Jane Brocket's Blog, page 25

(don't) say it with flowers

[arrangement by Living Flowers]

My Mum has been in hospital for nearly three weeks and she is being very well looked after. It's made me thankful all over again that we have the NHS, and reaffirmed my belief that millions of pounds spent on various non-urgent and 'vanity' government projects would be better spent on our over-stretched health service (I said so on the radio at the time of the Olympics).

If I am allowed one little criticism, though, it's that flowers are very frowned upon in the general wards. Flowers provide some of the few bright moments of being in hospital - the joy of receiving them, the pleasure of looking at them - but nowadays there is a lot of fuss and tutting and saying the water poses an infection risk (although Mum has no intention of drinking it...). I took a bunch of daffodils in on my most recent visit, and you'd think I'd tried to smuggle in a bottle of brandy or packet of cigarettes or a pet or something. My Mum loves flowers, and eventually we were allowed a jam jar for a few stems to brighten up her bedside table. (The rest went home with my wonderful sister, Kate.)

It seems you can say whatever you like in a hospital on a mobile phone (remember when they were totally banned?), but you can't say anything with flowers. 

reading

 

Reading Ethel Leontine Gabain (1883-1950).

In the collection of Wolverhampton Art Gallery. Currently not on display.

Reading Pile Jane Brocket (contemp.).

Private collection. Currently on display.

crocus time

[Henry Perry, 1935]

[Anna Zinkeisen, 1934]

[Henry Perry, 1931]

[David Wilson, 1926]

'Crocus Time' may have been a big deal in London parks in the 1920s and 1930s, but these days it's a much bigger deal in the north and the midlands where just now there is an explosion of colour (in the south it's all daffodils). I hadn't quite realised just how committed to crocuses the park and municipal gardeners are in the north; there are great carpets of gold, lilac, purple and white on roundabouts, next to roads, in parks, under trees, and on patches and banks of grass. They have made me decide to plant lots of sturdy, fat, brilliant Dutch crocuses next year - no messing with delicate little species crocus which don't give the same visual impact - to create my own crocus corner.

(The London Transport Museum has a fantastic exhibition of posters. I do wish they hadn't decided to charge £15 to get in saying it's a twelve-month ticket, when they know full well you won't be going back often, especially if you are a non-London visitor.)

in case you were wondering

...if, judging from yesterday's post, Stockport has had a mega, multi-million pound makeover since its inclusion in Crap Towns (2003). The answer is no. (And a judicious selection of photos.)

stockport re-revisited

[C19 indoor market]

[entrance to jewellers - now a pub]

 

[1960s Co-op facade]

[Park Street]

I'm not able to spend time dealing with email at the moment and apologise to the many who have not received a thank you for a kind/interesting/enthusiastic email, so I am saying thank you here. My compass has swung round to face north for a while as I deal with family stuff.

crazy

[my old crazy patchwork tea cosy]

I was defeated by heavy sleet and snow on my journey north this morning, and had to turn back and come home. It wasn't even as though I was on high ground or in Scotland or Scandinavia or somewhere - just the M40 in Oxfordshire.

i've got my weekend cut(ting) out

Building a quilt around several designs from this brilliant collection . 

growing disappointment

I really wanted this to be so much better than it is. Paintings apart (and there are a few good ones), it looks like a smart school project on the history of the cut flower industry with a few photos pinned onto display boards. 

growing excitement

Tulip excitement is mounting as more stems appear every day, shooting up from the hidden bulbs.

[My day had just been brightened by an email from Pauline and by the wonderful shade card blankets she and her mother have made.]

desirable residence

House on Bugle Street.

Where I would like to live in Southampton.

Wyndham Court, a 1960s concrete Brutalist 'masterpiece'.

Where I would not like to live in Southampton.

I can only think that the architects had a complete disregard, contempt even, for people who want to call where they live 'home'. 

(Owen Hatherley is more forgiving.)