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Ghosts and Things Which go Bump in the Kitchen

Sailing Into the Light; Adele Cosgrove-Bray; watercolour, 2018 I do like a good, old-fashioned ghost story, with a solid plot and a strong atmosphere, and this week I've enjoyed two. The first was Pay the Ghost , a film starring Nicolas Cage, Sarah Wayne Callies and child actor Jack Fulton, who already has an impressive filmography despite his tender age. A quick scan of online reviews show this film earned lukewarm responses at best, but both Richard and I really enjoyed it - which only demonstrates, once again, how totally subjective reviews are anyway. With Pay the Ghost  you get the story of a father doggedly searching for his missing child. His research takes him into the realms of folklore and fictional magic. My other ghostly encounter this week came in the form of Cass Green 's novel, In A Cottage In A Wood. A tale set in a remote Cornish cottage in dense woodland, and a London party girl spooked by strange happenings - sure ingredients for an entertaining pag

Memory Lane with a Grumpy Woman.

The Dawn of Misty Dreams by Adele Cosgrove-Bray; watercolour; 2018. I've been thinking about the internet and how it's changed over time, and how my use of it has changed too. Around 17 years ago, purely out of curiosity, I took a Learn Direct course which promised to be an 'Introduction to the Internet'. I quickly became hooked on this strange new world where the creativity of total strangers provided a seemingly infinite variety of entertainment. Intrigued, I set out on a journey of exploration which not only made research for my novels easy but also brought me into the world of RPGs. I won't reveal which characters I played, or on which boards our games were played out. That would spoil the mystery - and mystery was all part of the fun. As a talented co-player, Tristan, once told me, "If I wanted reality, I'd go to my parish." We used message boards and linked LiveJournal blogs to these; role-played in Yahoo! IM till dawn broke. We created l

Trips Down Lanes and Exhibitions.

How's this for a spider plant? It had only five or six baby leaves when I brought it home. It's grown a bit since then. My so-called Easter cactus flowered in June, which is not exactly Easter. It's not exactly a cactus either, seeming more of a succulent in character; and despite a prevailing belief that it is difficult to get these plants to flower again, it really isn't just so long as you don't change their position around or water them to death. Well-drained soil, feeds few and far between, sunlight and, quite simply, leave it alone , and it'll flower every year without fail. This year's flowers were the most abundant for three years. Three years ago we moved house. Remember the bit about not altering this plant's position. Birkenhead Park rapid sketches series, 2018. My series of rapid sketches done in Birkenhead Park is now in its third year. They're done as I'm walking my dogs, hence the small size of the pads chosen so they fi

Doom, Gloom and Choices.

Rain over the Loch by Adele Cosgrove-Bray; watercolour; 2018.  Here in Wirral, we've been basking under a fierce summer. England's seen high temperatures in the past, of course, and the news is full of excitable fluff about today possibly becoming the hottest day on record - remembering that British weather records date back to 1659 in the form of diaries kept by amateurs, which are now known as the Central England Temperature series. The method of recording the weather only became more standardised in 1914, however, and so it's from this more recent date that the Met Office measures its statistics.     Life drawing by Adele Cosgrove-Bray. Prattling about sunshine gives the media something to talk about other than the looming disaster of Brexit. As the countdown to the current government's B-Day (pun intended) looms ever closer, they're still batting ideas around in increasingly desperate attempts to sort out the mess their own party colleagues, and

Open Studios and Worn-out Feet

Pigeons: Birkenhead Park Series, by Adele Cosgrove-Bray; 2018; oil on canvas. The annual Wirral Open Studios Tour took place from 9th - 10th June, a free event wherein many local artists and crafts-workers opened their doors to the public. Venues ranged from garden sheds to community centres, from back bedrooms to rented studio spaces. The work displayed was as diverse as it's possible to get, and a supporting free brochure listed all the participants with little maps to help visitors find their way around. As I don't drive, there was no way I was going to be able to see everything even though I'd like to. So, armed with an all-day train ticket and comfy shoes, I first travelled to New Brighton where Janine Pinion welcomed me into her front room which has been converted into a bright and airy studio crammed with her incredibly beautiful watercolours. Janine recently won the Open Exhibition at the Williamson Art Gallery. Bertie, an adorable Yorkshire Terrier, was de

Cheep-cheep, Quack-quack!

    Is there anyone who fails to smile when watching newly hatched chicks? They're so fragile, so tiny, yet bravely scoot across dark lakes swarming with huge fish, or waddle determinedly after their parents through long grasses threaded with fox runs and rat holes. Or, like the little gosling in the photo above, amble contentedly on the mossy bank in full view of a murderous heron.   The two parent geese were keeping a sharp eye out, helped by a large white goose which seemed to be behaving like a visiting aunt who, not entirely approving of the parents' skills, did her best to shepherd the two little goslings closer to safety. (You can only see one gosling in this photo, and the parent birds were quacking at the other youngster which had wandered too far. Aunt Goose was having none of it, and was photographed mid-march in readiness to gently usher it closer once more).   If you peer through the tangled branches in the photo above, you can see a nest filled

Climbing Ladders, Brush in Hand, Nose in Books.

Estuary Moon by Adele Cosgrove-Bray; watercolour; 2018. I've been busy decorating my art studio, stripping off old wallpaper, mending dents and holes with Polyfiller, (one and a half tubes' worth!), and then climbing up and down an ancient step-ladder in order to paint the walls with three layers of plain, pristine white. The job is not quite finished; one small wall needs a final coat of paint and its skirting board doing with white gloss, and the door frame needs white gloss too, but the end is in sight. Photos to follow once it's completely done! I've also been pulling out armfuls of forget-me-nots from our garden. There are supposed to be 74 official species of forget-me-nots, some of which are very pretty. Unfortunately, we're lumbered with horrible hairy things which self-seed prolifically and swamp all the other flowers and, once they've bloomed, flop over, turn brown and go brittle. Pull them out then and the spiny hairs cause a nasty rash.

Daftness, Dogs and Drawing.

Life drawing; pencil on A4 paper; 2018. First take a look at this interesting and diverse series of photos which depict womens' jobs from around the world , then have a good chuckle over the absurd descriptions of women by some male writers. The contrast between the two is quite telling. I am reminded of a conversation, which took place years ago, between an ex-boyfriend and myself.  He remarked that it must be marvellous to be a woman as we have breasts. I looked at him in bewilderment, and then pointed out that we also have knees and elbows but don't pay them much attention most of the time. "Oh," he said, crestfallen. "You disappoint me." "Really? You're the one with the delusions about female anatomy." It is no co-incidence that he became an ex. Life drawing class, March 2018. Photo credit: Marie Mairs. Here's a photo of my hands holding a pencil. The A4 sketchpad I'm using here is nearly full, mostly of life dr

Trees, Snow and Confused Dogs.

Richard was undeterred by the weather. So far this week we've had snow (twice), icy winds, torrential rain and a fleeting glimpse of spring sunshine. This figures, as I'm on annual leave for a few days. On Monday we decided to take the dogs to the beach, seeing as the first batch of snow had melted. Would it be New Brighton or West Kirby? We chose to board whichever bus came first, and a short while later we disembarked at Hoylake. We meandered round the shops along Market Street then took the public footpath which runs between the railway line and the golf course, coming out on Greenbank Road in West Kirby. Emily got  a bit confused and wanted to turn left, the route we used to take to head for home - or rather, to what used to be home three years ago. The familiar sight of the beach cheered her up, even though the tide had only just turned and much of the sand remained underwater. Poppi gave a chunk of seaweed a good barking at because it was there. Richard is curr