Refugee Week

 This week is Refugee Week. 

I was online looking for something I’d written in The Times and instead of finding it, I came across a piece I’d written some time ago for national Quakers about my concern for refugees. I thought you might like to read it. 

Follow this link:

https://www.quaker.org.uk/action/our-stories/bridges-not-walls

And here are a few photos from our Refugee Hospitality Days over the years …I can’t show you our guests for privacy reasons. And that’s such a shame, because it’s the people and the enjoyment and the beaming smiles that are the point of it all.

Two text messages from the early days when we invited survivors of human trafficking.

David Hockney

 

“David was an inspiration to artists and an evangelist for joy who gave the gift of his art to a world that really needs more not less of him right now.”

Tacita Dean, artist 

She speaks for me. He was an inspiration. I loved his colour, his continual exploration and I loved his accessibility, his lack of arty-fartyness, his humour, his dress sense, and his joy. And I appreciated the fact that he made painting landscapes, trees and flowers cool. He painted what he loved. 

I shall always remember his 2012 exhibition A Bigger Splash, which I went to, 8 years before I started painting myself, and which even features in one of my books - Plotting for Grown-ups.

My poster, sadly faded now




My souvenir carrier bag, not faded…

During lockdown, his Normandy Spring iPad paintings brought me huge joy, as well as inspiration. Het went to the exhibition in London and sent me the book. Thank you, Het!

Thank you, David.

Snaps

 While Dave has had constant heavy rain and even hail this week, we had another lovely day yesterday. Cold and sunny but warm enough out of the wind to enjoy the beach. This time we had a small one almost to ourselves. It was hot out of the wind but when I got to the sea the air was too cold to do anything but paddle. 

Photo by Liz

Channelling my Gran again, knitting socks. 
Photo by Liz

Yesterday’s beach below. Note the one sock, to cover a sunburned foot from the day before. 

Photo by Liz

I need to tell you that every day but one we have walked for at least half an hour (but usually an hour) to get to whatever beach we were going to. 

 

And then walked back.

We didn’t just drive there and flop.  We walked there and collapsed.

After the beach yesterday we called in at our favourite tiny plant place and cafe, where they bring your tea and scone to you in the garden.

And after that I wanted to see the lovely flowery path again, 

but the rangers had got there before me. 

Was it necessary to be quite so brutal?  Hey ho.

Today is rainy so we’re off to St David’s.

Holiday snaps

 More holiday snaps. I’m feeling too lazy/relaxed to write.

Stackpole Estate on Sunday…

An inlet full of flowering lilies 

The day began on Monday with Liz taking a shine to a snail in the patio doors and trying to get a picture of it with the moon behind.

Then we went to Whitesands Bay, where the sun was bright and the wind was cold and we had the authentic British seaside experience:

Can you spot our windbreak encampment?

I sent Dave the photo above and he said “Just the faintest touch of Death in Venice about that.” 

We walked from the cottage to the harbour for tea

And tried a new footpath home

But after another beautiful fairytale trek through grasses and red campion and hemlock as tall as us

we came to a stile and met some frisky young cattle who thought we were interesting, so turned back and came home our normal route.

Today it’s sunny and cold again so we’re going to try to find a sheltered beach.

Picture postcard

 Liz and I are staying in a cottage in Pembrokeshire, half a mile from the coastal path. It’s perfect for us - quiet, two bedrooms, two comfy sofas, good shower and a low tech kitchen. (I don’t want to be going on holiday and having to spend half a day working out how to control the cooker.)

The weather is iffy, but yesterday we had two great walks…one on the coastal path

Porthgain harbour

Liz looking for a swallow’s nest

Photo by Liz

And a later walk along an ancient fairytale bridle path. Photographs can’t convey the quiet, the fecundity of the red campions, the ancient feel of the place.

Photo by Liz

Photo by Liz

I’ll keep you posted.