as I was going to St Ives...

Okay, so the baroque niece is not coming to stay in April: it seems the trip was made subject to conditions, which as a sulky teenager she was duty-bound not to abide by, and so now - as her parents (who positively pride themselves on how firm and consistent they can be) are equally duty-bound to do what they threatened and never deviate one inch, even for the sake of making people happy! No! Especially for that purpose - she is not coming.

Well, at least he finally answered my emails, that is, he responded once Mama Baroque started hassling him too - so it's still early enough to fix something up for my holiday, seeing as how I've engineered two solid weeks off work. I'll have to change the dates now, slightly, but I think I can.

Ms B needs a break so badly she can taste it. Ms B has not been out of London in months, and has had several different kinds of ill health* since starting her very hard (and also un-fun - is there something I'm just not getting?) new job - in fact, is writing this under a blanket on the sofa, once again, a woman with enough strength only to type and to dream of better things - and basically has been spending lots of time (rather like her niece but without resorting to the purple hair dye) sitting around all by herself feeling that there must be more to life.

Well - higgledy piggledy pop! There is!

Once I'd had the idea of going somewhere, it didn't take long to hit on a destination. Somewhere far from London in miles and in spirit. Somewhere with space. Space with something in it besides shops and rubbish. Somewhere with coffee, and possibly even internet access. Somewhere with a Tate Gallery in it - somewhere the kids might want to go, and bring their mates along with them. That's right - St Ives! Sort of like Woodstock-on-Sea.

Furthermore, a primary-school-mate of the Urban Warrior - the girl called Felix, whose mother was the granddaughter of one of the big St Ives artists, I forget which one - moved away there in Year 7. So she might pop up. If she does it'll be trouble, though. She looked 16 when she was 12.

Ms B is very excited. The house is lovely - we can stand to be in it for a week - and big enough for (floor-sleeping) extra kids. It's 40 metres from the beach - I think this picture was taken not far from it. We'll smell the sea and hear the gulls at all times. And the sea is right in the town.

Maybe I'll meet a nice artist with salty blue eyes and a strong stomach for adolescents!

Then again, probably I won't.

* note from future: it was the gall stones...