the tools we develop (thought process, repartee, extrapolation, problem solving etc.), and the methods we learn - by hook or by crook - on how to deal with new situations, setbacks and adversity under all their manifestations: stress, fear, loss, grief, pain, conflict, etc.

Along the years, I've got into a habit of collating quotes and other pearls of wisdom which resonate with me most, into a Word document. Whenever I feel a little low and in search of a boost or a little guidance - or just for the pleasure of words themselves - I open the file and reach out for them.

My Pinterest board, Unrequited ♥ Love, is an extension of that file, as a collection of quotes and metaphors from prominent artists, authors, thinkers, politicians, as well as from personalities away from the public eye. You may want to refer to my board for further inspo.

Right now, check out my five steadies for a little positive reinforcement

An Afternoon at the Beach and Tickle's Health Check

A couple of days ago Tickle and I went down to our local beach. It was nice to resume that sweet habit that we had been neglecting over Autumn and the Winter months. We walked down the main road and then obliqued through the back lanes, past a cluster of houses, and then embraced the lowland and the marshes, checking the wildlife as we strolled along, an eye to the right where just above the lush pasture line, the blue of the sky meets up in conversation with the blue of the sea and both shimmer and mesmerize.

We took that little curved lane that gently and whimsically leads us to the beach, past myrtle bushes and other hedgerow delights. And then the path opened up to the shoreline, cluttered with heaps of dried up Posidonia oceanica, otherwise known as Neptune Grass or Mediterranean Tapeweed, a seagrass endemic to the Mediterranean sea whose clusters form dense meadows across sandy seabeds (at depths of typically 1–35m, i.e. 3.3–114.9ft). The grass sheds its ribbon-like foliage either naturally or during storms, that ends up shored up onto beaches into compact cushion-like stratae, resulting into heaps of brown grass deposits that we call 'banquettes'. Those might look disgraceful once piled up there on the sand but think what they look like under the sea when they are still attached to their clump, dancing to the current like a mermaid's mane hiding in its strands a rich sea life and oxygenating the water at the same time!

Tickle & Posidonia oceanica

I sat on the beach and Tickle laid down by my feet. And there we were, soaking up the views and the sunshine. My little companion is taking life in a mellower stride these days but it never takes long for the boisterous JRT natural instincts to spring up to the surface! Notwithstanding age is catching up with him somewhat. Although I will never know for sure his exact age, having rescued him as a young dog from the pound back in August 2006, I can only assume that he may be 10 and a half years old, maybe 11.

With this in mind, I took him to the vet's two months ago in order for him to undergo a full health check. In his case, he fell under the Senior Dog Health Check. He was weighed (just under 10kg, approx. 20lbs, which is ideal for a JRT), had a general inspection of his body, and a blood test. The vet was satisfied with the fact that Tickle had been on a veg-rich diet all of his life, which is now becoming more significant as he's reaching his golden years. Then off for a little dental clean: his teeth had a scale and polish under light IV sedation in order to remove built-up tartar which - if left unremoved - will bring a variety of ailments. The result was impressive as Tickle came out with Hollywood gleaming white teeth!

A scratchy nose?

Then the mutt had an echography to check his internal organs and, thank God, he passed with flying colours! All in all, he was given the all-clear except for one (currently minor) health concern: early-stages cataract. This has been creeping up on his eyes for the last 4 months, I believe. The condition affects most dogs as they age and leads to blindness if left untreated. I had noticed a very faint very localised clouding towards the centre of his lenses but this isn't noticeable unless you are actually looking for it, and there it was confirmed to me by the vet. She prescribed an Omega 3-rich fish oil treatment combined to an amino acid food supplement that both claim to slow down the onset of cataract and will keep my little friend comfortable. Eventually his eyesight will get affected to the point that eye surgery may have to be considered, as the only viable treatment to reverse cataract. It is a common practice nowadays with excellent results - if undertaken by a competent vet surgeon. Mine doesn't carry out eye operations but she would be happy to refer Tickle, should we wish to go ahead with the operation.

If you are a pet owner, I would recommend regular pet health checks, especially as regards life stages. In any case, once your pet gets to a certain age, I would insist you have them undergo a thorough health check and then keep up with bi-annual visits at the very least, or as per the vet's recommendations. In our case, we'll be back at the vet's in 4 months from now for a follow-up. In the meantime, we'll keep on enjoying the little pleasures of life, and our walks down the beach are definitely one of them!

Further Reading on Senior Dog Health:

• 6 Special Considerations for Older Pets by Dr. Karen Becker
• Causes and Treatments of Dog Cataracts by ibid.
• Jack Russell Hereditary Health and Average Longevity by Pets4Homes 

The Art of Slow Blogging

Recently I came across an interesting and thought-provoking post by Kate O'Sullivan @ A Playful Day that mused over the Art of Slow Blogging. The topic instantly resonated with me... and my blogging style which happens to bear a close resemblance to the art form. Thus it was both flattering and encouraging for me to find out that the methodology - Movement even! - had been acknowledged by insiders within the blogging community!

I started blogging over six years ago - in earnest. But I had started the journey a few weeks prior, writing a dozen posts in advance, all collated together in a Word document. I published my posts at the rate of one a day. Meanwhile I knew I should be pacing myself but in those early weeks, blogging fever had taken over me! I never ran out of ideas or material or steam. Then just before Christmas 2009, I changed lives and I moved countries, and blogging had to take a back seat for a while. Yet I missed blogging so bad, I pined for it! When I finally managed to settle into a routine a few months later, I resumed the blogging, after writing a series of ready-to-be-published articles behind the scenes. I knew nonetheless that the daily post formula would not be a viable option.

Besides I had high standards and high expectations of myself, and I wanted blogging to remain an enjoyable experience - keep the flame alive - not having it turned into a chore. My priority was for content quality to improve consistently, presentation to be on a par with professional blogs out there, and topics to be more and more daring. And to me, aside from a few notable exceptions, those bloggers who deliver daily tend after a while to run out of creative steam, or get too comfortable and start cutting corners, getting sloppy, giving the finer details the shoulder, and discussing the same topic over and over, under a different title, and ripped off Pinterest pictures, for the sake of the daily publish. Or turn the daily post into the daily mall, with a shopping list and a wish list to boot that link to a list of affiliates that kerchings blogging out! The Art of Blogging, in all its capital letter glory, falls off the wayside. All you get is a series of images, and a bit of lame text that painfully stretches the distance from side bar to side bar, flashing with retail links. This leaves us readers in search of 'substance' questioning our loyalty to material that is not worth our while (anymore).

My prerogative has always been to keep my integrity of spirit and keep writing from the heart, and alongside this, develop further as a writer, and eventually move towards a non-fiction book project. In the meantime, as a blogger I choose to pace myself in order to have the time that helps me deliver quality. Slow does it for me. But careful, slow is not lazy! It might be so in relation to certain bloggers, but those won't last the distance. The slow I am on about, you need to allegorically associate it to the Slow Food Movement, that rediscovers the traditional way of cooking honest, simple food and sharing it in a convivial, nourishing and paced fashion. Slow is crucial to a stew or a fine cheese or a good wine. The produce takes a little longer in the making, it needs that little extra time and loving care in order to come together and mature and deliver taste. Good things come to those (readers) who wait and to those (bloggers) who take their time to write them. This creates a synergy.

Forget about the stats. I might not be writing a post a day, but rest assured that every single one of them is no casual affair. It takes me a fair amount of time to put together. Some posts require me to push the envelope further as they involve research that may span weeks. But in every case, I enjoy the process and I can safely say without sounding pretentious that all of my posts convey a message, provide food for thought, and give lifestyle that little edge of attitude. This, to me, is the recipe for a blog to last the distance - and what Slow Blogging is/ should be about.

Thanks from the bottom of my heart for reading and appreciating my blog! This means a lot to me.

High standard & high expectations meet slow blogging for this post about #themakersyear via @MirabelleDesign https://t.co/FhJbW5wS5p

— A Playful Day (@aplayfulday) March 9, 2016

@MirabelleDesign Slow blogging, akin to slow food movement. I agree wholeheartedly! @aplayfulday

— Mrs M (@meg_e_r) March 9, 2016

Foraging for Wild Asparagus

Wild asparagus season is in full swing in Corsica right now, and a demonstration of how giving and generous nature is to man, in all of our taking for granted of it. I had spotted a few asparagus stems around the village, tentatively tempting me to indulge in a little culinary adventure.

Fresh asparagus always gets me excited for two reasons. It heralds Spring (two weeks from now!), and is an indulgent delicacy (verging on luxury) that gracefully eases us out of the stodgy Winter veg dishes. Unlike its cultivated counterpart, wild asparagus is thin and lean! Long stems (whose tips are for picking) that delicately sway to the breeze in a semi-shaded, well-drained environment. I find them scattered at the feet of old olive trees.

Yesterday morning, with little Tickle in tow, and 'armed' with a paring knife, small gratin dish and camera, I went pottering about my immediate surroundings, on the hunt for wild asparagus. Oh, I did get distracted on the way there and back by those other tangible signs of Spring, purple daisy-like ground flowers that go by the name of Anemone stellata.

Then I spotted what looked like Morels. However not being a mycologist and not being able to ascertain whether those morels were safe and edible - or toxic - I resisted the temptation of picking them! Folks, the 'Better safe than sorry' idiom befits wild mushroom foraging to a cap, especially if you are no specialist!

Creamy Pasta Served with Wild Asparagus

Back home, I threw together a quick and easy lunch out of leftover plain pasta, simply plunged in boiling water and a dash of olive oil for a couple of minutes, then tossed in double cream, to which were added a small tin of sliced button mushrooms (my safe option to those unacquainted wild varieties out there!), the juice of half a lemon from Nice (+ a sprinkle of grated peel), salt, pepper and chopped chives. In a separate pan, I blanched the asparagus tips for five minutes, drained them and scattered them over the plated pasta. It was an ordinary meal with a little extra thrown into it, thanks to the fragrant, natural and organic asparagus that had been picked from the wild!

(pict source)

Blogposts with Attitude #BWA - February 2016

If you missed LBM's #BWA January feature, you need to head over and check it, as you can expect attitude in spades, with flowers and grace! #BWA is back this month - and hush! - the feature might well turn into a fixture! February explored boldness under its many guises: bold design, bold decisions, and bold reversals in fortune.

So, here we go, in chronological order, my five favourite posts this month. Enjoy the read and feel free to add on to the list: -


No.1: Reopening London's Mail Rail by The Conversation

The London Post Office Railway, a.k.a. The London Mail Rail, is one fascinating feat of engineering which - as a cog in the wheel of Britain's bold, efficient and fearless industrial legacy - operated sleek, fast, automated, driverless underground train services, over a 75-year period, facilitating business right into the core of London's sorting offices and two of its train stations, along the Paddington-Whitechapel corridor, dodging ground level delays and traffic jams, tucked out of customer sight and right at the front of the mind of the postal services. At its peak, it transited no less than 4 million letters a day! As with what happens with the idiosyncrasies of post-industrial - erm - industry, such a bold innovation would have to be scrapped eventually. Royal Mail closed the operation down in 2003, in line with its on-going streamlining of operations and year-on-year drop in mail volumes. And as with cogs in the wheels that once drove our industry, they end up either getting scrapped altogether or as a museum display - which is exactly what is to happen to London Mail Rail. Check The Postal Museum's preview on the matter. If you prefer your preview on the raw side - understand down and dirty - check the documented footage direct from the frontline by Place Hacking (back in 2011).

The iPhone S (shown in Rose Gold)

No.2: A Message to Our Customers by Apple

If there is one brand that still oozes Silicon Valley free spirit, then Apple is it. And when we thought it had met its demise with Steve Jobs' passing and the company's multi-million-dollar market share in the mobile phone industry would sell out its credibility as an edgy brand, it proved otherwise. Now Apple CEO, Tim Cook, has taken it one unprecedented step further, in reaction to the US government's request to be able to access customer data, via a master key of sorts, a 'backdoor' to the iOS (iPhone operating system). Apple boldly refused to execute the command, and clearly laid out the reasons for encrypting customer data. You can only admire a company for refusing to compromise its core values in terms of privacy laws and digital security, while still abiding to the American Constitution, yet refusing to be part of the police state that the government is building, one bit of code at a time. Apple, you stand well out there in the wake of America's founding fathers for whom liberty was a right, not an option, and I hold you in high esteem!

No.3 Dogs Run Over, Cats Thrown in the Trash: Victims of 'No-Kill' Policies by PETA

'No Kill' or not 'No Kill'? That is the question raised by this article, when shelters have ceased to be shelters and ceased to welcome every animal in need, because they no longer operate an open-door policy, for whatever reason, genuine or otherwise: over-capacity, overcrowding, long waiting lists, management difficulties, selection criteria, or simply to keep turnover low, 'make it look good' and secure further fundings. As always, the unwanted, abandonned pets are the ones left to suffer and pay the ultimate price of neglect and cruelty. PETA notes that “No-kill” policies don’t prevent animals from dying. They simply leave animals to die elsewhere—and often miserably." The solution is not in No Kill, it lays in educating people about responsible pet ownership, and adhere to a spay-and-neuter programme.

A life of tears on Necton Hall Pig Farm, Norfolk, England!

No.4 My Face Off Challenge: Filming in a Typical British Pig Farm by Juliet Gellatley @ Viva!

Viva! Founder and Director Juliet Gellatley braved the night and the inhospitality of her surroundings. She pushed the door of an ordinary British pig farm (Necton Hall Pig Farm, Norfolk) to show us what is really going on behind closed doors and beyond the myth of happy husbandry. She unveiled to us an ordinary tale of daily cruelty, ordinary in its commonplace, ordinary due to consumer love for meat, and a finished packaged up product that desensitises them from the reality of a once-living animal, all flesh and bones and sentience, behind that lump of meat surrendered to carnivorous appetites. And the cruelty on the farm leads on to the antechamber of the abattoir where horror awaits. The tragedy of the farm animal happens everywhere in the world where animals are traded commodities. In fact, human rapport with animals is short of humane, and may be summarised by The War against Animals by Dinesh Joseph Wadiwel, Lecturer in Human Rights and Socio-Legal Studies at The University of Sydney. The tragedy is more acutely emphasised under the industrial farming model (whereby 10 million pigs are slaughtered in the UK each year!), where an animal is a living product with a price tag on its head. Viva!'s shock tactics are sure to pull on the heartstrings of the blissfully ignorant meat eaters out there. Some of them will end up joining our vegetarian ranks, while the rest will turn a blind eye and remain complicit of the pain on their plates. Years ago, thanks to organisations like Viva! I took the decision to stop eating meat. Simple question for you: if you truly love animals, why would you want to eat them? Hone that thought before you reach out for that BLT!

No.5 Oscar-Nominated Film Forces Pakistan to Confront 'Honour Killings' by The Telegraph

It is easy for a young Western woman to take for granted that general sense of freedom that comes with the territory, in terms of her choices around higher education, employment, fashion, travel, and love relationships. Our society is tolerant of our choices and orientations, and today's parents have taken it in their strides with greater ease than their elders. The permissiveness of the West stands out from the die-hard traditions and customs of patriarchal cultures from Africa, the Indian sub-continent and Southern Asia, where girls and young women have their choices taken away from them by strong family pressure for them to conform to cultural legacy, which includes forced mariages. If they do not abide, they are not only disgraced by their families, but also run the risk of losing their lives. Oscar-nominated documentary A Girl in the River: The Price of Forgiveness by Pakistani filmmaker Sharmeen Obaid-Chinoy relates the fate of 19-year-old Saba Qaiser, in a poignant true story of love and (t)reason. Every year, more than a thousand girls and young women are the victims of religiously-motivated honour killings in Pakistan alone!

No Monkeying Around the Year of the Monkey!

PETA UK emailed me a bulletin last week that highlights the irony of 2016 as The Year of the Monkey in the Chinese Astrological Calendar. This is no reason for celebration because the assumption that monkeys will be more respected this year is only... an assumption.

Female macaque and her baby. Photography by Jo-Anne McArthur, from her book We Animals.

As far as honouring our primate friends, take a closer look. Irrespective of the Chinese New Year, monkeys will be disrespected every step of the way. Expect them to pay for their ultimate 'sin' of being the closest representative within the animal kingdom to our gene pool. For sure, monkeys will look fine and dandy (but will they be feeling this way?), paraded around in ceremonial attire and fancy finery in celebration of the Chinese New Year, but this is as far as lauding the monkey will go.

This year, like every year, monkeys will still end up as delicacies on the tables of the Far East, or feed the sordid domestic and commercial pet trade across the globe, or end up as tasteless trophies on some hunter's wall. But the Gallery of Shame doesn't end there. They will still be snatched off the wild in paradisiacal hotspots like Mauritius and stowed away in sinister breeding farms before being lucratively traded like mere commodities to the notorious cages of Primate Products, Inc., and on to the death labs of the National Institutes of Health (USA) and the unsuspected science departments of seemingly 'friendly' universities out there.

Injured macaque. Photography by Jo-Anne McArthur, ibid.

This year, like every year, monkeys will still be tampered with, tested upon, and submitted to the unspeakable: the immoral, unethical and utterly dispensable cruelty of vivisection: animal experimentation that gives a bad name to science and those who make a living out of it, in their despicable justification that pain to animal is gain to science, and to humanity at large, and all performed in the name of medical advancement and clinical progress and the beautification process of our made-up environments and any item thereof that demands a little animal intervention.

I could keep on painting a dark picture of monkey life in 2016. Yet by taking action - rather than turning a blind eye and looking away from these disturbing vignettes - will we be able to lift off the darkness that shrouds monkey life. There are good people out there. Individuals like you and me, ordinary folks, unsung heroes who lead decent lives and try their bit to make this crazy world a tad more sane and humane! There are high-profile defenders of the noble animal cause, and those who have specifically dedicated their lives to primates, like Dr. Jane Goodall and Dr. Biruté Mary Galdikas, while some like Dian Fossey tragically paid with their lives the price for their dedication! There are photographers like Jo-Anne McArthur who through her compelling project We Animals has made it her goal to document what is really going on out of sight, out of mind, behind close doors, and beyond official PR.

Scared macaque. Photography by Jo-Anne McArthur, ibid.

It is a moral duty of mine to expose the flip sides, so that you do not get yourself fooled. What you are shown and told by the (mainstream) media and the globalist political agenda, do not take at face value! Go scratch the surface, do a little dig and see for yourself and think about it and make up an opinion that is yours. Meanwhile the Year of the Monkey will truly be a cause for celebration for me the moment monkeys are restored their dignity by those who stole it from them in the first place: their cousins, We Humans.

Female macaque with her young. Photography by Jo-Anne McArthur, ibid.

P.S: All photography in this article by Jo-Anne McArthur, taken at a Macaque Breeding Farm in Laos. Her awesome book We Animals - which I recommend you purchase - features arresting text and photography that will shake you to the core!

P.P.S: Act your bit now by signing those two important petitions: (1) Cruelty Free International's petition to urge Mauritius to stop exporting its monkeys to the USA and Europe for lab experiments! (2) Dr Ruth A. Decker's petition to University of Wisconsin against the unethical torture and killing of baby monkeys!

Inspire Aspire - Morning Defrag

Morning Defrag - as I call it - might sound like Morning Decaf but don't get yourselves deluded! Morning Defrag is a highly-energised caffeinated powerhouse that sets you on your working day focused and ready. It is all about self-organisation. All these years in England, I used it instinctively and it grounded me. Then I recognised the pattern and channelled it and understood how it took me from a state of morning haggard hazard to morning calm. This is a routine you need to incorporate into your life if your bed-to-work journey is hectic and chaotic.

A Date with Fate 2 by Jack Vettriano

I will state emphatically that I am NO morning person. The thought of getting up early frazzles me. So imagine how difficult and painful it was for me to get up at the crack of dawn for a work start at 6:30am or 7:00am! I had to get myself organised. Apart from those specific work assignments, my working day usually started later, some time between 8:00am and 9:00am, depending on the workplace.

There was nothing left for improvisation in my morning. I got up an hour before due to leave, so everything had to be timed, and divided into half an hour for getting ready and half an hour for breakfast. That gave me manageable time and this was a great help to me! Be warned that skipping breakfast in order to have extra time in bed is a false economy; it will burn you out come mid-morning because you will be running on empty!

It all started off with a good night's sleep. Then as soon as the alarm went off, I got up. No snooze buttons! Straight to shower, then dressed up. Down for a good hearty breakfast of hot chocolate and muesli (mixed together, yep!), followed by a glass of fruit juice, sat down at the table, to set me off for the long day ahead. I'd then prepare my lunchbox. If I wasn't running late, I took my doggie out for a quick walk round the block, or popped a few items in the washer, or whatever quick household task I could handle. The make-up routine, I have to say, was stripped down to the bare minimum. So forget the Kardashian contouring!

'Reade St Shadows', oil on linen by Stephen Magsig (2015)

Then I would leave, always aiming for that 5-10 minutes leeway prior to my absolute cut-off time of leaving the house. Because commuting is the biggest chance you're taking every single day, timewise. You have a rough idea of how long it is supposed to take, but then traffic jams, roadworks, accidents and other delays will set you back big time and aggravate your day!

I would take no chances on the road. That side street that looks like a shortcut is a bad idea to investigate impromptu on one's way to work! Investigate the feasibility of those alternative travel routes on a day off.

Depending on how I was feeling that day, I would either have the radio on (BBC Radio 1 in my case), or some pre-recorded music tracks that I liked, just to keep my mind off the stress of driving. Sometimes I was just content with the sound off. While stuck in traffic (inevitable in North West England!), I would - while paying attention to the road - get myself mentally prepared for the whole day ahead.

'47 Greene St', oil on linen by Stephen Magsig (2015)

I'd approach that quite methodically, yet without forcing my thoughts out. Usually I would start off with thinking about personal/ housekeeping/ family matters that I needed to address or deal with that very day or later in the week, and often I would find myself in a propitious frame of mind: clear-headed, sharp, spot on and business-like efficient at that particular time of day, and solutions would present themselves to me without trying too hard.

And from there my thoughts would drift towards work, important things to do that day, and I would prioritise them in my head. I would break the tasks down, and by doing so and approaching them from outside the workplace, I would have the focus, the perspective, the insight, the light bulb moment that might not have been that clear-cut at work - even if it were staring me in the face!

It became clear to me that my brain was reorganising jumbled up information and making sense of it into its next stage as follow-ups, conclusions, solutions and calls to action. My brain was like a computer being defragmented, rearranging data in a more workable way.

By the time I got to work, after my one hour commute or so, I would be raring for action, my ideas organised, solutions to the ready, new avenues to explore, reminders flashing in my head, and there was no stopping me. And as much as my long daily commute never was a piece of enjoyment in itself, I wonder whether I would have felt that prepared for work, should my commute had been short! Think this one over and praise the long journeys to work that take you to the roads less travelled... of the mind!