Every evening, I give myself a little treat: half an hour on-line reading my favourite blogs. Five of them.

This beautiful little girl grew up to become an accomplished artist and an outstanding teacher. She lives and works in Los Angeles, travels whenever and wherever she can and delights her many admirers with colourful, humourous reports and wonderful photographs. To read her is to feel you know her.

I was fortunate enough to meet up with Mary Ann in Paris. I'll never forget those two days.

Carol lives and works in Kansas City and tells Tall Tales with wit and wisdom. I love her sense of humour and her gorgeous photographs. She posts every day and is always a pleasure to read, hilariously funny and with a unique take on everyday occurences - not to mention a wide range of amazing cocktail recipes.

Incidentally, Carol and Mary Ann are sisters. No surprise to me!

Rachel was born and brought up in the very same part of London as I was, although quite a few years separate us. I read Book Snob for the excellent book reviews but also to keep up with her interesting life. Rachel spent a year working in New York and her readers accompanied her wherever her intelligent, lively and curious mind took her. Now she's back in London - lucky girl - with a brilliant career in prospect.

All comments to her blog are answered with attention and enthusiasm. I wouldn't miss a single entry.

Here's Penny, who seems not to have changed a bit from the sweet little person she was. She's a Scottish Vegan Homemaker, mother of two accomplished children whom she and her husband John very successfully educated at home. She blogs less frequently than my other Favourites but when a post appears, it's always well worth the wait.

Gentle, loving and very well read, Penny delights in her home and shares her quiet joy with her readers.

The Cornish flag flutters proudly on the web site of the RNLI Lifeboat Station at Sennen Cove, near Land's End in Cornwall. I click on every day to see what sort of weather our children and granddaughters are having.

A Crew Pool of 24 people are available to man the lifeboats - all highly trained and dedicated volunteers. This pool ensures adequate crew availability to man both boats immediately 24 hours daily 365 days per year.

I have immense admiration for all those courageous men who are ready to set out in any weather to help those in peril on the sea.

I like museums, especially the old-fashioned kind, the ones without too many buttons to push. The National Maritime Museum in Falmouth is modern without being too patronising.

This poster shows the beautiful winding estuary of the River Fal. The port of Falmouth, at its mouth, is the third deepest harbour in the world. It has been, and still is, immensely important for defence, international shipping and as a starting pointing for many record-breaking voyages.

The museum's current exhibition concerns lighthouses and their keepers.

In the ground floor main hall, boats are suspended from the high ceiling. You can walk beneath them, noting their construction, or move to the next level to see inside.

The older boats have been carefully restored with ropes and tools and bailing-out equipment in place. The flag is a Red Ensign, created for the Royal Navy in the 17th Century and flown these days by the British Merchant Navy.

These are coracles, those intriguing little vessels used for many centuries in Wales and other Celtic parts of the British Isles. They are light enough to be carried on a man's back or shoulder, as the picture behind them shows.

The museum has its own open workshop, equipped with the latest tools, as well as exhibits of very old ones. At present, the White Owl, built in Falmouth in 1902, is being restored. A blackboard, regularly updated, shows progress reports and explications of methods used by expert local boat builders.

A small but important exhibition within the museum tells of the Endurance Expedition undertaken by Ernest Shackleton in 1914. It's easy to imagine the horrible discomfort of being trapped in the ice near the South Pole for so long.

This replica of Shackleton's string vest shows how crude their protective clothing was 100 years ago.

My Dad wore string vests but, though unattractive to us as children, they were a lot more sophisticated than this one. Does anyone wear a string vest these days or were they an idea which faded out around 1970?

As the Endurance was sinking into the ice, Shackleton insisted that this banjo, signed by the  crew, should be saved. He called it 'vital mental medicine' - and he was right. It kept the men cheerful for many hours in the Polar night.

The On the Rocks exhibition showed examples of families living far out to sea. Keepers guarded the coast by maintaining the huge mirrored lamps which flashed ceaselessly over the waters. These children grew up on the Hartland lighthouse in the 1930s. Fred even had a windswept garden on the leeside.

We took the lift to the museum's top storey and looked down (through the rain) at the recently improved quayside.

Looking through binoculars provided for viewing the estuary, we could see tiny figures of seamen moving around the Argus, a naval support vessel from Belfast. She is flying the Royal Fleet Auxiliary Ensign.

The lift took us to the underwater level where markers show how far and how deep the tide has come. I've been here before at High Tide when the viewing hall becomes scarily murky. I much prefer ground level.

Clouds were moving swiftly as we left Discovery Quay at dusk. More rain on the way, I fear.

St Ives is probably the most visited town in Cornwall. In summer, the beaches are delightful, the restaurants and cafés have something for everyone and resident artists (there are dozens) are inspired by the beautiful quality of the light.

Between heavy showers, I managed to snatch a few photographs. The little white houses were huddled together under the low grey sky. I like the seaside in winter - it offers different photo opportunities.

Virginia Woolf's family had a holiday home in St Ives. It's easy to imagine how she and her little siblings must have enjoyed running through the steep cobbled streets down to the sands. Next time, I'm determined to visit Talland House.

Visitors were walking briskly along the beach. The only way to stay warm was to keep on the move. No dawdling in front of the lovely little shops.

We had a better idea. When the rain was too squally, we took shelter in the cosy Lifeboat Inn. Betty Stogs's fine Cornish ale is highly recommended.

A couple of years ago, I showed some pots that are important to me. Here are a few more that have been around for quite a long while.

This one came into our lives in the 50s when my father accepted it in exchange for some work he did for a colleague who was unable to pay him at the time. Dad was a silversmith and teacher. It may well be valuable but this doesn't really interest me. Whenever I see it, I remember how my two sisters and I used to make up stories about these funny little men when we were small. I can't think how it survived our boistrous games.

These two pots belonged to my mother. I bought them for her when I was very young. The jug is really small: 4½cms (1¾ins) tall. It's crudely made, perhaps by a student, but I've always been fond of it. I found it in a little gift shop in Rye, one of the cinque ports on the Sussex coast. I was 11 years old. A couple of years later, I gave Mum the lidded jar. I think she kept safety pins in it.

Next, an adorable piece of sculpture by the wonderful potter, John Maltby. I bought it from him in the 70s and love it, not only for that perfect knife and fork but for the richness of the woodfired stoneware with its iron flecks. It stands 14cms (5½ins) high.

This butter dish was the first Christmas present Hugh gave me, in 1989. As I unwrapped it, he told me it was the first item in a dinner service he was planning to make for our new home. It is porcelain with a tenmoku glaze and is very delicately made.

When we first moved to La Borne in 2000, a local farmer made the rounds of the village selling fresh cheese - the soft, young cheese which has so many uses. I drained my cheese in a plastic pot from the supermarket until Hugh made me this splendid object. Everything fits absolutely perfectly: the drainer section sits just right on the rim of the pot, leaving space beneath for the whey. And the lid fits snugly inside. It has been very well fired and is what my father (back to him again) would have called a good example of beauty with practicality.

Lucky me! I can ask for any sort of pot, dish or vase and Hugh will make it but (whisper this) he doesn't knock nails in very straight!

Recent research shows that humans mostly choose red and blue as their favourite colours. I'm going to stand up for yellow. In spite of its associations with unpleasant themes and things, like cowardice and jealousy, yellow always reminds me of happiness and hope.

Getting up very early in summer, I enjoy shadows and reflections on the yellow walls of the kitchen which are absent in the winter months.

The sun shining on my bright Alessi kettle throws a curious pattern.

Sunflowers are a feature of the countryside in France. One day, I'd like to gather an armful and fill the house with their glorious colour.

These lillies come back faithfully every year to a large pot in a shady part of the garden.

Min brought me some wonderful lemons from the tree in her garden in the Gers. They are a cross between a lemon and a mandarine which gives their flesh a rich colour and flavour. I have been preserving some for Moroccan recipes.

This is my homage to yellow flowers, carried out in felt appliquéd to cotton.

Yellow means cornfields and canaries, buttercups and butter, Van Gogh's sunflowers, optimism and joy. Let's forget it's darker associations and enjoy its ability to brighten our lives.

This is the weather the cuckoo likes; and so do I,  wrote Thomas Hardy.

I heard the cuckoo calling for the first time this spring when I was out walking with a friend yesterday. The unusually warm weather has brought birds from the south and masses of wild flowers.

         

These primroses sow themselves all over the village in drifts of colours ranging from the familiar faint cream to purple and pink. Our garden has suddenly come to life.

         

In the lanes, there are violets and cowslips pushing up through last year's leaves.

         

Wild bees can be heard humming loudly as they gather pollen in the pussy willow. Hugh's beautiful new beehive is standing ready for a colony. Bees are having a hard time of it everywhere and we lost our bees this winter.

         

Fresh grass will soon be plentiful enough for the horses. Meanwhile, they enjoy the winter's last bales of hay.



Although the trees are still bare, signs of spring are everywhere.

Click on the pics!

         

The weather here in the centre of France is quite severely cold. No one wants to venture out on black ice. Some of us like to sleep the days away indoors.

But work must continue for others. Just after daybreak, this man went to work to trim and then cut down an overgrown pine tree in a nearby garden. I crept out to try to photograph the whole story but it was too cold to linger and there was too little light to do justice to the tree surgeon's skill.

I love the rich colour of red onions. Their flavour is mild and subtle and they are just as delicious raw as cooked in soups and stews. In winter, we like them as an accompaniment to curries.

I discovered these dear little baby dolls while shopping today. I have a certain small granddaughter's birthday in mind. I'm going to think up a way to present them: perhaps in sleeping bags. Something sewn, anyway.

It's easy to see that not a great deal is happening chez nous at present!

Click on the pics!