A Suitably English Excursion, pt. 1: Chester

Another year, another trip to England. My seventh, if my calculations are correct. You might think that there isn't much left to see in the Ol' Green and Pleasant after so many visits - but it seems that the more you see of the place, the more there is to see. Take Chester, for example. 

If a friend of mine hadn't invited me there, I'd probably never had even thought about going to Chester. Which would have been a shame, since the place is absolutely charming. The city has been compared to York - after all, both places boast a long history and a city wall (see Chester's impressive wall above). 

As York happens to be my favourite English city, I won't make any unfruitful comparisons here, especially as Chester is lovely in its own right - just quite a bit smaller. But let's just say that their wall still actually encircles the city centre. Almost, at least.

But there's a lot more to see in Chester: for instance, a cathedral (above, lurking behind the tree).

A historic town centre, complete with a clock dedicated to that most not-amused of monarchs, Victoria. 

 Some street art, found in the most unexpected places. 

 This was the part I loved the most, however: the waterways. Here the canal on a bright, cold morning. 

The River Dee on a muggier morning...

... and at sunset.

Coming soon: A Suitably English Excursion, pt. 2: Nantwich and Knutsford.

Saving the world, one second-hand skirt at a time...

I'm very fond of second-hand shops. In fact, nowadays I do most of my shopping at fleamarkets and charity shops - for several reasons. Price is of course one. Yet, the unpredictability of these places also really pleases me. Of course, if you're looking for something particular, then a round of the fleamarkets begins to resemble regular shopping - which isn't much fun in my experience. However, if you can keep your mind and eyes open, most of the time you can spot some treasures.

There are a few second-hand lovelies in the picture above - some of which are my mother's old possessions (her Afghan mat and old living room table). The yellow mirror I found last Saturday - I've been looking for one of those for some time now. This one cost 10 €. The flowery thing in the mirror is another secondhand find - a vintage lamp I bought a few years back. 

As you can see, I'm very pleased with my other two finds: a beautiful blue blouse (2 €), and a purple Vila skirt (4€). I seem to have a particular knack for finding secondhand Vila skirts in exactly my size. This might become a problem, as I'm already running out of cupboard space. 

On an altogether unrelated note, I began my Italian studies today. It's been a while since I've sat in a classroom and actually repeated phrases after the teacher. I loved every minute of it! I just hope my newfound motivation will carry me through October and November as well. 

But next week, I'm going to England for a few days. Will probably gush about it later.

Treasure

As is my habit, I spent last weekend in Helsinki, watching films and catching up with friends I see far too seldom. What made this year's gathering a bit different, however, was that the person responsible for it all was getting married on that same weekend. Thus there were only two films (but what films!), and considerably more voluntary work involved - which suited me just fine, as over the years I've been getting quite good at handling ridiculous amounts of food, fetching and carrying, and just generally trying to guarantee a pleasant time for all. 

During my career as a party organiser/cook/fetchercarrier/Ms Fixit, I've come to the conclusion that the trite sentiment of "giving is better than receiving" works pretty well in practice, too. Even better than giving things, however, is giving time: helping out with things that require more than one pair of hands and more than five minutes of your day - doing instead of buying, being there when someone really needs you, and not just in a mental sense. Even for such a non-sociable person as myself, building up a party from scratch can be great fun if you're working with like-minded people and know that in the end, you'll be enjoying the fruits of your labours with those very same people.

Don't get me wrong: giving and receiving things is also very nice, too. Especially when that thing happens to be handmade Belgian pralines, delivered straight to my door. That's what, dear reader, I got for my trouble this time.

The moral of the story: help thy friends, and thou shalt receive chocolate.

"poems are as vague as air and as necessary"

I've been working on an article (on 70s rock press, since you asked),  which has exhausted my brainpower quite effectively; so instead of me trying to be clever, here's a lovely and rather uplifting video by a Canadian poet called Tanya Davis.

Via Broadsheet. And soon all over the internets, I suppose.

Another party, another pie

A week from now, another SHS party will (hopefully) be in full swing. So far, the preparations have gone without a hitch: our dresses are coming along nicely (thanks to Juska's unflagging effort), most people who've promised to come are probably going to turn up, and most importantly, the menu is looking good. At least for the most part.

The one thing that has been causing me some brief moments of anxiety is the vegetarian option. As far as I know, all of our guests are meat-eaters, but it's always best to be prepared; also, an extra dish never goes amiss especially as the party's going to be an all-night one. 

Following the tradition established last year, we (Otter and I) decided that some kind of vegetable pie will do this job nicely. The Renaissance version was delicious; in fact, I'm so fond of the cheese-and-onion tart that I make it on a regular basis. Thus I was confident that the Regency era would yield something equally tasty. But I was wrong. Most of the pies I've come across are either very simple (and thus not very festive) carrot-leek-parsnip-cabbage affairs - or else they have bacon in them. The time of Jane Austen doesn't appear to be very  vegetarian-friendly. Another explanation for the dearth of suitable recipes is that there are tons of websites dedicated to Middle Ages/Renaissace cooking, and a lot fewer specialising in the short and apparently rather uninteresting era between the French Revolution and the Victorians.

Luckily, with a lot of googling, I finally came across a recipe that's both authentic and pork-free.  Actually, the version I made is a combination of two different tarts, which have the same basic idea: cheese, eggs, spices + something green. I chose a mixture of nettles and herbs, which works quite well, but I'm not yet completely satisfied with the result. At least straight from the oven the taste is rather bitter (despite the sugar), and now I'm trying to figure out how to sweeten it. Adding raisins would be an option, but as there are currants and sultanas in the desserts, I think there is a possibility of dried grape overload. Perhaps a different type of cheese would solve the problem.

Well, I'm going north for the next few days, which both gives me the opportunity to get away from this mind-paralysing heat, and also to pick my mother's brain regarding the pie dilemma. I'm sure she'll have some constructive ideas.  

In addition to puzzling out the party menu, today I've also tried to figure out how to do my hair. The basic idea has been quite clear to me for several months, and I've tried different approahces, but finally I've hit on the perfect solution. The curly Greek do has the advantage that although it takes almost an hour to get the pin curls done (and a whole night to let them to their job), the bun itself is ridiculously simple to construct, and with the right amount of hair spray (which I'm sure Miss Austen would have heartily approved of) stays in place for hours and hours.

The picture makes the do look duller than it is IRL (I'm rubbish at taking pictures of myself, and my camera certainly doesn't make the job any easier), but at least I've managed to hold a suitably haughty stance. Which will come in useful when I'm dressed in my purple coronation gown. No Lizzie Bennet bonnets for me - when I do costume drama, I go straight for the royalty. ;)

Business as Usual

It's been quiet here at Sisotowbell Lane lately - mainly because it's been loud and busy elsewhere in my life. After a couple of weeks or so of noise, dust and  other kinds of bother, I finally got my new kitchen (which is very nice indeed). I didn't get much time to enjoy all those new cupboards and contraptions, however, because I (the dutiful daughter that I am) was called to S-city to nurse my mum who'd just undergone a hip replacement operation.

Despite all this outward excitement, after Xmas I felt that something important was missing from my life. One could even speak of a sense of stagnation. Fortunately, I soon discovered the source of this emptiness - and the perfect cure for this. I realised that I was suffering from period costume deficiency, which is almost as serious as not getting enough vitamin D during the darkest months of the year. 

Drastic measures had to be taken. I immediately immersed myself in the mental preparations of next summer's Jane Austen/Napoleon party . As first aid, I headed for YouTube, and landed on an unknown (at least to me) treasure. Emma has always been one of my favourite Austen novels, but so far I hadn't found a TV or film adaptation which matched my reading of it. All the versions I had seen portray Emma Woodhouse as a  comic, annoyingly twinkly kind of character - totally disregarding the fact that the  message of the novel is actually a serious one, one that shows the danger of living in a fantasy world, and not being able to see the real world (and its people) as it is.

The version which finally captures this theme is the 1996 TV adaptation with Kate Beckinsale and Mark Strong as Emma and Mr Knightley respectively. I don't know why  I haven't been on the lookout for this version, because it has been written by Andrew Davies (he of Pride&Prejudice fame). I like the chemistry between the leading couple, although I think Knightley might have been toned down a bit - all that shouting and raving is somewhat disconcerting. (Mark Strong's performance is otherwise excellent. And he's very nice man to look at, indeed. :)) What raises this version above others, however, are the impeccable performances of the "minor" characters, especially Bernard Hepton's hopelessly hypochondriac Mr Woodhouse and Samantha Morton's gullible  but loyal Harriet Smith.

After getting my thoughts thus on the right track, I was in the correct mood to begin thinking about really important things, namely what to wear. In this I have been greatly assisted by Otter and Juska, with whom I spent a delightful afternoon of drooling over muslins and spencers (mainly here) and making actual plans for dresses Juska is going to make for us. Needless to say, they're going to be fabulous. :)

Now I'm feeling much more like myself again; my life has a clear direction once more, and I can already start looking forward to next summer. Which, amid all this snow, is rather optimistic, I know.

(The picture above, in case you're wondering, is by James Gillray, one of the keenest observers of society during the Georgian period. From time to time he also observed fashion.)

That was the year that was

The first post of the year traditionally looks back on the moods and goings-on of the previous year.  Since most of the major events from the past twelve months are documented below, I see no great need to make a detailed harking-back now.  Suffice it to say that 2009 treated me fairly well; there were some frustrating bits (mostly to do with academia), but some very rewarding ones as well (mostly to do with the SHS, or with larking about with my friends in general. Teaching was also great fun).

Since thinking in decades is so easy, the beginning of a new one should mark the beginning of a new era as well. In my case this may be so, as the last major cycle for me began in 2000. However, it's hard to judge from such scanty evidence - it may as well be that the next big change comes in 2100, or in 3000.

The year has started with proper wintry weather (see above), which I much prefer to the slushy and grey alternative we've been shown in the past years. Temperatures hovering around -20 C are manageable; once they plummet below -30, life becomes somewhat harder.  Although I'm not a great fan of snow, I like the way it makes all landscapes, branches, houses - everything in fact - look softer and plumper.

I'm still tying up the last threads of my teaching career, and after that would be the ideal time to start working on the PhD. We'll see what happens. At least I have a good reason for delaying for a couple of weeks yet, as my landlord's decided to do some repairs in my flat, which means lots of dust and noise, and strange men coming and going at all hours.

Which would be a change, at least.

Hear, hear!

This woman is awesome:







That is all.

Context, Cows and the Capital

I spent the weekend in Helsinki, celebrating Fidia's birthday in the usual manner  (but with fewer films this time) and also doing some work on our webpage with Otter and T. Thus in three days I indulged in catching up with a dozen of friends, eating in a rather fancy restaurant, making and helping to destroy a truly sinful chocolate cake, watching some great films, and - as always with Otter and T, planning a glorious future for SHS.

On Sunday I got treated to a side of Helsinki I rarely encounter - and one I enjoy greatly. As the pictures above show, there is more to our capital than concrete and traffic jams and grumpy people; indeed, it also seems to include cows and fields and friendly dog-owners. If I saw that side of the city more often, I might even get to tentatively like the darn place.

Today's been a cloudy day - both internally and weather-wise. I like the bleakness of October when it coincides so wonderfully with my mental state - which is similarly worn-out but at the same time serene and strangely expectant.

What I'm expecting, of course, is a satisfactory ending to my nearly year-long travail with my Licentiate, which should take place tomorrow. And even more than that I'm looking forward to the big chocolate cake I've been promised. :)

Contributing to my bitter-sweet mood has been Aimee Mann, whose soundscapes are perfect for this season. I love her matter-of-fact delivery and inventive lyrics, especially as they are set to devastatingly gorgeous music. Like so:

This week's been a good one - and it seems that it'll continue along similar lines.  So far I've filled in a few forms and done general administrative things to do with my teaching, and managed to be quite efficient and cheerful about them, which is very uncharacteristic of me. On top of that, yesterday I wrote a five-page essay for a forthcoming seminar. In 1½ hours. Even more uncharacteristic of me, for I usually need a whole week for that sort of thing - a couple of days for complaining, a day for organising my thoughts, and a couple of days for the actual writing. And preferably an extra day for editing.

I wonder what's wrong with me.

Tomorrow I'll be attending a Unifem reading group (always a pleasure, albeit a rare one), and most of Friday will be spent at that aforementioned seminar (which should also be fun. I'm such a humanist geek...).

However, the real fun doesn't begin until Friday evening, when Otter and T get into town. SHS silliness, ahoy!

A Promenade in the Park, or Pretentious Perambulations

As I stated in the previous post, autumn's a great season - and it also tends to bring out the Artist in most of us. At least it does in me. On top of that, I find I'm more energetic and more organised at this time of year (although by November most of these fine qualities have disappeared, only to emerge again sometime in late August) - and so it's easier to start new projects and do general artsy stuff.

The pictures above belong to the latter category. As the weather was gorgeous today, I decided to make a trek to the local park. I actually discovered this little gem only a couple of months ago - and even then completely by accident.  It's quite far from where I live, but I think I'll be going there quite often from now on - at least when the cafe is open. 

So I got to indulge in artsiness among the old wooden houses, the wonky trees and fluttering leaves.  The only drawback is my camera, which refuses to take clear, focused pictures in cloudy weather (or what it regards as cloudy weather).  I'm trying to work with this handicap - at least it yields some interesting results, as can be seen in the middle picture. In general, however, I appreciate gadgets that do what I want them to do, and not just when it's sunny.

Next week, I'm finally getting back to teaching (oddly enough, I'm really looking forward to it...;) ) and I've been doing loads of back-up reading and planning lectures for some time now. This means that the PhD is definitely on the back burner - and will be until somebody tells me who my current supervisor is, and what's going on with my long-due Licentiate. But I've decided not to fret, and intead concentrate on the more motivating stuff.

Like updating my poor, neglected blog. :)

By the way, if you haven't yet noticed: the comments are (finally) on. Couldn't figure how to get them to work until yesterday evening, when it all came to me like a man on a flaming pie.

 

...since from myself another self I turned

New arrivals

This is "Eino". He was born on Sunday - just in time to make a great Mothers' Day gift for M - and I got to meet him when he was only a few hours old.

I'm not of the 'Miracle of Birth' school (meaning that I'm not overawed by the arrival of new life), but I'm a keen supporter of the 'Baby Animals Are Darn Cute' club. I would also be terrified to be left in charge of a newborn human (or indeed any human under 5); yet, I had no scruples watching over little Eino and bottlefeeding him until he learned how and where to get the milk himself (he finally mastered this at around 1 am).

"I should peddle butterflies / There's a shortage in the city... "

As my academic career seems to be going nowhere (quite literally) at the moment, I've got to provide some movement by some other means. So I went to Helsinki for May Day, mainly to see Fidia and to take care of some SHS business.

I finally got to meet my dress. It looks even better than I thought it would (when I was feeling overly optimistic); the green velvet (or the approximation thereof) is exactly the right shade, and the blue-and-gold brocade (ditto) looks really sumptuous. The only problem with the dress was the sleeves: being historically accurate, they weren't sown to the bodice, but came as separate attachments - but with only two holes on the shoulder and a length of ribbon to attach them with. As I had expected a less efficiently air-conditioned model, I spent the best part of Saturday afternoon attaching the sleeves to the bodice. I was positively surprised with the result (as I'm not a very adept needlewoman, and attaching things to other things has always been especially problematic for me), and now all I need is a bumroll (my mum has promised to make me one).

Anyway. Other Stereotypical History Society business included teaching Renaissance dancing to six other members of our society. The dances I'd chosen (bransle and pavan) were surprisingly simple, and my apt pupils picked them up very quickly - and even claimed to enjoy hopping about randomly in full view of other people. Although I have to say that folk who spend most of their time staring into a computer screen have some difficulty reaching even one tenth of the gracefulness of their Renaissance counterparts (who, I've been informed, spent their days practicing various sports, and yes, dancing).

I'm glad my friends showed genuine enthusiasm towards the dancing, because otherwise I've been feeling as if I've been left holding up the pole (with Otter and T holding up another), while the others are just glad to sit back in the carriage and enjoy the ride. Of course, others probably haven't got as much spare time on their hands as I do, and can't spend hours pondering the finer points of French hoods; yet, it's always a bit saddening when you realise other people aren't as enthusiastic about things you have a passion for.

Luckily, there's still plenty of time to get people interested in the Renaissance party, and make them realise they need to find something appropriate to wear as well.

Although the beginning of last week was more crappy than most, I'm feeling more optimistic and upbeat now - and, of course, still looking forward to the party. The song below pretty well sums up my present state of mind. (It's 'Aching to Pupate' by Regina Spektor. I wish I'd written that song).

Looking forward to

Phrasal verbs are weird. They go against my Finno-Ugaric language sense as they make up new meanings in unexpected and totally illogical combinations. 'Taking someone in' sounds perfectly innocent, helpful even, which of course it isn't. Quite the contrary. Yet, some of these verbs are extremely descriptive, like the one above (although, as A Student's Grammar of the English Language reminds me, it's not strictly speaking a phrasal, but a phrasal-prepositional verb. Thank you, Messrs Greenbaum & Quirk.).

Above is also my beautiful new necklace (purchased here) - and my groovy new tablecloth, courtesy of M. They both remind me of the coming summer, as does the sun that is now flooding my kitchen with insanely brilliant light. There are lots of things I'm looking forward to: a trip to Taormina, the long-expected party, Juska's wedding...

The snow's melting already.

Looking back, or, The Best of 2008

Last year was a good one in many respects. It was a productive mixture of work and play, of solitude and socialising in perfect balance. Yet, this post isn't going to log all the highs and lows of 2008 - I thought I'd rather write about the books that made an impression on me last year.

So, in chronological order, the best literary bits of 2008.

1. Eeva Kilpi: Häätanhu.
I'd always thought of Kilpi first and foremost as a poet, not a novelist - until I got my hands on this book. Although it's probably aimed at a slightly older audience, I couldn't help but be mesmerised by Kilpi's magnificent language and her loving portrayal of the Finnish summer through the senses of a middle-aged woman. On the surface nothing much happens - in an isolated cottage there's even no one to talk to, apart from the dog - but underneath the semi-autobiographical narrator goes through her past with all its joys and disappointments, preparing herself for a new life in another country.

2. Bobbie Ann Mason: Feather Crowns.
Quintuplets were a rare occurrence in the 19th century. In her fictitious tale Mason also turns them into a media event powerful enough to stop trains. She has managed to weave into one narrative the tragic story of a Midwestern couple whose household gets turned upside down by the simultaneous arrival of five babies (and a horde of curious novelty-seekers) ,the effects of industrialisation on the American way of life, as well as the psychological journey of one woman through doubt and fear to serene self-knowledge.

3. Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie: Purple Hibiscus.
I very rarely follow book reviews because I find most of my books through trial and error, walking around in a library, browsing through the shelves, picking up interesting-sounding works and scanning them (and of course sometimes the cover is enough to convince me). This method gives me enormous satisfaction, and many times rewards me with true gems. Purple Hibiscus is one of those. Again, on the surface, it looks like a story a hundred times told: the struggles of a teenage girl to escape her oppressive home through self-discovery and first love. Yet, all the characters and the world they live in are depicted in such a lifelike way that one cannot help but be moved (and shocked).

4. Anne Enright: The Wig My Father Wore.
What is it with the Irish soil that it produces writers with such twisted views of the world? At first, Enright reminded me of Flann O'Brien, but the more I read of The Wig, the more impressed I became of her own, eccentric sense of language. To recount the plot would be missing the point; what sticks with me is the sheer brilliance of her acrobatic narration.

5. Iris Murdoch: The Philosopher's Pupil.

Murdoch has caused me some confusion in the past. The first book of hers I read was The Unicorn - a meandering work which almost put me off her for good. Fortunately, I became interested in Murdoch's life (through her husband's biographies), and experimentally picked up The Sea, The Sea which I enjoyed a lot. The Philosopher's Pupil is, in my view, a stronger work still, exploring the dark moralistic underbelly of a fictitious spa town, throwing in all kinds of weird and fascinating sub-plots (including the tortuous story of a half-Irish countertenor). As always, however, it's the language that kept me hooked.

Getting arty

Been doing a lot of writing lately (mainly my licenciate). So here's an arty picture to make up for my silence in the blogging department. The thing in the middle with three white splotches is Ruttu, a teddy bear that followed me home from Yorkshire.

Next week will be a more socially active one. I was promised

1) that I'd get to meet M's new dog
2) that I'd see the wondrous new colour scheme in M's house (lots of yellow, she said)
3) that there will be a new feminist reading group
4) that there will be lots of wine
5) and some coloured paper, glitter, glue and other miscellaneous fun at Otter's place in H.

Looking forward to it.

Wheee!

Last weekend I was in Helsinki, where we celebrated Fidia's birthday in the already traditional way: by watching loads of films (some classics like Kind Hearts and Coronets, and some not-so-classic ones like Hair), eating lots of cake and just generally socialising.

As usual, I had my guitar with me and treated my friends to some Joni Mitchell and other similarly cheerful stuff. It's great fun to play to an appreciative audience, but I hadn't realised just how appreciative they are. Just before I was about to launch into my set, they presented me with a brand new guitar case! It's one of the best presents I've ever got, especially as it comes from so many people, many of whom have been forced to hear my yodelling for years now. And my old case was falling apart at the hinges and was in dire need of replacing.

So thanks, guys! :)

It's a bit hard to get organised after a trip like that. In the next couple of weeks I should wrap up my licenciate, prepare and teach a four-hour session of literacy skills and fill in a few application forms. Should be great fun. But somehow things seem to be going pretty well at the moment, and I'm feeling uncharacteristically confident. Autumn, for some reason, agrees with me.

(In case you're wondering, the dog in the picture above is Olga, my cousing's Bernese mountain dog. A great character. )

A nose by any other name would smell

Went to an overly optimistic seminar today - there were people there trying to teach us poor PhD students how to turn our theses into commodities, i.e. how to make them sound more interesting to the general public, how to sell articles to newspapers and get rich and famous overnight. We'll see what happens. If I won't get famous by Xmas, I'll sue the History Department.

An interesting little incident occurred towards the end of the lecture. A youngish man put on his coat and collected his stuff: a dead giveaway that he was going to get out before the session was through. He excused himself to the lecturer by saying that he was leaving because of "family logistics".

Sounds important, doesn't it? It's not just picking kids up from the kindergarten; that's what mothers do. He made it sound like he was planning some sort of intricate process of moving people from place A to place B with the greatest efficiency. Which is exactly what mothers do. They just never make it sound so important.

I don't mean to denigrate his choice of words (or indeed the fact that he was picking up his kid(s)). In fact, I kind of admire what he was doing. I seriously think we women too, need to come up with such ponderous-sounding appellations for our daily tasks. If nothing else, it might just promote the idea that none of the domestic duties (cooking, cleaning, shopping, childcare etc.) is our biological destiny.

I'll leave you with this brilliant clip:

(via feministing)