Virus Tales: Colours

This is all coloured rice, for Diwali

A last wistful look back towards Les Albères , and it was that Mediterranean hue ; of misty warm summer evenings; calm descending with the setting sun. A hint of the vermillion, made famous by visiting painters. A memory in colour to take with us as we set off again on a six month journey , to see family and friends worldwide; ah , and to escape winter’s chill.

But first , a thermal detour northwards; but only back to the UK, where it can’t be that cold ? It was dark by the time we landed, blanking out any though of colours, and warmth. Still Birmingham airport provided the antidote with strenuous exercise demanded by an absence of trolleys and the car hire pickup a route march away . We drove off into the blackness of the night in search of that welcoming ,but disappearing British institution , the country pub.

Nothing warms the heart more than a friendly welcome, a log fire and ‘ a pint of best ‘. The Bell, Alderminster, provide all that , plus recently refurbished comfortable accommodation. The staff were mainly Polish, left behind after the Brexit exodus, and couldn’t be more helpful, and the owner / manager a cheerful ,thirty year old local girl , making good use of the family investment. She ensured these guests were impressed by our free upgrade to an empty suite .

At home ,breakfast is a small bowl of muesli ; but when away nothing short of a ‘full English ‘ plus toast and marmalade, will suffice .Well it is raining out there, and we will need internal warmth. Departing our cosy hostelry, we headed off into the gloom in search of our ‘Home exchange , country cottage ‘.

At this point I should mention that we were in the Cotswolds , a decidedly affluent corner of England . The countryside resembled a series of manicured and very green lawns. I suppose with all the rain and plenty of expensive machinery there is no excuse to spoil the vistas ; a keeping up with the ( farmer ) Jones’s. A farm shop was to be found in the neatest , cleanest farm I have ever seen . Even the mud had been eliminated.

The affluence spread into Stratford upon Avon ; where the guard, outside one of the many jewellers , was stylishly dressed in a blue blazer topped out with a white Fedora . A visual antidote to the grey sky , although making no accommodation to the ceaseless rain showers. The economy of the town is heavily dependent on its famous playwright. The theatre now has two stages, which need a full time supporting cast of 600 : of carpenters , dress makers etc , etc . Actors form a very small minority. Declining an evening performance of some modern show, we opted instead for the backstage tour . This was infinitely more memorable; this theatre is a seemingly endless complexity of the latest electronics plus engineering which soared skywards and into the bowels. A logistical nightmare, where planning for a new performance starts some three years ahead.

Oh ,…that cottage was a five bedroom picture set in acres of manicured gardens , complete with swimming pool, tennis court and giant chess board. In a wet British autumn the latter facilities were useless , but it did all look magnificent. So it was quite a shock to find they seemed to have run out of money on the inside ; comfort and warmth were an illusive quality. I can’t imagine what their heating oil bill should have been ! I suspect they were on an economy drive. We moved on four days early , seeking contentment with friends .

But we weren’t finished with the Cotswolds, and returned for another week, to this time a barn conversation complete with underfloor heating. Our feet welcomed the heat, changing in colour from white to pink . All over the region are villages of quaint cottages of the famous honey coloured stone , interspersed with mansions of increasing size , topped off by Blenheim Palace . In British history you were endowed with infinite largess by beating one of those pesky Europeans in a decisive land battle : Louis XIV et al, This Palace was a reward to the Duke of Marlborough. Churchill, his great..something grandson was not so generously remunerated, having to rely on benefactors to keep him in cigars and brandy.

Landing in the UAE , any colour has been baked away under the sun’s unremitting heat . This is accentuated by the bland uniformity of the dress code : stunning white for the men with ladies obscured by dense black . Travelling to friends in Al Ain was a pleasant surprise. In this city of 800,000 there is no high rise . Wide boulevards of irrigated green , separate an endless expanse of modern and opulent housing . An oil bounty tightly managed morphed into an oasis of wealth in this stark dry wildness.

Another visual shock awaits as we travel on to KL ( Kuala Lumpur), to arrive in time for Diwali, the Hindu festival celebrating the triumph of light over dark . It is a riot of colour and lights which stretch well into the night , celebrations accompanied by endless fireworks . No alternative but to join in.