Lost art

This gave me an attack of the giggles, which is no bad thing in these peculiar times and does cheer you up, so I thought I’d like to share it.

But let me begin at the beginning. It all grew from another blog I wrote just recently about the spring. which I called ‘Dancing with the daffodils’. One of my neighbours read it and enjoyed it and decided to bring me a bunch of daffodils from his garden by way of saying thank you. I found a vase for them and put them in the middle of the long table in the conservatory and watched them come into full bloom. I thought it was a lovely present and enjoyed it every day. I hadn’t just sat and enjoyed a bunch of flowers for a long time, because I usually go from my breakfast table to my desk and start work, so this was like a holiday. And as I sat by the table admiring them, it occurred to me that I hadn’t done any painting for a very long time either and thought how pleasant it would be to paint these flowers. My paintbrushes were all standing ready in a tall pot in my study. All I had to do was find my paints and sketchbooks. I set off at once to find them.

And I couldn’t do it. I searched on all the shelves and in all the cupboards in my study and found all sorts of interesting things I didn’t know I still possessed but there was no sign of my paints. So I tried the living room and searched in all the cupboards there. Nothing. By that time I was asking myself where on earth I would have put them and feeling quite cross with myself – and the daffodils were beginning to wilt. The next day I looked through the wardrobes. Zilch. The day after I rooted about under the stairs. Not a sign, although I found a packet of cat food and two umbrellas I didn’t expect. By this time, the daffodils and I were both looking sorry for ourselves. It was very sob and drat.

And then my lovely granddaughter/amanuensis Lottie gave me a hyacinth in bud in a pot and the need to paint was even more intense. I searched again without finding even a hint of paint or paper and the hyacinth burst into beautiful bloom. Finally, when the daffodils were as you see them in the picture and the hyacinth was luxuriant, my younger daughter arrived and I told her my tale of woe.

‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘I’ll find them.’ And love her dear heart she started her search, while I trailed after her, hopefully. The study. Nothing. The living room Nothing. The bedroom cupboards. Zilch, zilch, zilch. The cupboard under the stairs. Useless.

She’s a practical creature my Caroline. ‘They must be somewhere,’ she said. ‘They can’t just have disappeared. I’ll phone Lottie and see if she knows.’ Which she did. And our lovely Lottie knew exactly where it all was and gave us directions. It turned out, ridiculously, to be the one place where we hadn’t looked. A innocent cabinet in the living room which had always housed drinks. It was just so ridiculous it gave me a fit of the giggles which gave Caroline a fit of the giggles, which seemed a fitting way to end the search. Afterwards, when we’d got our breath back, I said, ‘If I told anyone this story they’d never believe it.’

So here it is.