my thanks to Arthur Scargill

Growing up in the 70s meant power cuts.  All credit to my parents, they were evenings of delight.  No electricity meant massive potatoes cooked in the log fire, embraced with dollops of butter.  Whilst they baked my Dad strummed his guitar and we all sang country songs, Mum crocheting a blanket (honest – it’s all true).  Formulative events in my taste for simplicity.

A year ago I made a decision to follow the simplicity I love.  Strangely, my new home is the first where there is no open fire.  I miss it, but fire is fire.  And candles on a Moroccan table bring the same vibrant light to a room.

So thank you, Arthur and friends, for unintentionally introducing me to the lovelier things in life.

 

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