Cafes

I’m pleased to discover that one of our familiar cafes in Kirkcudbright has re-opened. I think it closed last year and the business was up for sale. It’s under new ownership with a new name and I look forward to visiting on our next time there. We know all the cafes in Kirkcudbright and Castle Douglas, some better than others. We have lunch out most days when we are there, or coffee and cake. Less often at home, but it’s nice when we do venture out.

On my birthday, a few years ago, we were having lunch in the Ashton Pavilion café in St. Anne’s. Someone began to play the grand piano, very accomplished and lovely to listen to as one tune seamlessly flowed into another. ‘Nights in White Satin’, perfectly played, filled me with emotion and reminded me of the time years earlier, when having lunch at the Waldorf Astoria in New York, a small group of us were entertained by Michel Legrand running through his playlist in preparation for the evening. He didn’t play ‘Nights’, but the feeling was the same. Amazing talent.

There’s a fabulous café at the Lowry in Salford. The gallery and theatre, not the hotel, though it might have one. My husband and I had lunch there after a pilgrimage to the paintings, where I can gaze at Lowry’s work and cry and sigh as I love them so much. It was a special day. We spent the afternoon in Weatherfield on a Coronation Street tour, where I cried and sighed again because I love it so much. I would have liked afternoon tea at Roy’s Rolls, but sadly, the door was locked and even more sad, it wasn’t real, just a street frontage. It would be fabulous to be an extra in Roy’s café. I would sit quietly reading, fully absorbed in the book, newspaper or whatever, ignoring everything and everyone around me. Maybe someone will let me.

Edward Hopper’s painting, ‘Nighthawks’ appeals to me. The subject is an American diner late at night, not quite a café, but something about it intrigues me enough to want to be there. The characters look glum, even stern, like there’s something awkward going on. Ok, I’m nosey.

Park’s Art Deco Café at Stanley Park is open after the winter break and we have just about completed our Rushton & Co. style painting and decorating at home. I think we’ve earned a lunch out.

My Haiku poem,

When in Kirkcudbright
There’s a nice, new café
To add to our list.

Lunch in the Lowry,
Spellbound in the galleries,
We should go again.

I went to New York,
The Waldorf Astoria.
Lucky, little me!

I’ll sit silently
When I’m an extra
On Coronation Street.

Let’s go to the park.
We’ve finished decorating,
The café is open.

PMW 2026

Thanks for reading, Pam x

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Sestina - The Secret

After dealing with the bindweed on the buddleia and nursing the contents of my over-full planters towards flowering, it has been lovely to sit out in the sunshine enjoying what passes for a garden. This sitting out time has been spent wisely, refreshing my memory on the discipline of the Sestina poetic form. Years have passed since my last (forced) encounter and you’d be correct to think that this is not my favourite. Anyway, rising to the challenge, I managed to get the rusty workings of my brain pointing in the right direction for long enough to compose something. I don’t know where the subject came from apart from the dark side of my imagination, iambic pentameter a bit hit and miss, but I hope it meets the criteria.

“A sestina is a poem written using a very specific, complex form. The form is French, and the poem includes six stanzas of six lines each, followed by a three line stanza at the end. Each stanza repeats the end words of the first stanza, not in the same order but in a strict formation.” See illustration.

Here is my sestina.

The Secret

After the passing of so many years
She still thought she would know him anywhere.
Decades ago, she wrote him a letter
But did not send it, instead tore it up
And decided it was best for their child
To remain unknown to him, a secret.

What started as a burdening secret
Became less important over the years.
Happy and healthy, this beautiful child
Was delightful company anywhere,
Cheerful and bright and always on the up,
Sometimes, she wished she had sent the letter.

All the details contained in that letter,
The reasons for having such a secret
And how important it was to keep up
For all the childhood and growing up years,
To guarantee acceptance anywhere,
And offer the best of all to this child.

A talented and inquisitive child,
Doing everything right to the letter.
A child going places, not anywhere.
Adult, needing answers to the secret
Of where a father might hide all these years,
Deserves to know the truth, so bring it up.

Then hours of searching and looking up.
So many questions you’re asking, dear child,
Travelling back over so many years,
This grown-up child composes a letter.
Confronted, she shares the truth, her secret,
Oh child, your father could be anywhere.

She always thought she’d know him, anywhere.
The mem’ry of him made her smile light up.
He would hate her for keeping this secret,
Denying him the chance to share their child.
Long ago, he had sent her a letter:
‘Return to Sender’, not lived here for years.

A secret lover, anywhere, now found.
After all the years, a chance to make up
Now he’s received a letter from his child.

PMW 2021

Thanks for reading. Whether you embrace freedom or not, stay safe. Pam x

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Selfie - Get the Picture?

I’m still trying to navigate my way round my new mobile phone. When I’d successfully installed Tetris, I stopped messing with it, because I was busy playing, and I’ve already forgotten what some of the icons are for. After a couple of months I’ve found everything I need, more or less, but it doesn’t always behave the way I expect. For instance, I can’t seem to take a decent photograph because I keep forgetting that the camera lens is in the top left-hand corner instead of being in the middle, as it was on my previous handset. At least I think that’s the reason. The photograph is never quite the same as the image on the screen. I’m not a photographer though I manage well enough with my compact digital camera. I can’t take selfies with that, though. Well, to be honest, I can’t take a selfie with anything and I’ve given up trying. I can’t get the hang of it. In my best efforts, my eyes are always focussed on something on the ceiling and much of my face is missing. At one of our family gatherings, we got everyone to sit on the stairs – a great place for a group photo in my house – and the person at the bottom would take the selfie, making sure everyone was included. I was at the bottom, being useless and passed the task on to one of the younger generation who proved to be ‘one shot perfect’. There must be a knack and I haven’t got it.

I’ve watched the young ladies, a sideways pose with head back, hand lifting hair upwards and a perfected pout. Or the big eyes half hidden by the fringe and hair falling forward, almost touching the shiny, puckered, lipsticked lips. I laugh, knowing I’d be exactly the same, if we’d had it in my day.

Selfie hunters are taking over from autograph hunters with regard to the famous. It’s quick and easy (for those doing it) and less hassle.

There’s a trend to feature in the picture. It’s not enough to take a photo of the view. The subject has become the background to the selfie, which was astonishing when I recently flicked through someone’s holiday snaps they had shared on Facebook. I already knew that they were somewhere hot and exotic. I didn’t need the constant reminder. It gave me ideas though, and if I can be bothered to practice and get the selfie bit right, I might try it on my next trip to Scotland.

It’s more likely that I’ll work towards beating my own best score on Tetris and rely on taking photos with my ordinary camera.

 

Selfie.

I wish I could take a good selfie

And capture my portrait just right

Instead of a squinty eyed effort

That looks like I’ve had a bad fright.

It’s all about angle and posture

And keeping my body quite still

My thumb on the virtual button,

Oh smile and try to look chilled…

Go again.

 PMW

 

 

Thanks for reading, Pam x

 

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