All posts by Lucid Gypsy

Gilly Mbachu Goldsworthy is a mum to two kids that are supposed to be grown up and mma to a five year old granddaughter and a one year old grandson. None of that means that I am grown up though! I love writing – travel and quite edgy fiction – and being an OU student for a degree which remains to be seen. What I do best though is counselling; I’ve been privileged to work with many people through big changes.
As blue as can be!

Early Beer

On a sunny Sunday at Beer in East Devon, it pays to be around bright and early to enjoy the peaceful beach. With blue skies and the crunch of the waves on the pebbles and just a few people it’s a perfect spot.

Looking east
Looking east
A shimmering horizon
A shimmering horizon


The stuff of coastal folk

As blue as can be!
As blue as can be!

Busying up, it's 10 am and there must be 10 people on the beach!
Busying up, it’s 10 am and there must be 10 people on the beach!

Looking West, Branscombe is around the corner, I don’t think you can walk it at beach level, but you can always climb up to the South West Coast Path.
I hope you liked an early peep at Beer?

Up Close on Sculpture

Recently I’ve collected various bits of debris on the beach to recycle and thinking about what is art. I consider myself to be quite creative and open to ideas, but art is very subjective isn’t it? I may be interested in Tracey Emin but I wouldn’t want to take her work home.
Broomhill sculpture garden has many thought provoking pieces, here are four, each with a close up,

What springs to mind?
What springs to mind?

Thorns?
Thorns?

A splindly tree?
A splindly tree?

Folds
Folds

At work on the pavement
At work on the pavement

I prefer this close up
I prefer this close up

Something from deep in the earth?
Something from deep in the earth?

Creative use of cable ties!
Creative use of cable ties!

Tell me your thoughts, love them or hate them?

Gratitude Jar and Lotus Leaves

From “Don’t judge a book by its cover” to “Don’t look at the jug, but at what it contains” (an old Rabbinic saying), we’re constantly taught that the contents of things are more important than the vessels, wrappers, and boxes that hold them in place. This week, let’s give outer shells their due and focus our lenses on things that contain other things.

Says Ben Huberman, at the Daily Post.

I love containers, who doesn’t? They are full of feminine symbolism.   I decided to snap a few of my favourite containers.

A wooden vessel from Malaysia, very smooth and curvy.
A wooden vessel from Malaysia, very smooth and curvy.

My Terramundi, a gift from my friends when I left a job
My Terramundi, a gift from my friends when I left a job

A bowl by my favourite ceramic artist Laurel Keeley
A bowl by my favourite ceramic artist Laurel Keeley

Driftwood sticks, shells and beach stones from all over
Driftwood sticks, shells and beach stones from all over

The gratitude jar that I began on January 1st
The gratitude jar that I began on January 1st

My last photo, the only one in colour, is a painting contained in a frame. It was painted for me by Stuart Whitelaw, and brought all the way from Australia when he and Christine visited last month. It is of the beautiful lotus leaves on the dam at Dadirri, Christine’s favourite plants.

Lotus leaves
Lotus leaves

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One of Those little dilemmas

This morning as I walked up the road towards work, I noticed a lady ahead of me who I know by sight, as someone who heads the same way each day. She walks slower than I, so I quickly caught up with her. She was wearing a mid calf length, floral summer dress, of rather limp fabric. It had a split up the centre back.

You’ve guessed haven’t you? The split was not the discreet vent to knee that allows for movement. Nope, it was a full on unravelled seam that went right up to her btm. Still behind her I thought quickly, was this how it was meant to be? no way, did she know and if so was she unconcerned, surely not? She is middle aged and how shall I put it? a substantial lady.

What to do, what to do? I’ve never spoken to her before, but if the tables were turned I’d hope someone would point it out to me, there was no-one else around.  I reached her side.

‘Excuse me, I hope you don’t mind me saying, but I think the seam of your dress has come apart at the back.’

‘Oh, how far up? ‘she asked, reaching around to feel for herself.

‘Sorry’, I said ‘If it was me I’d rather know!’

‘Yes, okay uh thanks uh It will just have to do for today’ she replied.

I wanted the pavement to swallow me up. I KNOW she lives somewhere around the corner from me, no more than five minutes walk, but she had no intention of turning back to deal with it. I scurried ahead. Five minutes later I looked back and she was indeed continuing on her way to work, wherever that is.

Now, the dress she was wearing was so flimsy, that the slightest waft of breeze would have lifted it, and there is no way on God’s earth that she could lean her body more than an inch, without showing everyone what she had for breakfast. I’m still cringing twelve hours later and I think I will every time I see her again.

Was I wrong to tell her? surely not, at least it gave her the option of popping back home to sort it. I’m mystified, what do you think, would you have said anything or left her to it?

Oui, c’est moi!

I’m sharing this photo of a sculpture at Broomhill, just because I like it. Why do I like it? She reminds me of me. The curl of her lips, pouting like I did as a child, still do when I’m playing mardy.  Her nose doesn’t have a round upturned blob like mine, she’s far more elegant. It’s more her personality, she looks feisty, stroppy, possibly because she’s just had a fight with her hair. Second thoughts maybe she isn’t stroppy, she could be sorrowful, frightened or in pain. She could have been reprimanded, punished for some real or imagined misdemeanour. So she isn’t me after all.

How strange that I have endowed her with a personality and lots of potential stories. It’s interesting how we each interpret art, perhaps you could tell me what you see? I wonder what the sculptor, from Zimbabwe I believe, was intending to show and if she is based on a real person. I guess I’ll never know. Is there a piece of art that you identify with? Let me know in a comment or with a link?

Oui, c'est moi

An Officer and a Gentleman

Britannia Royal Naval College, the initial officer training establishment of the Royal Navy, sits high on a hill overlooking Dartmouth in England. Royal Naval officer training has taken place in Dartmouth since 1863, but the buildings we see today were only finished in 1905, previous students lived in two wooden hulks moored in the River Dart. The foundation stone for the current building was laid down by King Edward V11 in March 1902. Sir Aston Webb designed the shore-based college at Dartmouth, which was built by Higgs and Hill and practically completed in 1905. The first term of cadets entered at the R.N. College Osborne were transferred to Dartmouth in September 1905.

King George V and King George V1 were naval cadets at Dartmouth, as were the Duke of Edinburgh, the Prince of Wales and the Duke of York. It is said that the Duke of Edinburgh met the then Princess Elizabeth at Dartmouth. Prince William spent a brief period at the College after leaving Sandhurst as part of his training with all three of Britain’s Armed Forces. Sheikh Mubarak Ali Yousuf Suoud Al-Sabah, a member of the Royal Family of Kuwait, attended the Royal Navy Young Officer Course at Britannia Royal Naval College in 2002.

BRNC is widely considered one of the most prestigious officer training establishments in the world, their website says that they are

Delivering learning that is inspiring, challenging and relevant to meet Fleet operational capability. It has been at the forefront of the education and development of world-class Naval Officers in Dartmouth since 1863.

Fourteen years ago my son joined the Navy and since then he has risen the ranks as a submariner to Chief Petty Officer. On Thursday I went to see him ‘Pass out’ as Sub-Lieutenant at Dartmouth. A very proud day as you can imagine. Here is a slide show of the day.

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A Truck with a Past

In the 19th century, granite was quarried at Haytor on Dartmoor and was taken along a tramway  to the Stover Canal. From there it went by barge to Teignmouth, then by sea around Great Britain and further.  The tramway was opened on 1820, by George Templar of Stover, a long distance footpath , the Templar Way is named after him.

Granite from Haytor was used in the building of London Bridge, the British Museum and the National Gallery.

Trains of up to twelve trucks descended from Haytor, with a horse behind to slow them down.  Remains of the tramway can still be seen on Haytor Down. The ‘Relic’ of a truck below is similar to the ones used on the tramway. This post is for the Weekly Photo Challenge of Relic.

truck

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