Welcome to Carolyn Cowan Online; Designer, photographer, teacher, mother, counsellor and bodypainter.
Archive for July, 2012
I went to bed at 10.30 and was warm enough: t shirt, long heavy cotton nightdress, jersey cotton trousers, a sleeping bag, 2 cashmere shawls, a thin quilt and a stitched cloth with my drizabone close by in case this was not enough. Just as we were settling down to sleep I heard an adult male, very close by, berating Louis about the gas stove. Apparently the French Government have made it illegal to have open fires in forests and I face prosecution if I do not get up and move it right now. I negotiated from my warm stacked up bed and agreed to have it moved by 10am. I woke at 3.30 and got up for a pee, kneeling on a very large slug in the process, which popped under my weight. I staggered outside nervously wondering if I would be clubbed from behind as I was wearing earplugs and could easily be taken by surprise. Slid on more slugs on the way back in and got into bed to wonder how much more unpleasant this could get…. The resulting 3.30am insomnia led to my thinking about the French, draconian law and how to make tea. Obviously I bored myself to sleep…. Awoke to my tent awash with large slugs and rain, again. I have made myself tea and porridge. A sort of last stand against the tyranny of PC beaurocracy, keeping a weather eye open for lurking PC beaurocracy enforcers. Getting the oat flakes was a trip. 10 or so slugs had set up camp in my Sainsbury’s boxes, all curled possessively around the Nesquick and the chocolate Weetabix. They are huge, wrinkled, deep brown ones and very slippery, not just in the nature but on their skin, too. By the time my oats were cooked I must have stood upon another 15 or so and have peaked, pointlessly. I have a plan, though. I wondered what I would hate if I were a slug and decided Lemon Juice! So I have smeared the rims and outer edges of the aforesaid blue boxes with it and wait to see a slug pucker. So the children still sleep, and the good news is that the spiders obviously think very little of the endless wet so Isadora is oddly squeal-free. Bizarrely, I need a shower and have to head off, head covered against the shocking sight of my cropped head, lest a yogi gets a “Judgemental Conniption” and in doing so, feels themselves constrained to let me know exactly what they think of my hair cut….. a couple of very observant ones have carefully checked out my sideburns whilst trying to look nonchalantly spiritual and decided it is too risky to ask me directly without sufficient evidence and have wandered off, obviously eyes peeled to find someone who might “know”….. The day holds another trip to the joys of Blois. A surreal shopping park with lots of roundabouts. I will buy a kettle and have to come up with a new plan for my breakfast…..