>him:"yer purty." her:"you’re not." him:"i need a woman." her:"you need a bath."
>i write this as i sit in café rouge on the milsom street in Bath. i skimmed the edges of my brilliant hot chocolate before downing it to warm my fingers chilled by the brisk breeze. everything here is so decadent. bath stone houses of georgian oppulence line every hill and square. it’s a sense of female-auteur-solidarity i feel here, knowing that both kindred-spirits jane austen and mary shelly lived and wrote in this small town. it reminds me of my writing obligations, but i’m more keen to read these days than write.
i already finished the book i bought last week ‘taming the beast’ and i just bought another one ‘tourism‘ yesterday, both sexually-charged novels. i love that shit.
art imitates life?
in the afternoon, as i boarded my train at london waterloo station, i felt at hme again. how i’ve missed train culture that i enjoyed on my european summers. the english landscape, for most of it, was indistinguishable from the canadian one.
brown trees, amber fields. cluttered forests, horses and sagging cows. but as we approached bath, the green pastures became lush, the dull horses and cows turned to giddy and spriteful sheep, skipping lambs. the wire fences became white stone walls trickling away with time.
walking through the city, over ancient georgian cobbles, and near prehistoric roman baths still glowing green near the infamous pump room and the avon river, i couldn’t understand why jane austen was so down on this place. all the façades of the neverending buildings, shops cafés, and homes.
the putlery bridge like ponte vecchio (florence) or ponte rialto (venice), still has all its shops on eithr side of it like it would have some 300 years ago. the world’s oldest hospital, the infamous streets, jolly’s, queen victoria’s wrath, the way the setting sunlight hits the buildings, the imperfections in the glass windows, the avon flowing from bristol to chippenham, i find this city small, but loaded with so much fodder for writing.
seems like i think more about writing than actualy doing it.
yesterday i did the jane austen centre and a velveeta bus tour. today i do the actual roman baths and a trip to stonehenge.
a sucker punch .
(i know, sonja, i know.)