The Green Velvet Dress is historical rural fiction.Continue reading
I write novels, poems, short stories, travel tales and gardening rambles.
‘The Green Velvet Dress’ was my first novel, published in November 2014. ‘Friends in my Garden,’ a collection of poems depicting people as birds, flowers, trees and animals in a garden, was sold out within two years. I have had short stories and poems printed in anthologies. Read more
The highlight for June 6th, and one of the ‘must sees’ for our cruise, was the visit to Monet’s house and garden at Giverny. Excitement was palpable as our group walked through the tunnel, the only way to get from parking areas to the other side of the road, where we began our tour.
On previous visits as soon as I entered the garden I was impressed by the carefully tended rows upon rows of spring annuals in every shade of pink, mauve, blue and yellow; the masses of roses climbing up and over large metal archways, covering walls, and filling several acres with their shapes, colours and perfume. Then, the garden was tended by volunteers.
On this occasion paid staff failed to keep up with the maintenance; weeds, up to sixty centimetres high, flourished amongst unkempt beds of annuals and the roses, many of them wilting, were in need of a few tons of TLC. To those who were visiting for the first time, and the non-gardeners, it still appeared a riot of texture and colour, but lacked the WOW quality that we expected.Continue reading
Arriving on board the Amalegro soon after midday, we left our luggage, already tagged with our names and cabin number, in the care of a charming young man who assured us that it would be taken to our cabin. Once the registrations were dealt with, we were invited to help ourselves to soup and sandwiches in the lounge.
A quick stroll around the deck after lunch and we were summoned to follow our pretty young attendant to cabin 229. As this was my third cruise with Ama Waterways, I knew what to expect, but Sue’s smile was so wide I thought she might burst with happiness and excitement.
Exploring every cupboard and deciding where to put our belongings seemed to occupy most of the next few hours, although we also took loads of photos, big grins in evidence in all of them.
One of the many occasions when we double bunked with another ship while docked.Continue reading
We were up early, eager to make the most of our last full day in Paris. We had only a short walk to the Metro, but got side-tracked when we realised that many of the tiny shops along the street behind our hotel sold fur and leather goods. No customers were in evidence but it was too early for French shoppers. I couldn’t resist closer inspection, so we pushed open a few doors and wandered around, but soon discovered that they were all wholesale distributors. Nothing was marked, of course, and when I asked for the price of a divinely way-out feathered hat (a couple of hat wholesalers there too) we nearly choked and made a quick exit.
Consequently, our arrival at the Musee Marmottan, a longer journey on the underground than I anticipated, meant that we had a long wait in the queue. Standing in the rain for two hours was not part of my plan–on a previous visit this museum was still a hidden treasure and I’d gone straight in. When we eventually reached the ticket office we were confronted by a grumpy woman who refused to smile, or to excuse my poor attempts at French.
Despite the less than delightful start, we wandered around, entranced by Monet’s superb paintings. I had difficulty locating the gallery with the large waterlilly scenes, which I remembered as making me feel that I could walk right into the lake and pick the flowers. As this is a privately owned gallery, the staff did not feel obliged to attempt to understand or respond to my request for English directions, but with lots of smiles. ‘S’il vous plaits’ and attempts at describing the gallery I wanted, we retraced our steps and eventually stumbled on the right room. No photos permitted, of course.Continue reading
Paris in Two Days
It’s time for me to get back into writing, so I’m starting with tales of my travels last year with my sister.
Arriving on the Eurostar from London with heavy cases and hand luggage, we were tired, but eagerly looking forward to three nights and two full days in Paris before our river cruise to Normandy and back. After a long wait in the taxi queue we were directed to an old station wagon. I greeted the driver in French and showed him the confirmation for our hotel, with the address clearly printed at the top. It included the words Gare du Nord, so I assumed it was a district as well as a railway station.
With Gaelic theatricality, our man strode over to another taxi, thrust my paper under the driver’s nose and, although I couldn’t understand the words, his grunts and frowns made it clear that he did not want us as passengers. The second driver responded by lifting his hands in a tough luck mate gesture.Continue reading