Birds of a Feather

Dearest Emily,

I am looking forward to your next visit. We shall have our tea-party at GiGi's new old shop. Last time you were here it was all sixes and sevens. Now it is a more ordered number.

My new route to work takes me over Golden Hill, where a Victorian Fort was built (now turned into apartments.) Golden Hill must take its name to the incredible golden light that the daily sunshine beams across the hill, with its myriad walks around its circumference. Then, again at sunset- its position allows golden vistas across towards Totland. I'm loving just drinking in the ever-changing light on my way to and home from work.

Daddy warns me that you now constantly dress as a Princess, and that you are going through a rather 'wilful' stage. Hmm, I cannot affect surprise there. Mummy and Daddy's gene pool have generated a mix to be reckoned with. Of course, GiGi was an angel-child with no predisposition to wearing whatever she felt like and causing imaginative mayhem whenever the mood overtook her- you must have inherited it elsewhere!

So- moving on (birds of a feather.) GiGi's painting challenge is to decide on the first of the month what to paint from the landscape around me. I am not allowed to predict it- just find something each first of the month- and paint it.

January first saw me plodding off to work at my new old shop. As I walked over Golden Hill, suddenly a flock of Pigeons swooped up above me. It was an overcast day- but still here-abouts there's that magical light that shines through whatever weather fronts abound.

I didn't like Pigeons. Neither did Uncle Joe- we used to walk together to school in Marylebone silently annoyed by their omnipresence, scavenging and flapping away at every corner it seemed. Eventually we spoke about it- and nick-named them 'flying-rats'. They seemed to be about more when take-aways were discarded in the streets, and everywhere after the markets off Lisson Grove.

They seemed to us- colourless, irritating creatures. So- why, here on the Isle of Wight did they seem less irksome? Bonkers, I thought, and even now Uncle Joe is a full-blown Teen-ager with less bent for unintelligent discussion with his mum about the merits of birds- he too announced that he didn't take against them here.

So, I started to paint what I saw on January first- and looked up examples of my quest.

Hah! The Pigeons here- very varied in colour aren't yer common or garden ferral variety. They are called 'Rock-Doves' that inhabit the Islands around the UK. They do- Em, rather look more like Doves, than the Pigeons you are used to from Fulham, and I imagine in Tonbridge Wells too.

And, they vary in colour.  All over the place, some fan-tailed with much white, some skewbald brown and white- and lots of shades in-between.

I shall use them as my example for my post to you this week, dear Em. Birds of a Feather still come in different sizes and guises. As we know, and you are showing us...

Your ever-loving Grand-mother, GiGi xxx