Among the Flutterby's

I read somewhere once, that the old English word for Butterflies was Flutterby's. I'm not sure how true this is, but I have no intention of learning otherwise because in my world, Butterflies are hereon known again as Flutterby's; the little pieces of fragile decorated living paper that they are, drifting about in the spring breeze like sycamore seeds. Another little snippet of trivia (this one completely true) is that the french word for a moth is 'Papillon de nuit' which translates as 'Nighttime Butterfly'. I love moths, for they are beautiful, silly little creatures who are slaves to the bright light and they remind me of autumn, camping and lamplit evenings in the garden. Alot of people are frightened by the little creatures, but for me they bring happiness, nostalgia and a sense of peace. When I see butterflies and moths, I know the weather is warm and balmy and that right now, I am most probably outdoors and very content indeed. 

Today, I saw my first flutterby's of the season. They were Cabbage Whites and they flipped and flapped about the canal path as I rolled along in the warm spring afternoon, my hand held firmly in Georges. Who was I to kid myself that I could love the winter? This is what I had been waiting for. The bluebells, the longer days and to finally feel the sun on my sleepy feet. Spring is the promise: the beginning of months of colour, warmth and a wagon load of outdoor adventures with the friends.

As much as I would love to return home to Cornwall for the Easter holidays, I must work instead to pay for all the things that don't really matter but I would like in my life anyway. Things like the maintaining of my custard car, Charlie, my food addiction and the potential trip to the Isles of Scilly that has been dominating my fantasies for the last two years. 

Instead, we learn how to pretend to live like the city folk, and we find ways to enjoy this beautiful town on the river. The canal tow path is my most favourite and precious haunt in Bath, I live only moments from it as it is but I'm delighted to announce that George and my first flat that we shall be moving into in August, is situated RIGHT BANG on the canal in Widcombe, so that the back of the property goes right onto the Lock. I'll be able to sit out on a rug and read stories on sunny evenings and watch the narrow boats go by. 

The sun was shining, and it was a shame the moths were sleeping because I'm sure it would have made them incredibly happy. Instead, I enjoyed the company of the day-time-moths ( our friends the flutterby's ) and took my roller skates out for a play. George would very much like some roller skates and often tries to squeeze his big man-feet into my little size 6's. He is much better than I, for I am not an accomplished skater as I don't have quite the same confidence on dry land as I do the sea. You see, the ground is a bit hard for my liking and I'm not quite so swag and cocky when potential bruises are involved. 

George is still yet to be swayed into joining me in my dreams of living on a narrow boat. Living in a flat by the canal is going to be as close as I can get (for now) but before I leave this beautiful river city, I WILL fulfill my personal dream. 

This part of the canal nearer to where I currently live is quite industrial and the warehouses on the side are incredible. Some of my favourite buildings in Bath, they have quirky little jutting rooms and over-hangs that make me think of wonky medieval tenements and towers. You know when you're a little kid, and you design crazy castles and cities with all sorts of curious bartizans and towers? Maybe it's just me, but I have a fascination with nooks and crannies and all manners of secret rooms.

 Roof gardens. That is all 

This happened shortly after I was being all cool and rolling on one leg. I managed not to fall in the canal. The day was considered a success.

I wonder what the curvy room looks like on the inside? Isn't the old writing on the buildings just fascinating? I love the remnants of history, little secrets and souvenirs left to remind us of other times and other people that walked the same streets of us hundreds of years before.

With my car in Cornwall being repaired, I'm having to be more creative with my travel methods. My to-do list over the holidays involves going to Warleigh Weir, finding a bluebell wood and hitting the fair which is in town. I think my bike and skates are about to get alot more use and I'm about to get a whole lot fitter. These are all good things :)

So we are finally out of the bare, dreary and long woods that is winter. My heart is light again and filled with optimism and joy for all the loveliness that will fill our lives over the coming months and all the photosynthesising I will be able to do. Spring makes me want to learn all of the names of the butterflies and flora and spend my afternoons reading books in a meadow filled with wildflowers. The real world breaks through occasionally and reminds me that my fantasy is only a fantasy, so we go skating instead. Until that day when the world is perfect and the sort of place you see in those old 19th century romantic countryside paintings (the kind dad used to hang in our old house) we will have to make do and mend. Poldark is giving me too many fanciful ideas of how I should be living and I can't understand why I'm holed up in an attic analysing 21st century plays instead of riding a horse across the cliffs back home with my gown rippling in the wind. What is life. 

So what do you lovely lot do on sunny days in the city/town? I'm trying to imagine the summer in a place as busy and big as London, Manchester or even New York and I find myself wondering how the folk spend their warm afternoons there. Bath is a very small city and plonked happily in the countryside so I feel that I would be wrong in thinking I was getting the 'summer in the city experience'. It's almost like going to Saltash for the day and saying you've been on holiday to Cornwall :P