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Photo by Andy Dawson ReidWay back in the early 1990s (long before, of course, I had the slightest notion of even knowing anyone from the west coast of Canada, let alone of emigrating to this blessed spot) I came across a newly published and really quite extraordinary book – in the form of what I later came to know to be an epistolary novel – by artist, illustrator and writer, Nick Bantock.

Griffin & Sabine was the first in what evolved into a set of seven books which document the extraordinary correspondence between Griffin Moss – a London-based designer of postcards – and Sabine Strohem – a mysterious woman who resides on an island in the South Pacific. This communication commences with an exotic card from the southern seas.

Griffin

It’s good to get in touch with you at last. Could I have one of your fish postcards? I think you were right – the wine glass has more impact than the cup.

Sabine

But Griffin had never met a woman named Sabine. How did she know him? How did she know his artwork? Who is she?

The novels are exclusively in the form of exquisite and exotically illustrated postcards and of letters which are tucked into their envelopes affixed to the pages.

I think I was drawn to the original book not only by the sheer beauty of its design and artwork, but also by the magical and mysterious quality of its premise. I purchased a copy shortly after its publication, appreciated its allure and then tucked it away in one of my bookcases where it has languished ever since.

What I did not know then – or indeed discover until recently – was that though Nick Bantock grew up around London and in Kent, in the late 1980s he moved to Saltspring Island, British Columbia (scarcely a stone’s throw from our home on the Saanich peninsula) where he has lived ever since. I might not have discovered this fact even now had not Mr Bantock teamed up with Michael Shamata – the Artistic Director of The Belfry Theatre here in Victoria – to adapt the series of novels for the stage. On receiving The Belfry’s programme for the year and observing upon it notice of this premiere we naturally purchased tickets forthwith for the last show of the run, two days before Christmas.

With some difficulty (in the finding) I dug my copy of the book from our library. I was intrigued to know how this highly unusual graphical novel could possibly be adapted successfully for the stage. It is a challenge that I, frankly, would not myself have dared attempt (even had I the talent so to do!). I am therefore delighted to report that The Girl and I both found the production to be magical and moving and that it somehow managed to avoid all of the most obvious pitfalls that usually befall attempts at the marriage of two such wildly different forms. Let us hope that the production now travels further.

Bravo to Mr Bantock and to all concerned – say we!

 

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“Not many those mornings trod the piling streets: an old man always, fawn-bowlered, yellow-gloved and, at this time of year, with spats of snow, would take his constitutional to the white bowling green and back, as he would take it wet or fine on Christmas day or Doomsday.”

Dylan Thomas – A Child’s Christmas in Wales

Our Christmas Day constitutional was to Island View Beach. There was no snow and the sun broke through in a most pleasant manner…

Very lovely!

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson Reid

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Blow winds…

“…and crack your cheeks! Rage! Blow!
You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout
Till you have drench’d our steeples, drown’d the cocks!”

‘King Lear’ – William Shakespeare

The first serious storm of the season ripped its way across the southern end of Vancouver Island yesterday afternoon – tearing dead wood and fresh young fronds alike from the trees, decimating the power grid and scattering bins and other appurtenances to the four corners of the earth…

It certainly seemed that way!

We lost a number of large branches from the trees that border our garden and our power was out for a little over five hours – fortunately being restored at around 5 pm just as it got dark (which it does here later than in the south of England at this time of year).

We were lucky that we got off lightly. The BC Hydro (our power provider) website shows that – 24 hours later – the southern end of the island is still subject to 256 outages affecting 33,777 customers. Our friends in Saanichton did not get their power back until midnight – by which time they were already fast asleep!

Reports suggest that the storm was quite the worst seen in the area for some seven to eight years. Tragically, one person was killed by a falling tree. BC Ferries cancelled 130 sailings on 14 routes and the ferry dock on Penelakut Island was severely damaged. On the mainland a man had to be rescued by helicopter after becoming stranded when the wooden pier at White Rock was broken in two by boats that had been torn from their moorings.

It is the norm in this neck of the woods for the winter storms to start – and indeed to be at their most severe – during November. That did not happen this year (November being particularly mild) which may well be yet another sign of the world’s weather systems being seriously out of kilter.

Bizarrely, however much damage did result the winds proved insufficient to blow away some of the less attractive inflatable Christmas decorations which ‘grace’ front gardens in this part of the peninsula!

Make of that what you will…

 

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Where do Christmas Trees come from?

Well – in our case from the Saanichton Christmas Tree Farm!

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidAs you can see they don’t just do Christmas Trees – but that is a big part of their annual turnover.

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidWe chose our Christmas Tree some three or four weeks ago. Here it is growing happily in a rather boggy paddock – with our tag on it.

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidThe farm lends the eager customer a saw and the latter sets forth for the far reaches of the estate to try to locate the chosen tree. There he or she appropriates a lumberjack stereotype for a brief period, being careful to cut the tree at least a foot (two branches) above ground level so that it can regrow for future plaid-clad wannabees. Unlike our days back in Buckinghamshire, when I used to collect our Christmas Tree in Pearl (our classic Mercedes convertible – with the top down!) here in BC it is unceremoniously lashed on top of the Lexus. Not terribly dignified, but ’tis but a short run home!

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson Reid…and here is it in our drawing room waiting to be ‘dressed’.

Photo by Andy Dawson Reid

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More autumnal images. Although it has rained a fair bit in recent weeks the weather here on the island has been surprisingly mild and balmy. Today the sun shone and it was 14 degrees C! A nice day for a walk…

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson Reid

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“October is a symphony of permanence and change.”

Bonaro W. Overstreet

Images from the Fall… (double click for the full effect!)

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson Reid

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Smokin’!

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidAs the year advances inexorably into the autumn (fall!) our social calendars fill pleasingly once again with a plethora of events and occasions. This seems to us to be something a pattern here on the island – though that is perhaps merely our perception thereof, informed by our circumstances and time of life. Or maybe it is that – after a riotous summer of be-sporting themselves in the wide open spaces – Victorians do actually turn within for a while to celebrate more sedentary pursuits.

Either way – one event that has become a regular fixture in our autumn diaries is the ‘THRIVE Malawi‘ fundraiser at the Mary Winspear Centre in Sidney. This annual concern seems to pop up at random points between September and November, but always promises a good night out in a great cause. We have twice enjoyed at this function performances by our favourite ‘New Orleans, West Coast brouhaha‘ band – the HiFi. This hugely popular but casual assemblage of local musical luminaries features what I have previously described as ‘an internationally reknowned boogie pianist appearing under a pseudonym for contractual reasons’.

This year – by way of a change – the organisers persuaded Vancouver based guitar maestro, Paul Pigat, to grace the stage. Paul plays in no less than four ensembles but this one – the Smoking Jackets – is a reunion with local Victoria musicians that showcases Mr Pigat’s jazz, bluegrass and rockabilly talents.

It is always reassuring to see Damian Graham’s name on the program. A regular in the HiFi (amongst other outfits) he is probably my favourite local drummer. ‘Gentleman’ Joey Smith is a legend on the upright bass and eighty one year old reedsman Al Pease gives a masterclass not only on the sax and clarinet, but also in how to still be cool and to be able to rock out well into one’s ninth decade. I particularly enjoyed the moment when Al – who had been seated stage right throughout – remained in situ after the band left the stage at the end, knowing full well that an encore would be in order and not wishing to expend further unnecessary energy. Kudos!

Though the Smoking Jackets had been billed as a four-piece we could not help noticing as we took our seats that a grand piano was prominent stage left. Sure enough the ‘reknowned boogie pianist‘ had agreed to sit in for the evening, thus enabling us to enjoy his particular talents again as well.

An illustration of just how much fun these amazing musicians were having playing together came during the final number – an extended rendition of ‘Sunny Side of the Street‘ – when the band morphed seamlessly and unexpectedly into a couple of verses of Deep Purple’s ‘Smoke on the Water‘ before slipping effortlessly back into the original.

When the band are having that much fun it would be churlish not to join in!

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To fall and fall

“The rain began again. It fell heavily, easily, with no meaning or intention but the fulfillment of its own nature, which was to fall and fall.”

Helen Garner

There is something to be said for living in a land with a reliable climate (though I naturally make an exception for those parts of the UK that are oppressed mercilessly by lowering clouds throughout the drudgery of the winter months).

It is interesting to contrast the climates of London and Victoria. Wikipedia reveals the following:

  • London has some 1633 hours of sunshine per annum.
  • Victoria has some 2193 hours of sunshine per annum.
  • London averages 602 mm of rain per annum.
  • Victoria averages 608 mm of rain per annum.

Though rainfall figures are not dissimilar and average monthly temperatures are within a degree of each other (though London’s slightly warmer weather often feels muggy as a result of the humidity), Victoria’s extra five hundred or so hours of sunshine a year clearly make a difference. Though there are times during the Victorian spring when one wonders if the rain will ever stop – cease it invariably does, giving way reliably to glorious mild, sunny and dry summer months.

Sometimes too dry!

Then – toward the end of the season and just as it seems that the drought has set in permanently and the garden sprinklers are on the verge of giving up the unequal struggle to maintain life in the yard – the weather will break and verdancy is restored.

Sometimes this happens with a bang rather than a whimper:

Photo by Andy Dawson Reid…but sometimes equally the end result is the most incandescent of rainbows:

Photo by Andy Dawson Reid

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Image from PXHere“There are only the pursued, the pursuing, the busy and the tired.”

F. Scott Fitzgerald

When I put the boat in the water at the start of July I toyed with the notion of keeping her there for two months instead of one. It would have been nice to have been able to take her out at a moment’s notice throughout the whole of summer.

Wisely (as it turned out) I deferred making the decision regarding a second month until near the end of July. My concern was that August might turn out to be a sufficiently frantic month that getting away to sit contemplatively upon the waters could turn out to be merely a pipe-dream – and the good ship ‘Dignity’ might simply bob about, sadly neglected, in her slip in Portside Marina for a month.

My fears proved to have been well grounded – with August slowly building up a powerful head of steam as it unfolded.

The latter part of the month is these days (as previously reported) given over to the Victoria Fringe. The Girl and I will have seen half a dozen shows by the end of the festival (upon which I will report in a subsequent post) but in my Intrepid Theatre BoD ‘Fringe Ambassador’ role I will have ‘schmoozed the queues’ for a dozen shows, spent an evening selling 50/50 raffle tickets at the ‘Fringe Preview‘ night and given a Saturday afternoon over to manning the Cardboard Castle at the ‘Fringe Kids‘ event.

I also have another term contract for post-secondary IT Literacy teaching for the fall term. This term starts in the first week in September, so preparation – including a fair round of meetings, INSET sessions and lengthy email exchanges – has been underway for a while now.

Finally – we are helping a dear friend move into a new house – in addition to hosting (this coming weekend) a birthday BBQ for her, since she is not really in a position to do so herself at the moment. To do this is, of course, both a privilege and a pleasure, but it does entail trying to knock the garden back into some sort of shape at just the time of year that it has decided that it can now relax, kick back and chill a bit.

This being retired lark is a total picnic!

 

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Image from PixabayThis week sees the start of the 32nd Victoria Fringe Festival. Wearing my Intrepid BoD hat I (along with my fellow directors) will be in for a busy couple of weeks.

I naturally associate the month of August with fringe festivals, having been so many times to the Edinburgh Fringe over the years both as a performer and a spectator. Now, the Edinburgh Fringe is enormous and seems these days to be spilling over from four to five weeks. Here in Victoria everything is on a much smaller scale; a mere twelve days and forty seven shows in less than a dozen venues.

I was recently reading in the online edition of the Guardian an article by a journalist who had been sent to Edinburgh with the brief of visiting shows on the fringe that featured nudity – which trait has a long and chequered history. The Victoria Fringe is no stranger to such antics either – but that may be a post for a different day!

The article was only of moderate interest but – as might be expected – attracted a fair bit of Below The Line comment subsequent to publication – as was doubtless the intention. The online correspondence included this offering which rather caught my eye – from a poster going by the sobriquet ‘TheLonelyDivorcee‘:

“I went to the first Isle of Wight festival in 1968 when the headline acts were Jefferson Airplane and Fairport Convention, both of whom were fronted by naked women. Nobody thought it significant or indeed some sort of massive step forward in equality.

That was partly because people were a lot more open minded then, and partly because we were all out of our minds on LSD/Magic Mushrooms. I say ‘minds’ but really we were just a single mind collectively experiencing ourselves and the universe as unified, ecstatic matter.

In fact most people also spent the entire event entirely naked and due to our youth and the drugs, in state of high sexual arousal. As a result many happy unions were formed between men and women.

This occurred despite the complete absence of ‘safe spaces’ and ‘gender neutral zones’.

When I arrived back home to my parents I was completely changed, much to the disgust of my father who, when he was the same age as I was then had become paralysed after being shot down over Bremen during a 1000 bomber raid on the Nazis – note these were real Nazis, not just people who didn’t recycle their rubbish.

I can’t help think my generation has had the best of it. When I look at my Grandson who’s around that age he doesn’t seem to have much fun. OK, he’s got a £150 pair of jeans, an IPhone and a useless degree in drama – with the debt that comes with it – but there’s no culture other than consumer culture and an increasingly authoritarian attitude towards sex and relationships.

I’m in good health, but I reckon I’ve got about 10-15 years before I will return to matter, and frankly I’ll be glad to be gone as I believe we are entering new puritanical age, and that is not for me.”

If I say that this struck a chord the gentle reader may well understand why!

Happy fringing!

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