Since Tilia misrepresented my relationship with Kip so distastefully as to almost suggest he was a one night stand in her post about her London Gwag Royce Part 1, I felt I should set the story straight now rather than later.

So Kip and I met during a film shoot, which was essentially, my film shoot, during college in London. I was writing and directing a short and he was hired by my course leader to be my director of photography. He himself, was in film school there and came highly recommended. Well just taking a look at him I could have told you that.

We met over coffee for pre-production talk, as filming would commence the following weekend. We connected instantly. (And contrary to this website's material, you may think this happens to me often, but it really doesn't) We had a shared love for deep conversation and philosophy that I rarely find.

Kip was originally from a respectable family in New Delhi and had originally intended to go into economics and engineering like his Muslim father. But during college, his brother introduced him to some documentary filmmakers and Kip discovered he wasn't destined for a 9 to 5 job. He fled to London on a film scholarship to begin his career.

The filming went smoothly, we finished on budget, early, actors were happy and did I mention the camera guy was the best part? We became fast friends but nothing more until the night of the premiere where I was late to my own film. (smooth) Afterwards, there was lots of free champagne, and at this point in my life not only did I lack the sense of a cut off period, I didn't care, as Grey was there with his twit girlfriend, drinking nothing but orange juice.

This upset me more than you could imagine.

However, my chivalrous and handsome friend Kip took care of me that night as I, no doubt, made a complete ass of myself. He saved me from almost losing my passport, and escorted me to the tube station where he sat with me for almost 15 minutes until the last one came. I put my head on his shoulder and he lightly stroked me hair. At that moment, we were more than just friends.

Sadly, soon after our flirtatious period of drinking in Covent Garden and spending lots of time in unconventional  conversation, I'd decided it was financially necessary for me to move back to America at the time, where he would stay in London for a while. It was because of this decision that I made a conscious effort not to sleep with him. I was afraid of falling in love with him.

Kip gave me a beautiful going away present that he bought on the streets of New Delhi; an embroidered Indian tunic and skirt, which for some reason fit me perfectly, even though he had no idea what size I was, nor had he even gotten a decent glimpse. (If you know what I mean, wink)

So we parted ways, but kept in constant touch. It wasn't until a couple months later that I regretted what could have been and actually admitted this to him. Hardly surprised, he expressed the same regret and I made a radical decision to return back to London that December for my 'graduation' which I'd never intended to go to. I needed to see Kip again.

So I arrived in London for a week, where Tilia also joined and we stayed in my old flat thanks to my lovely landlord.

Kip and I finally consummated our relationship and it was a sort of fairy tale week that felt like only a couple of days. (Oh and can I just say the sex was amazing) We drove out to the English countryside one night and spent almost 3 hours in a Christmas decorated tavern with leather couches, a fireplace and lots of mistletoe. We went to our favorite pubs and instead of talking, just made out with each other. (Consider it making up for lost time)

To make it even more movie-esque, he had decided to travel back to India the same day I would later fly back to America. He was going to 'Chaiya Chaiya Bollywood' to try his hand at becoming a famous director and I was embarking on a journey to Hollywood to become a famous writer.

After spending hours together at Heathrow airport on the night of his departure, neither one of us knowing what would happen next, but admitting we still had a desire to try to be together, he walked off into the distance after a kiss goodbye, I returned back to the flat, packed my suitcase and left for America.

(This was the same night Tilia, Royce and I attended the play readings and, hence the part where Tilia goes on a tour of London with Royce)

As time passed, we became more and more distant. And if the time zone difference wasn't enough, our lack of finances also hurt our chances in the communication department. So it was only recently that I called it off between us. Not necessarily due to any fault of either party, but just a lack of knowing what will happen to us in the future.

Kip is, however, planning to visit London later this year, and I told him I wouldn't rule out the possibility of seeing him again.

Because in a way with Kip, I felt I'd found my counterpart and it was, and still is, the only time I've been in love with someone despite their faults.

So my first day back in London was like a dream. Truly. Even the way there was to die for thanks to the lovely makers of Zoom Airlines. No crying babies. Half full flight, lovely British accented flight attendants and 2 seats all to myself by the window, including chic flicks like The Other Boleyn Girl and 27 Dresses for my viewing pleasure. An exercise regimen while sitting on the plane read "this is optional" on the screen.

When I landed, I had to stand in a horrendous customs line which I mended by listening to music and staring at strange foreigners and their families. My interview with the customs officer was short and pleasant and I breezed through currency exchange and the train ticket line. However when I arrived downstairs to purchase a day pass for the city, a snooty British twit almost denied my 20 pound note, saying, " It's dyed." I attempted the blank stare, and when he still persisted I basically told him he had to take it cause it was my only one. He hissed a bit, but finally relented.

Once I met my friend Carla after dragging my 70 pound suitcase on an off buses and down long streets, we went to her lovely flat in Stockwell, I cleaned up and ate at Wagamama in Covent Garden. Then we walked to Waterloo by bridge where the lovely view of Big Ben, Parliament and the London eye off the Thames reminded me of why I moved back. I felt incredibly lucky.

Carla and I also began talking about our future production company over coffee, then proceeded to meet her hot Chinese lesbian friend Phoebe at the Hayward Gallery. We were hoping to get into the art show "Psycho Buildings" but unfortunately, being only 40 pence a piece, it was sold out. But we found our own entertainment right outside by hopping in and out of timed fountains (in the windy rain) which found us soaked but incredibly gitty.

I then made a joke about a guy, Grey, that I use to be hopeless for when I first lived in London (who I guess I'm still not over) and mused at how funny it would be if he caught me jumping fountains when he didn't even know I was in London again. Well, as (possible) fate would have it, we walked down Waterloo and stopped by the National Theatre for a drink and who did I see at the window? None other than Grey. (And they say London's a big city) I thought, this doesn't really happen does it? Apparently it does. Now to be fair, I did know Grey worked there at some point, but he later told me he was fired. I was also a bit nostalgic of the place since it was somewhere we went together often (with his girlfriend's money) (yeah...I know how that sounds) so when I saw him there, first reaction was shock, but second was...typical. I wanted a romantic re-introduction however, so didn't go say hello, and instead waited for him to "magically run into me." The place wasn't that big, and he had to have a break sometime right? But, unfortunately my brush with fate wasn't as kind as I'd hoped.

Carla, Phoebe and I did however catch a free concert inside the National over drinks and watched old couples tango dance which was strangely arousing. We also had a fascinating conversation about lesbians, which I also found not so strangely arousing. I was beginning to have a little crushy crush on Phoebe. So I began to flirt a bit and she invited me to her picnic in Richmond Park on Sunday. However, only later on the tube ride home did I learn of Carla's repressed feelings for her. So I guess,chicks before chicks? Ah hell.

I definitely welcomed myself to London in style. Am now still trying to figure out how to creep up on Grey without it being actually creepy....hmm....

“Prima di conoscere te non sapevo come erano gli angeli sulla terra. Ma ora che ti ho non ti perderò per nulla al mondo . Ti amo” In risposta:” Va bene ok” ( qui ho riso mezz’ora nell’immaginare questo dialogo fra un’appassionata adolescente ed un timido sbarbatello”

“No alla discriminazione dei gay”. Frasi da un mondo puro ed assoluto come quello degli adolescenti che viive di certezze nelle costruzioni e nelle distruzioni, nei pensieri come nella sessualità ed in generale nella corporeità.

Sono venuto zaino in spalla in autostop da casa, per seguire il consiglio di Claudio Magris di scrivere al bar per non essere distratti dal telefono, dai parenti, dal computer.

Penso agli ultimi tre anni vissuti in Irpinia, alle cose dette, scritte, agli incontri, alle polemiche, agli amori finiti. E chi ti ritrovo? Me stesso!

Basta vedere i libri che ho adesso nello zaino. L’atlante tascabile mondiale comprato da Stanford a Covent Garden nel 2005 ( ho pregato l’amico che mi ha dato il passaggio di riporlo nella mia bara il giorno che non sarò più di questo mondo), “Il Banchiere dei Poveri” di Muhammad Yunus, “ In Asia” di Tiziano Terzani. E’ chiaro il messaggio che il mio inconscio vuole comunicarmi. Parafrasando Bruce Chatwin, potrei dire:” Ma che ci faccio io qui?”

Ad Ariano ci sono i miei libri, le mie cose, i miei conoscenti ed ogni volta che sono partito il mio bagaglio è sempre stato molto piccolo. Ogni volta che sono andato ho sempre sentito l’esigenza di tornare, anche per periodi lunghi.

Stamane mi sono convinto definitivamente che ognuno deve fare quello che sa fare di più e meglio, senza paura e senza tentennamenti. Ho una grande nostalgia dell’Europa dell’Est, ho un grande desiderio di andare oltre gli Urali, di curare il mio blog professionale e di crearne uno nuovo che parli solo di viaggi. In fondo con le cose belle che ho realizzato, mi sono fatto un sacco di amici e delle cose brutte oltre ad avere un brutto ricordo ho desiderio di liberarmi per sempre.

Devo tornare in strada zaino e PC in spalla. Lavorare in modo itinerante continuando a fare il mio lavoro quotidiano. Ancora un paio di anni e poi si parte. In fondo ad Ariano ho tutto quello che potrei volere, ma nel profondo sono sempre stato un amante dell’Altro da Sé. Ripartire diviene vitale elemento di rinascita nella gioia, nell’entusiasmo, nella profonda confidenza nella Divina Provvidenza. Quotidianamente ho deciso di giocarmi la salvezza, nella ricerca di ciò che non muore e non muta, che continuamente fa si che il mio sorriso non si spenga mai più.

]]> http://stillcallozhome.wordpress.com/?p=176 Sat, 05 Jul 2008 14:10:25 +0000 mscambridge http://stillcallozhome.wordpress.com/?p=176 What bliss! It seems that women are very easy to please.... really they are - I hear a collective groan from the men reading this! But it is honestly true.

All we need is a fluffy terry toweling dressing gown, some good smelling stuff to lather ourselves in, possibly a glass of champagne and a friend to chat with as we swan between rigourous activities. Spa? Suana? Massage? Facial? It is nothing really!

Last night I was treated to an evening at the all women spa in Covent Garden aptly named The Sanctuary. Although it did have a rather bumpy start.

As we prepared to register and place our credit card at the mercy of the charming and oh so calm women who run the place...... The fire alarm went off. You have never seen anything as funny as women exiting into a busy Friday night street in Covent Garden in white dressing gowns, with goop all over their faces or part way through an aroma therapy massage. The alarm was quickly silenced with no firemen required and we were back on track!

We enjoyed a high frequency sound wave treatment - weird but free and I had a massage. My goodness my back and shoulders are in a massive mess at the moment. As her elbow rolled over the ropey and not so supple parts of my body I had to grit my teeth. Although to be fair I am not much of a fan of the massages that you leaving you feeling moisturised and nothing else.

It was a lovely and relaxing few hours where time was suspended and I did not think about the coming summer of job hunting and thesis writing - well not much at least!

I love the idea of things in disguise. Heidi Kenney is an expert in giving personalities to random objects and food items like used tissues to mushrooms, donuts and tampons!

I am happy thinking about these funny objects, looking through Hello, please! and listening to Ant' Waltz on repeat.

after having some grapes with yogurt we moved towards covent garden for some posh attractions. well not that posh but poshier anyway.

cakes and tea - so english..

but we better went for taking away the best coffee in london. if you write into your google bar 'the best coffee in london' the first +- 10 pages will contain something about this coffee shop which is in covent garden, next to a very beautiful yard with tons of colours.

after we bought WAD magazine and had a chill in soho square. and then dropped in topshop and spend like one hour or more chosing one of a green eye shadows. it is such a difficult task.

which one would you choose?

... then 'urban outfitters'... amazing water-pot. inga wished could have taken it with her. but we have no plants at home. except withered basilics.

and aurime can't decide whether to buy ray-bans for herself, or is this trend already 'ladled out'? help wanted!

and days off means live concerts. goldfrapp and erykah badu - done. and it's nothing to add. impossible to express how amazing those divas were.

I know I said I wouldn't go shopping but I've already made a couple purchases. My RM29 sunglasses from KL broke (I've only had them a week!) so I bought a pair at M&S here for 5 quid. I also bought a light weather proof sling pouch for 8 quid and a pair of shoes to wear at my sister's wedding. I could do the geeky thing and take photos of my purchases but I'll spare you (and me!)

The weather here has been wonderful so far! The sun is out and it's cool sweater weather. Feels like spring! The English find it quite warm but as the English say, "Bollocks!" This is perfect walking weather. unfortunately I spend half the time looking for free wifi and I also have no inkling to where I am going or where I want to go. I've been here before and I did all the tourist like things then. This is basically my transit point for Denmark, Ireland and France.

This just in, London crackhead just stopped by to ask for a light. Dropped some change in an empt starbucks cup next to me. Then asks me for some money for him to buy food (or crack?)... oh bless his cracked heart.

Estimated time now 12:40 p.m. - Finally got internet access. I am at Nero's Cafe in Covent Garden. Am paying for the internet though through BT Openzone. Unnecessary splurging but my feet are tired and I'm hungry. Ben did sms me a couple "Free wifi hotspots" in the area - all of which I was unsuccessfuly in finding. Note to first time visitors to the UK who plan to bring laptops with them. Make sure you have a list of places that offer free wifi of be prepared to pay through your nose.

Since there are no photos of me on this blog yet - here is one of me looking how I do best - Lost. (I love this laptop - it's got a built in webcam!)

Depois de assistir muita tv e beber muita cerveja, ainda me sentia uma inútil por não estudar mais. Até pensei em arrumar algum curso para fazer, mas acho que ainda é cedo para um bom mestrado.

Cannons © Denisol

Até que, um belo dia, resolvi me matricular na academia. Saí do trabalho, visitei a academia, voltei para casa matriculada.

Academia aqui é bem diferente que no Brasil. No Brasil, academia é um lugar para se desfilar corpos sarados e tênis de marca famosa. Não sei se tenho essa impressão por sempre ter malhado em academias “de grife”, mas sempre me constrangiu um pouco ver aquelas meninas de brincos grandes e maquiagem na esteira.

Pois aqui existem duas visíveis categorias de pessoas que vão malhar seus corpitchos.

Categoria 1: Os atletas;

Eles são praticamente profissionais: fazem dieta, correm, correm e correm muito. Não têm uma gota de gordura no corpo: somente pele e músculos. Malham porque gostam. Ou porque vivem disso.

Categoria 2: Os caídos;

São pessoas acima do peso. Na maioria das vezes, muito acima do peso. Fazem academia por recomendação médica e peso na consciência por terem desleixado tanto ao longo dos anos.

É muito engraçado. Nã se vê pessoas com vergonha do corpo, clima de azaração, nada disso. As pessoas estão na academia com um objetivo, e é isso.

The awesome part: Right after lecture, we took the Underground and visited the chambers of Parliament as they were in session.  Pretty neat I'd have to say.  The House of Commons was quite lively with heckling, jeering, and still, a certain sense of politeness.  It's cool to see the two sides seated directly across from their enemies.  The MPs seemed to be having fun for the most part.  Unfortunately we weren't able to take pictures inside.

The House of Lords was also a sight to behold but a bit more dry.  They were having a debate on the topic of "Britishness".  Interestingly enough, the speaker referred to American nationalism and how Britain is in a bit of an identity crisis in regards to its citizens' civic identity.

After a couple hours in Parliament, we headed over to Westminster Abbey across the street.  I think it was the largest and most spectacular man-made structure I've ever seen.  Famous for its dead people, the Abbey was amazing.  Walking past the tombs of such famous historical figures as Queen Elizabeth I and T.S. Eliot was a pretty surreal experience.  Add to that the voice of Jeremy Irons on the electronic tour and you've got yourself a pretty cool trip down history.  The steep admission fee of 9 pounds was a bit pricey but worth it just to take in the splendor of the place.

After the Abbey and a brief stopover in Leicester Square, we went back to the hotel where I subsequently headed out with another group 30 minutes later to Covent Garden.  Kind of like Santa Monica's Third Street Promenade, the place had a bunch of street performers who ran that gamut from good to bad.  There was a lot of audience participation and heckling which made for great fun.  There were many shops and restaurants as well and unfortunately a few of us lost the girls that went on a shopping excursion.

We left for the hotel and admittedly I was pooped.  I'll end today's report there.

Tomorrow: Whatever London gives me.

L'image au-dessus vous montre où j'ai été ce matin. Si vous cliquez, vous arrivez mieux à lire the nom du bâtiment: Covent Garden Market. Autrefois le marché principale de Londres pour les légumes et les fruits, Covent Garden est aujourd'hui une attraction pour les touristes plus qu'autre chose.

Les légumes ont déménagé depuis un bon bout de temps et the vieux marché est maintenant occupé par des boutiques, des cafés et des restaurants. La place - là où je me suis posé pour faire la photo - est surnommée "the Piazza", et offre un lieu pour les spectacles où un "artiste" ou un "comique" peut facilement vous accrocher pour faire rire la foule.

L'intérieure est belle, n'est-ce pas? En regardant bien, on voit des traces de sa longue histoire.

Les experts se disputent sur l'interprétation du nom. Les uns disent que le marché a pris son nom d'un couvent qui existait à une époque dans les parages et qu'avec la disparition de ce dernier, le "couvent" inexplicable s'est transformé en "covent", et les autres que le marché, puisqu'il possède un toit, a dû s'appeler "Marché Couvert" et que plus tard "couvert" est devenu "covent" dans la bouche des anglais.

Ces explications me semblent bien douteuses mais, en tout cas, si vous voulez en discuter, vous pouvez le faire agréablement dans le Punch and Judy, le pub au sous-sol.

Je suis allé à Covent Garden pour une raison et la photo à droite indique laquelle: j'avais besoin de renouveler mon stock de thé qui avait baissé dangereusement.

J'aime le thé. Non, c'est pas correcte: j'adore le thé! J'en bois des litres par jour. Pas n'importe quel thé, non plus. Ah non! Il me faut le meilleur! Il y a maintenant peu de magasins où on peut trouver du vrai bon thé mais en voici un, The Tea House, dans Neale Street, Covent Garden.

Je ne vais pas maintenant vous ennuyer au sujet du thé, ce qu'il faut acheter, comment on le fait et le sert - cela viendra déjà une autre fois! Je dirai simplement qu'en ce moment, mon préféré, c'est le Russian Caravan (on l'appelle simplement "thé caravane" en français, je crois) avec son bon gout de fumée. J'ai acheté mon thé et ensuite je suis rentré pour en faire quelques bonnes tasses.

Henry: Hi. Let’s start at the beginning. I am Henry St Clair – First Artist with The Royal Ballet – along with my partner and fellow dancer, Olivia Cowley; we want to give you a snapshot of our lives here at Covent Garden.

Olivia: So first things first – Class! As dancers we are often asked, what is Class? What is the importance of a daily class? The easy answer is - the first bit of dancing we do each day…. 6 days a week, and for some, 52 weeks a year!

Henry: Basically, the daily class serves as a conditioning session for our bodies and a practise session for our technique. But, actually, this hour and a quarter a day is far more important than that. It is a chance to, not only move our bodies and work out the inevitable aches and pains from the show the night before but also to gauge the mood and emotion of the company as a whole. We work incredibly hard and in close proximity with our fellow dancers and one of the most important things is to see these people every day and socially interact.

Olivia: The importance of actually dancing every morning also varies from dancer to dancer and can be different for men and women. For example, a man who has done a hard show the previous night and doesn’t have much hard physical work for a few days may prefer a run and a session on the weights bench. Us girls are generally more involved in the “white acts” of classical ballets and as such need to place more emphasis on doing class every day purely to improve technique and keep up the incredible levels of stamina we so desperately need.

Henry: I hope this helps to answer any questions people may have about the physical and psychological importance of that all important daily class. If you don’t already – maybe you should consider doing your own Class each day – it certainly frees up the mind and body.

Olivia: and think of all that team building that could go on as people up and down the country do bit of limbering by their desks each day.

Dessin d'après photo que j'avais prise d'un groupe qui était plutôt doué sur Covent Garden. Bon, le prochain article devrait être plus intéressant :)

I made this drawing from a photography I took of a very nice band at Covent Garden. The next article may be more interesting :)

My next quest is to find a sandwich bar that is cheaper than all the tourist places - I think I will have to do a few walking trips around the back streets of Covent Garden at lunchtimes to find them. Our building does have a great roof terrace as well - lovely with the weather we are having today, maybe not when normal British summer weather returns. At least with Covent Garden if I ever meet up with friends or my American colleagues ever come over to visit there will be tons of bars, restaurants and traditional English pubs to take them to.

By the afternoon we were in the new office! Two of us to unpack 30 boxes of stuff, from stationery, pcs, desk clutter, kitchen items, and tons of printed items. The new office is great though, it's in Covent Garden and we managed to have a bit of a break to look at the shops and get some lunch. It makes a change to work in an area that is so busy and exciting. Having all the shops nearby is great too but not for my bank balance! Still lots of unpacking and tidying up the new office to do but it does have a nice homely feel to it. After 10 years of working near Farringdon and feeling a bit miserable about missing that area, I think I will be OK - too much going on to miss it!

It is my belief, Watson, founded upon my experience, that the lowest and vilest alleys of London do not present a more dreadful record of sin than does the smiling and beautiful countryside.
(Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, The Copper Beeches)

I’m catching up on obituaries, so many great people are dying just now. Tomorrow, that French designer guy and Bo Diddley.

But today, here’s the full text of Arthur Cunynghame’s moving obituary for Lucy Appleby, pioneer and champion of British farmhouse cheesemaking:

Government controls over milk and cheese production during and after the second world war decimated Britain’s farmhouse cheesemaking. Farmers were encouraged to send their milk to central creameries, where it would be made into blocks of cheese, usually nondescript, and then vacuum-packed. The individuality of farmhouse cheese was being lost.

Lucy Appleby, who has died aged 88, was one of those who bucked the trend. A guardian of farmhouse production, she became a pivotal figure in the renaissance of British cheesemaking which came to full flower in the 1980s and 90s. It is a fitting testament to her achievements that her cheese – predominantly “Mrs Appleby’s Cheshire” – now sells one and a half tons a week in many countries, and that the stand she made against the industrialization of cheesemaking has resulted in a wealth of artisan British cheeses now being appreciated as delicious examples of a cultural tradition worth preserving.

As a girl growing up on Lighteach farm, in Whitchurch, Shropshire, Lucy Walley, as she then was, learned to make Cheshire cheese and studied at Reaseheath Agricultural College, Nantwich, Cheshire, during the 1930s. She put this skill to good use after she had met and married Lance Appleby in 1940. Two years later, they bought Hawkestone Abbey Farm, 10 miles over the county border in Shropshire, and in 1952, after bringing up her seven children, Lucy took charge of cheesemaking. She had a flair for it. There was an abundant supply of fresh milk from the farm’s herd of Friesian cows and, naturally, she made the cheese in the manner she had been taught: unpasteurized and bound in calico cloth.

As was customary at the time, their cheese was sold through the Milk Marketing Board. But this meant that once they had made the cheese, the Applebys lost sight of it, not knowing where it was sold, to whom, in what quantities or even if the customer liked it. Cheeses were sold simply as “Cheshire” without reference to the farm of origin.

Breaking this mould, the Applebys decided in the early 1980s to sell directly to the customer – one of their first was the newly opened Neal’s Yard Dairy in Covent Garden, London. The owner, Randolph Hodgson, was astounded by the quality of their produce, and the reputation of “Mrs Appleby’s Cheshire” was soon assured. In 1989, the death knell for raw milk cheeses was nearly sounded when a number of supermarkets erroneously responded to a listeria scare by insisting their suppliers pasteurize their milk for cheesemaking. Again, Lucy stood firm. She knew that pasteurization inactivates flavour-giving enzymes, resulting in cheeses that lack personality and show fewer of the characteristics of the farm on which they are made. That year, she became a founding member of the Specialist Cheesemakers’ Association (SCA), which has encouraged the use of unpasteurized milk for cheesemaking ever since.

One of Lucy’s skills was her instinctive sense of observation. Hodgson remembers being guided through the cheese store as she looked at different cheeses and pronounced one to be acidic because it had straight sides, another to be wet because its sides curved slightly.

Even after she handed over the day-to-day making of the cheese to someone else, she would still keep an eye on the vat from her kitchen and would often walk into the cheese room when some sixth sense told her that something was amiss. Nine times out of ten, she would be right, and she would find the temperature of the curd was a little too high or the cheese had been slightly over-salted.

The daughter of a Baptist minister, who also farmed, Lucy later became a Methodist. She had what might today be called an old-fashioned work ethic, but she enjoyed herself. She was certainly not dour, and a little giggle was never far from her lips. It was simply that she took pride in doing the best job she could and refused to cut corners. Holidays were few and far between; she got her enjoyment from life and work on the farm. The trips that she did make were generally to visit the five of her seven children who live in Australia and New Zealand.

At home she was hugely welcoming and delighted in offering cups of tea, cakes and cheese to visitors, whom she would invite into her warm, friendly kitchen and look after with a calmness of manner which guaranteed that visitors felt relaxed.

It was a great day for the farm when the Prince of Wales visited in 1994. This joyous occasion seemed to symbolize the Applebys’ achievements: all the effort they put in to their cheesemaking and the successful campaign they had fought to keep alive British farmhouse cheese. Both Lance and Lucy were individually appointed MBEs in 2003 for services to the food industry.

Lucy was one of the most skilled cheesemakers in Britain and was held in great esteem by her fellow cheesemakers. To me the appeal of the cheese she has bequeathed to us lies partly in its lively, fresh flavours with hints of citrus and sea spray. It never shouts its flavours from the rooftops: it is simply and quietly a lovely cheese. It has great depth of flavour, which is not to be confused with strength of flavour. Its flavours are delicate, almost elusive but they last in the mouth - a long, lingering, delightful reminder of a summer’s day.

Lucy is survived by six of her seven children – John, Margaret, Rachel, Edward, Ruth and Helen. Her third son, Robert, died in 2002, a year before Lance. Today, Appleby’s of Hawkstone is run by Edward and his wife Christine.

R.I.P. Florence Lucy Appleby 1.2.1920 – 24.4.2008