Yorkshire: Painting, Ceramics, Desiderata

Saltaire is a 19th-century village in Yorkshire, has impressive architecture and is a World Heritage Site. It includes delightful and probably very valuable sandstone cottages, that were once inhabited by workers at the textile mill, and Salts Mill itself, a spectacular building which now houses an art gallery, a very impressive shop full of arty desiderata and at least two fully-licensed cafes, where you can have wine with your home-made Victoria sponge cake. Very fancy. One of my favourite places in the area. It is also home to a massive amount of work, mainly paintings, some photography and other media, by international superstar artist and local boy David Hockney. So, on that note, let me show you this gallery space, some Hockney and some generally nice things that are to be found at Saltaire.


ceramic 3

ceramic 2

Hockney portrait of his parents.


Hockney photograph of his own paintings. Nice.

hock photo

More Hockney.

hock pink hock green

Exit through the gift shop.

tin tin



I love those glasses, they are so gloriously tacky and bling, they are large too, that is a lot of champagne.

So that was my weekend in Yorkshire and as usual I felt so much better for it: well-fed, exercised, fresh air, art, good friends. It really is a tonic. Eventually it came to an end, Leroy and I took the train back to London and said goodbye at the station, then I went home.

Towards the end of the weekend, the Head Honcho noticed that my emails had suddenly tailed off and launched another charm offensive. We are getting on so well, it is the best it’s been in at least two years, maybe more. I am smiling right now, thinking about it. We aren’t fighting at all. He looks like he is starting to concede that we can find a way of compromising and organising the relationship so that we both get our needs met. I suddenly feel I understand a bit more what he wants from me. It’s good, in fact I would tentatively say that it is great. And so I abandoned the health-giving Yorkshire countryside and returned to my lair in dark, dirty London and to the Honcho’s familiar and largely imaginary embrace, because one can only take so much fresh air and reality, and that only in small doses.

And that’s all the news.

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