Old-Fashioned Fruitcake
It’s always good to discover a word for something you know about but have always had to describe in the past, for want of knowing its name.
While working on the third draft of The Wound of Words, I discovered the word girandole. A girandole is a sort of decorative multi-branched candleholding apparatus, frequently wall-mounted rather than ceiling mounted (as with chandeliers), and sometimes backed with mirror for extra light-shedding and sparkliness.
Who did Jane Austen call – in 1796 – “the finest comic writer of the present age”?
According to Aristotle, “one swallow does not a summer make, nor one fine day” – so what does make a summer? It certainly isn’t anything to do with the calendar.
To me, summer begins with the scent of sunblock in the air, despite the fact that my togs don’t leave much skin to be sunblocked. There are invariably those around me who practically have to bathe in the stuff. Indeed, some people spend more beach time putting on sunblock than actually in the water.
