My Granddad died in about 1996, but he remains in spirit and memory, and also in the rhubarb that prospers in my folks' back garden. This was his rhubarb. I think plants are the best form of heirloom, or gift to the next generation. Mom made some gorgeous rhubarb crumble when I was back home. Each bite transmuted the soul of Philip Weate into succulent fruity bliss, set to renew its flavours in perpetuity. Amen. 
Since the death of my cat Sensemelia three or four years ago (he snuffled on some rat poison on New Years Eve, fostered out at my folks'), they have had to put up with Tinksy, a useless cat fostered to 'em from my sister. Tinksy had a crappy meeow, couldnt keep herself clean, didnt know how to purr and was perpetually yawling for food. Luck would have it that this ginger moggy has announced its presence @ Mulberry Cottage. Puss just loves human beings, and is a 7th Dan in the art of luxuriation. I miss cats. 
Just back from a trip to the UK (and Barcelona). This is the first time my Maw, Paw, sister and I have been in the same spacetime since last November. 
A couple of weeks ago, in Barcelona, I passed by one of my favourite spots in the world - the cloister in the Gothic quarter with the geese. Choir boys were singing, a mighty bell reverberated across the space, tourists snapped, and through it all, the geese basked in the summer sun.. 
Three weeks ago, we (Michael, Bibi and I) visited Hodnet Hall in Shropshire: a classic English garden. 
On the way to Hull on the train last week, I passed the Drax power station. I thought about what kind of monuments these would make to those around in 200 years. Perhaps they would be preserved as testimony to an earlier, radically inefficient geo-political power system. Or perhaps they would be forgotten remnants from an earlier age - the stonehenge of the twentieth century. Whatever the case, even today they are remarkable sculptures on the landscape.. 
Its hard not to feel deeply ambivalent about the current focus on Africa in the Western media. The politics of misrepresentation quickly presents itself, leaving you wondering whether no representation is better than mis-representation. I just watched a BBC4 programme called "Africa Rock N Roll" which turned out to be about post-independence music in Francophone West Africa. Just imagine a programme on European Rock Music which focussed on German bands. Then I caught something on Jerry Rawlings trying to account for the problems of Africa in the company of a young Kenyan student. While it was great PR for Rawlings, the thing just ambled about not getting to the point. All this on top of various news reports from the Beeb which are riddled with inaccuracies. Better nothing at all than the lazy shit the BBC has been spewing out...
Read more...Been in blighty since the end of May - managed to squeeze in a week in Barcelona, a blissful week at my folks in Staffs and a trip to Hull to see old friends and bask in Alma Mater nostalgia as well as quite a bit of metro-kultya in the Smoke: Sembene's latest film Moolaade (about Female Genital Mutilation), The Consequences of Love (classy Italian number) and Thirteen Conversations about One Thing (US Indie thing). All that and another bout of Gastroenteritis which has left me wheat-intolerant (ironic given me surname). Be glad to be getting back to naija on Sat to get on with things and stretch out on our huge bed.
Anyroad, loads of photos to upload when I'm back in the tropics, plus more stuff on UK experiences (including another tirade against Saint Geldof and the whole Make Poverty History garden tea-party with cucumber sandwhiches guff that's going on here at the moment. Reality check: the UK has just increased its Arms sales to Nigeria tenfold).
The immediate problem: how to get the masses of books, cds and stuff we've bought into suitcases that will clear thru BA's luggage allowance limits..
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