just saying ... the thing about Mrs Arnolfini's lovely woollen dress ...

Jan van Eyck (circa 1390–1441) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Did you watch the Waldemar Januszczak series about the Renaissance on the BBC? It was really interesting. I was lucky enough to watch all 4 episodes as I was finishing off a project. I love catch-up telly when I'm working on something that leaves my brain free to enjoy all the good stuff that I never get to watch live-time.

In the first episode the wonderful Waldemar talked about this painting from the National Gallery painted by Jan Van Eyck in 1434. It's an odd little painting that I know well. In fact, truth be told, I could look at it for hours, like some kind of time-travelling voyeur. I mean, spare a thought for the fact that it's transporting us back half a millennium to this couple's bedroom in Bruges, then the textile capital of Europe. I should add that it was fashionable, back then, to entertain guests in your bedroom so that they could see (and sit on) your opulent textiles.

Fantastic Mr Fox ...

I got a surprise this morning when I looked out the kitchen window. There, larger than life and full of vigour, sat Fantastic Mr Fox on my garden wall, and he carried on sitting there staring in at me for at least half an hour. I was transfixed ... watching him ... watching me. He wasn't in the least bit timid. In fact he looked like the Lord of the Manor, surveying his domain.

I wandered lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd, 

A host of golden daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Okay, okay, I may be gilding the lily - or should that be the daffodil? -  a bit. In truth it's hard to do the lonely as a cloud thing on Ealing Common with the traffic thundering by on the Uxbridge Road, but it is just a little bit glorious out there at the moment with the wonderful mini-daffodils that are exploding with cheerful colour all over the grass. 

In the pink ...

The weather here in London continues to put on a cold, grey face, but I'm resolutely clinging to the notion that spring must be just around the corner.

Notwithstanding the unseasonal gloom I spent a very happy day yesterday photographing my new collection of organic cotton 4 ply in all the wonderful shades of summer. It's a tricky business taking photos that accurately record the colour of yarn. My favourite place for indoor photography is in our south-facing conservatory, which has wonderful, clear, white light.

The first Sunday ... way back on 7th March 321 A.D.

On this day in A.D. 321 the Roman Emperor, Constantine, issued an edict declaring that his subjects should henceforth observe Sunday, as a special day of rest. Today we tend to think of Constantine as the first Christian Roman Emperor, but he was also strongly associated with the pagan cult of Sol Invictus - the unconquered sun - after which he chose to name his special day.

Being a pragmatist he specified that the day of rest had to be observed by the non-essential workers in the cities who were obliged to close their workshops and take a day off. The folk who were involved in agriculture in the countryside, however, were given a special dispensation to carry on as normal - lest by neglecting the proper moment ... the bounty of heaven should be lost.

Sol Invictus was the official sun god of the later Roman Empire, and a patron of soldiers with a special appeal for the senatorial upper classes. Many Christians across the empire already treated Sunday as a day for religious observance, although a number in Rome and Alexandria preferred Saturday, the Jewish Sabbath. And amongst the wider population Sunday was a popular day because it was frequently the workers' pay-day. 

So here's to Constantine, Sol Invictus, a day-off and the inauguration of a weekly holiday, a thoroughly civilised development.

All the best for now,

Bonny x