The Biscuit tin

One summer when we were living in the wild depths of Southern France, in an old chicken shed with no running water but plenty of spiders and charm, Jon and I made a five minute film. I had written a poem about a girl who kept old tins beneath her bed full of the lists she had made herself and the lists she found at the bottom of supermarket shopping baskets. 

These lists included her favourite things to eat, her favourite morning rituals, her favourite moments to mark the passing of the seasons. I had intended on narrating the poem to accompany the images in the film, but for one reason or another I never got round  to it. 

I have since lost this poem, but what remains is this little film, which I now see as a visual capture of our time at Les Seilhols. All the little treasures I found in old junk shops and dressed up in even though I had nowhere to go other than to check on the donkeys in their field. The apples from my favourite tree in the centre of the orchard, the breakfast table we sat at every morning and planned out our day on the land. Scott’s freshly baked bread, the eggs form the hens, a dip in the river after a morning digging. A cycle along the old railway track into town to buy bidons of wine to strap to our bikes.

Jon also created a soundscape which adds to the dreamlike imagery, so if you can, I would recommend you listen with the volume on.

I feel so incredibly lucky and grateful that we made this little box of memories of an incredibly formative and magical time. xx

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