I am moved by Lady Percy 's expression of love. CLICK HERE - see if you agree.
Otherwise my novels, short stories, verse, family, music, memories, vulgar interests, detestations,
responses, apologies. I hold posts to 300 words* having found less is better than more.
I re-comment on comments and re-re-re-comment on re-re-comments.
* One exception: short stories.

Wednesday, 26 November 2014

Thy greater creation

 Creativity at Robinson Towers is not limited to novels based on woman worship. There are others strands, more inventive, more titillating, more useful. VR is less demonstrative but she gets things done.

Last night she produced a casserole, black with plenitude No name, of course, for she rejects the persiflage of gustation. I forked it in, my chin close to the plate; to waste a scrap would have been a Robinsonian form of blasphemy.

On other occasions, cakes. Especially seed cake, that most adult of flavours, light years away from chocolate-smeared bravado that duller palates rave about.

VR reads hugely (220 titles a year) and summarises each experience in a long long alphabetical list. The first three entries:

Author: Achebe, C. Title: Things fall apart. Date finished: Jun 27 2007. Rating (out of 10): 7.00    Plot: Europeans come to tribal Nigeria. Life of one man and family in lake.
Author: Ackroyd, P. Title: Clerkenwell talkes. Date finished: Mar 10 2005. Plot:  Mystery during deposement of Richard II. Cant. Tales char's. Not sure what was done, by who. Light
Author: Adams, J. Title: Angel eyes. Date finished: Jan 17 2005. Plot: Mystery drugs, disfigured ex-cop. Ghosts. Computers.

Like the other sage, living in Brittany, VR knits. Grandson Zach attends a CofE school and the above will be his Christmas gift to his educators.

".... success tended to be the norm. Marking it wasn’t necessary. But I must mark it now. I’m proud of you. And I…” The sentence tailed off.

Her mother’s eyes shone. Clare could never recall such emotion. Conceivably that final sentence held a confession of love which Mrs Morgan was unable to admit. But it didn’t matter, the admission was tangible. They embraced awkwardly. Through lack of practice, Clare imagined.


Stella said...

The Reading Granny has done a super job of the nativity. I especially like the smiles on the sheep. Someone is going to treasure this gift for ever more. It is nice that you both have ways to keep yourselves amused and sharp.

Lucy said...

I have just spent an almost, but not really, unconscionable time gazing in rapt delight at the knitted nativity, its every detail perfect. How can two single stitches in black yarn for the eyes can convey such joyful wonder in all the faces? And the sheep looking at the gift of gold as if it might contain something edible! I only wish she'd done a whole choir of angels and a camel and some oxen and a silly poor ass to boot, but accept that would have probably cut into too much reading time.

And of course you know how I concur about seed cake, and now you'll be able to see the odd seeds stuck between your teeth before embarrassing yourself.

Roderick Robinson said...

Stella: We may have to modify the phrase Reading Granny. Reading is also a very dull town in Berkshire; VR is very proud to have been born in Folkestone, Kent.

I often wonder if somewhat demure ladies born in Thunder Bay feel it necessary to conceal the fact. I've always thought the town name had scatological associations. Perhaps it has and I stand innocent of being charged a sarky Brit.

Lucy: Not given, as you know, to hyperbole VR admits that the nativity involved "experienced" knitting. Thus your applause is doubly welcome. What wasn't welcome was the revelation that detail on both the gold and the urn had to be knitted in, not embroidered afterwards, if that is the correct term.