Lost in lace

A November day in Brum

This weekend has been proper November weather here in the UK: foggy, damp and cold, with grey skies hanging heavily overhead like a sodden mantle. Breath condensing in the air in front of me and fingertips like icicles, what better place to seek shelter than Birmingham's sumptuous museum and art gallery.

Built by the city's founding fathers in the late 1800s, the museum and gallery is a magnificent example of Victorian splendour and testament to our ancestors' belief in the importance of art in education. I'll be writing in a later post about its most treasured collection (in my opinion) of pre-Raphaelite paintings, but for now I'm focusing on a thoroughly modern exhibition exploring an ancient technique: Lost in Lace.

The Lost in Lace exhibition (which is free by the way) features UK-based and international artists playing with lace - and the curiosity of it as a deeply structured material, but one which is founded on holes and space (I'm clearly missing my vocation here as a museum curator).

One of the works I found especially interesting was a mammoth inverted cathedral, based on Gaudi's unfinished church in Barcelona, which was essentially thousands upon thousands of beads/crystals, strung and hung from the ceiling.

Completely fascinating was a video of a fragment of 19th Century black Chantilly lace under a microscope. To me it felt like I was crawling through alien vegetation, helped I think by the soundtrack of a munching silkworm.

Equally curious was 'Lace the final frontier' - a striking red installation, which on closer inspection turned out to made of wood and composed entirely of military motifs such as by-planes, soldiers and missiles.

There were also some pretty spooky figures trapped behind a tangled web of black mesh.

Finally, there was an interesting comparison between white and black lace - twisting their connotations of virginity and seduction. The white formed a wall, impossible to pass through but permitting a flood of light; the black was fashioned into a medieval style gateway, entirely passable but forbidding.

But before I come over all Freudian, might I suggest that if you're in the Birmingham area, you take in Lost in Lace, along with the rest of Birmingham Museum and Art Gallery, and if you come before Christmas, you can combine it with the fabulous German market too!

The morning commute

"We're sorry to announce that the [insert train here] has been cancelled".

Now I'm not usually one to use my internet presence to moan, but I think on this occasion I'm justified in making in exception.

Yesterday was one of those days that the regular public transport commuter has come to accept with weary resignation; it doesn't happen often enough to make leaving the car at home completely unviable, but in truth happens more often than it should.

What I'm describing is 'the journey to work from hell'.

Here's what happened:

8.00am - Arrive at the station to discover my usual train has been cancelled; no indication as to why. No big deal, there's another 5 minutes later.

8.20am - Train was supposed to arrive 15 minutes ago. Information boards say 'on time'. There is no-one around to ask.

8.23am - Finally, a bit of information - our train is on its why but has been delayed due to signalling problems.

8.25am - Train arrives. Lots of people get on it. Conductor announces that all trains going to my destination are being delayed up to 20 minutes due to signalling problems. Fine - I'm going to be late but at least I'm on my way.

8.30am - Minutes after pulling out of the station, with passengers safely locked in, the conductor announces that the train company has decided to terminate the service early - leaving us in some random part of the region most of us have probably never even been to.

8.40am - We all trundle off the train. Information boards on the platform suggest there might be another train on the way. There's no-one around to ask. I overhear a guy in a high visibility jacket who's being circled by angry commuters that there are no more trains and that we will have to get a bus to the next town and then onto the tram to our destination. Pretty sure this guy isn't a customer service representative.

8.45am - Having wandered down to the ticket office to ask what's going on (there's only one person dealing with scores of commuters, of course), I notice the information boards have finally been updated - all trains are delayed by up to 60 minutes or cancelled due to signalling problems. We're a bit late in the day for information now aren't we? The inconvenience has already been caused.

8.46am - Deciding to follow high-vis guy's advice (and being something of a sheep), I leave the station and spot a group of suit-clad people waiting at a bus stop across the road - this must be my gang.

8.55am - Bus successfully negotiated, now to find the tram. Thankfully there are signs.

9.00am - I'm on the tram and on my way. I get to work more than an hour late.

And the best thing of all? I could have just caught the tram from Birmingham at the start of all this and would have arrived on time, debacle avoided.

So why is it, that the train companies/station staff seem completely unwilling to offer any information about a situation that was clearly not going to go away and was going to affect hundreds, if not thousands, of people?

Why can it not be someone's job at each station, in the case of severe disruption, to don a high-visibility jacket and a walkie-talkie and go down on to the platform to make announcements and answer questions. It's not hard is it?

And why do station information boards say trains will be on time right up until they are due to arrive? If there is a signalling problem 15 miles away, I'm pretty sure that train companies/station managers, whoever is responsible, is aware of the issue well before their passengers are due to be catching their trains.

Seriously, it's ok to say: "we are sorry, but due to signalling problems there are no trains this morning. Please speak to one of our friendly advisers on the concourse who will help you to plan alternative methods of public transport" (there are plenty). We won't think less of you and it is infinitely more agreeable than being dumped en route and left to fend for ourselves.

To autumn and to birthdays

Autumn is my favourite season. I love it for its colours and the way that it smells. There is nothing more beautiful than low golden sunlight dappled through rusty leaves together with the lush freshness of damp earth. It probably comes as no surprise, therefore, to learn that I am an October baby.

Celebrating a birthday at the end of October means you will always be greeted with a surprise as far as the weather is concerned. Two years ago, it was 20 degrees centigrade (that's hot here) and I floated around town in a flower-print summer dress. Three years ago, I watched the first snow of the winter fall on Birmingham's rooftops, almost scuppering my evening get-together plans as the roads jammed with unforeseen ice.

Even last year it seems I wasn't immune to the unpredictability of my birthday's seasonal backdrop. While spring was advancing through Chile, 28th October 2010 saw snow fall in Santiago city - making it one of those days that all Santiaguinos remember. And for Carlos and I, it made for absolutely unforgettable scenery as we watched our first sunset over the Andes, completed with snow and without pollution.

Well today is again my day. Good fortune meant that I woke up to a classic October scene - crisply cold but with clear blue skies and brilliant sunshine. Rising early, I indulged in reading a short story from Haruki Murakami; it seemed fitting that the only book of his I could find in the library this week, having been recommended the author (for a second time), was his anthology of Birthday Stories.

The childlike delight of unwrapping presents followed of course, along with re-discovering that modern technology's best feature by far is its ability to connect people. One giant digital hug has reached me from South America (and a couple of other parts of the globe), that is as reassuring and blessed as the embrace that stretched out from the UK one year ago, which propelled me on through homesickness and anxiety.

So here's to autumn and to birthdays, for their reminder that for every harsh winter that comes, there are mellow moments of slow-burning gloriousness.

Late summer blooms

At the end of September, the UK was treated to what the weather forecasters call an Indian summer - a delightful week of clear blue skies and hot sunshine of the type that rarely appears in summer in this country, but that does like to surprise us at more unusual times.

For us, this bout of good weather coincided with a visit from Carlos' extended family from Spain - giving them, I fear, a somewhat rosied perception of a British autumn. But never mind. It meant that we got to do some sightseeing with a proper holiday backdrop.

Amid a week of firsts for me - and the discovery that Birmingham and its surroundings have some cracking good places to visit (hence starting the new blog) - one of the stand out places was Birmingham Botanical Gardens. Despite having been several times in the past, albeit mainly for drunken university balls, I'd never had the opportunity for a proper look round. And how I had missed out.

On an absolutely glorious day, the expansive gardens were at their best - the first autumn leaves shining brilliant red and gold in the sun while the last of the summer blooms blazed. We started with the glasshouses, moving from the oppressive heat of the tropical and sub-tropical rooms, through to the truly zen-like tranquillity of the Japanese garden and national bonsai collection. Back inside, the Mediterranean greenhouse unsurprisingly captured the imagination of our Iberian guests, packed as it was with stunning colours.

We were slightly disappointed to find the succulent room out of bounds due to maintenance, but we were at least treated to some magnificent specimens of giant cacti outside on the terrace.

The next couple of hours were simply spent meandering through the extensive grounds, which are pocketed with different styles of gardening and flora. A sumptuous day; if you have a spare afternoon and a patch of sunshine, I'd highly recommend grabbing a picnic and taking a stroll around Birmingham Botanical Gardens.

Birmingham Botanical Gardens are on Westbourne Road, Edgbaston. Easily reached on any bus leaving the city centre from Colmore Row towards Harborne - at the time of writing that's the numbers 10, 21, 22, 23, 24 and 29.

New beginnings

Just six weeks ago I stood on the other side of the world, breathing in South American air against a backdrop of the majestic snow-capped Andes. Back in Britain, those Chilean Adventures begin to feel like a distant dream. Time plays tricks on me as the before and after of my life in Birmingham begin to fuse together and seal over the magic bubble that was my year in Chile.

It almost seems unreal, but flicking through the pages of my Chilean Adventures is like pinching myself, reminding me that it's these eyes that were lucky enough to witness all those spectacular sights.

But the time has come for new beginnings, and I find myself looking at a familiar world with fresh eyes. I discover that in ten years of making Birmingham my home, there are so many corners of the city I have never explored. So it's time for a new blog and to treat my native land as I did my adopted home of Chile - with just one chance to see as much of it as possible.