Feeling much better this morning. The awful head cold has gone, along with the sore throat, leaving only a deepening voice presaging a nasty cough. But that’s fine. I can live with the phlegmy cough even if the rest of the family can’t. I have announced to them that my voice is likely to have disappeared entirely by the end of the day. This is a familiar pattern of progression with colds for me on the exceedingly rare occasions I succumb. They don’t seem bothered by the prospect of my silence. It’s just one less voice to compete with.
But who needs a voice when in such a joyful bit of France as St Martin de Ré? Gently dilapidated houses with shutters in every faded shade of the spectrum from sea green to lilac. Hollyhocks pushing their way up out of the paving stones of narrow alleyways and embracing the peeling plasterwork in their search for light. There is a reassuringly cool sea breeze, and the constantly shifting sky scape moves in a flash from opalescent shimmer to brooding shades of grey.
I have announced a painting session for all this afternoon. It’s one of those places which brings out the Victorian painter in me. This is not a scene for an iPad. All around me demands ink, watercolour, paper and brush. Anyway, you can’t use an iPad in bright sunshine. The ‘perfect tool’ has its own peculiar limitations, thank goodness. A bit of old-fashioned sketching comes into its own on sunny days.
Having enthused at least three of the family with the prospect of painting, I now have to go and procure some more paper. A chance to investigate the little shops of the backstreets of the harbour. An entirely joyful prospect, in other words.
It’s great to feel better!