Light

Remarkable light at sunset - one side of the sky had gold shimmmering out from under the clouds, the other thickening black clouds darker than any seen recently. Amazed to get home before any rain fell.

Gloomy Sunday

Some days, when you open the curtains and discover it is grey and threatening more rain after a night of heavy rain, it seems the right thing to do to curl back under the duvet and wait for the next morning of reasonable brightness before getting up.

But, alas, this is seldom an option. The feeling has infected my disposition all day however - overly aware of the oddballs and theives in the neighbourhood. Beggars. Pickpocket on the bus. Drunks. Odd man I've seen before who must live in my neighbourhood who sits too close pressing his leg inappropriately, smelling of beer. It was a relief to get back home and close the door against the outside. And then it rained some more.








Fine and Dandy

He's got a strangely high voice chatting on his mobile phone. Wearing a tan leather suit and shoes. He's telling the caller how he's been out walking about in the pissing rain looking for a feisty woman. When he turns round he also has a big moustache, heavy gold chains and medallion rings on every finger.

Barcelona

Our original trip was postponed in May due to BA strikes and the volcanic ash. We spent a September weekend there instead. We walked through the city looking at the Gaudi buildings, popping into art galleries (Picasso, Dali, Miro and Tapies). We ate tapas and ice-creams. We visited the Mies Van Der Rohe pavillion building and sat in the park for some sunshine relief. Nice sisterly trip.






I wasn't sure whether I loved the Gaudi or not - its so over exposed and we see so many images of it that it wasn't as suprising as I was expecting. Its been there for a long time however, and it has to be seen in context of when it was built. At the time it must have been really different (architect friend discussed with me at ceramics class on Thursday). Parts of it are stunning.

Aunty Bettys

Out with ceramics class for the first class of the term - back to the regular haunt (pizza place off Blackstock Road with awnings for sitting outside).

Can't remember why but I was relaying a description of my Aunty Betty (actually not an aunty, a second cousin but its a snappier title aunty - anything for a good story) - a farmers wife who always wore stilletto shoes clattering around the farmyard, a yellow twinset and black conicle bra (large pointy tits) and could butter a whole loaf of sliced white in 20 seconds while making sandwiches for the farmhands.

Two other people (out of 6) had aunty bettys, which seems quite a high proportion.

One of these alternative Aunty Bettys lived over a petrol station, ate jujubes, spent a lot of time longingly looking at the picture of her husband who died from a war-related illness having been gassed in the trenches. She caught something from kissing her budgie and died.

The other alternative Aunty Betty would sit cross legged on the floor peeling potatoes. She believed that the kitchen table was the real repository of the adventures of the household. Her architect niece designed a house for her in which the kitchen had to be exactly the same as it was in the previous house so said kitchen table could be exactly as it had always been.

Ladies who lunch

Australian ladies lunching. One is on the phone. "Matthew has to wear glasses all the time, in class as well....can you make sure he is going that....yah....thanks."
Comes off the phone. Yes, she says to her companion, we took him to the opticians this week - he has something progressive, he won't go blind, but its from wearing hard contact lenses. Its impacted on his cornea - its shaped like this [I refrain from looking round to see the shape]. Have you ever had botox?
Yes I love it - I'm getting some more for my birthday.
Where did you have it done? [I assumed she meant which clinic, her friend thought differently]
I get it here, here, here, here and here. Its great.
When did you last have it done?
About a year ago so there is nothing in there now...
But it looks great!
Thankfully they pick up their stuff and leave us in peace with our lunches. I'd like to say flounce off to the shops but I had my back to them and couldn't tell.

Tamara Drewe

This was a very funny film - I laughed out loud. Perfectly drawn bored rural teenagers up to no good (I only have the reports from two rural teenage friends to go by but they seem to get up to a lot more mischief than I ever did living in the city - sex in fields, sniffing inappropriate substances, stealing stuff, climbing over fences to get into festivals) - perfect angst - all those hormones surging through the pubescent bodies - in LOVE with pop idols. The idea of a writers retreat (nightmare - certain it is like this - lots of talk about my work, self obsessed and idolising those already published). Keeps true to the feel of the Posy Simmonds strip it came from.

Ally Pally

Bus drives over the hill and passes in front of the palace. The changing London skyline looms out of the mist - new tower at elephant and castle with it's weird horn shape and satellite dishes, the city with it's ever growing height and docklands. Wonder how long before these three areas join up into a manhattanesque horizon. St Pauls finally overshadowed. Off the bus the air always smells of damp under growth. The garden centre is empty now that the autumn is arriving.

Eating

mcdonalds in Bruce Grove has their new orange and olive green design with a huge plate glass window. Three youths sit in the bucket leatherette chairs inside the window. One of them is picking his nose.

Autumn

So the month has turned and we slide into the autumn  months. Not ready for it yet. Blooms are reaching their ends. Plants are leggy with dying flowers. The earlier crushed ferms have put out some new shoots since the rains hit and the grass is green once again. A tomato plant has grown out of an air hole of the compost bin but I don't think it will have enough time to actually make tomatoes. Red onions have been harvested and plaited up. Ongoing battle with the squirrel to keep the bulbs from last year in the pot he likes to dig up.

Walking the dog

Its a sunny morning on the way to work, turning into Choumert Road there are two people with buggies walking towards me on the pathway. First is a man with his daughter. He is talking to her, pointing stuff out. The second is a grandma with the rainhood over the buggy. As I pass I realise that the granny actually has two yorkshire terriers in her buggy - its a specially designed dog buggy by the look of it. Doesn't it sort of defeat the purpose of walking the dog if they are riding?

Ernesto Neto

Hankering after seeing something good - went to Hayward to see Ernesto  Neto. Large interactive installation on the top floors of the gallery. Stretched transparent coloured fabric with what looks like knicker elastic edges, forming caverns, spaces and tunnels. Tubes of fabric (like a pair of old stockings) linking different skins, sometimes providing a hole to see through, or reach through, sometimes looking like a stalegtite.Watching other people inside the structures, ghostly wandering. Towers to stand on and view from a different angle, height. Feels like being inside a body, enveloped. Really worth a look.





And don't forget your swimming togs and a towel if you want to go in the heated roof top pool.

London River

Sometimes you have to see a film even though the reviews don't rave exactly. But it is filmed in a tight triangle of London with which I am very familiar. The hotel that the French father stays in is at the top of my Dad's street, as is Haringey train station that they all keep coming out of. The girl's flat is over a butchers on Blackstock road next to the college where I study ceramics. They walk about Finsbury Park, visit North Middlesex Hospital (I am fairly certain), ride a 259 past Manor House, have a cab ride through Crouch End, walk along the New River canal. Its very green, strangely. Not at all alien, although it might be to other people. My main distraction, from knowing the landscape too well, was my inability to suspend my disbelief because the routes were not right. Nobody would arrive to London get out at Haringey and then try to find a flat on Blackstock Road (same train, get off at Finsbury Park), you wouldn't walk to Blackstock road from Burgoyne by going over the railway - quicker to cut across the park. Anyway, it was a worthy film, quietly told. Tragic.

Spiky Men

First spiky man
Black hair spiked high at the front, skinniest skinny black jeans, black shirt open revealing sparsley hairy chest, dogtags, rolled up sleeves, tatoos, suntan.
Minute later, second spiky man
Black hair spike high at the front, beard. Black jeans, jacket, striped teeshirt.

Boyfriend Jeans

The boyfiend was looking for a pair of jeans to replace the ones that had worn out. Many pairs seemed to be designed with the right kind of styling and made in the particular shade of denim. Pairs were taken into the changing rooms. Coming out he was tugging at the belt loops saying they don't come up high enough. Look at my pants coming over the top, flinging his shirt up and displaying a good 6 inches of boxer over the top of the low-slung jeans. They're made to be that way I said. But they don't come up enough to keep my tummy warm. Looking round for inspiration I struck upon the shop assistants - jeans seem to be made this way at the moment I said pointing out the way their's were hanging off, paired with long teeshirts. Perhaps you need lower slung pants. (There was a section of Calvin Kleins that would have suited). It appears that all the jean styles now have a low rise with a belt-position just above the penis (has been a fashion for some time) but don't require the wearer to have the crotch hanging down to their knees (although there are still fans of this way of wearing jeans - belt hoops under the buttocks rather than over them). Finally pursuaded a pair purchased.

Later he is debating whether to take them back - finding it difficult to get used to the low-slung feel. Search for the perfect jean will go on.

Kids Films

In the last two weeks I've seen a number of films that are Us or PGs.

Toy Story 3 in both 2d and 3d - it was good, all of them have been. I came late to the joys of Toy Story but am fully converted. The niece and nephew loved it.

Space Chimps 2 - the only saving grace of this rubbish was that it was only 95p to see it on saturday morning. Absolute crap otherwise.

Karate Kid - they've done a good job of this remake. Liked it a lot. And Jadan Smith - is he ever going to be hot as an adult.

Monsters Inc on dvd - loving the movie. I remember at the time they talked a lot about the animation of fur and hair being ground breaking - it featured a lot.

Coraline  on dvd- neice desperate to watch it even though her friends found it really scary. She scared herself more than I believe the film scared her.

The Incredibles on dvd - loving this movie, neice and nephew are still a little young to understand it well enough. Great though.

Walking by the Jolly Butchers

• turquoise soles and turquoise socks
• three screaming faces on a teeshirt
• purple cap
• yellow bicycle tyre rims
• fat man turns and runs back
• wrist plaster cast, blue outer layer
• cowboy boot strut
• pink teeshirt and purple trousers
• panama hat at the bus stop
• beige old man
• man in espadrilles
• necklace of large multicoloured sequins
• giant man, white hair, red suede loafers
• long blond barbie hair down to the arse
• tie dye teeshirt and mauve hareem pants
• long male ginger hair
• leopard print tights
• toddler in a lime green shirt with a mobile phone clamped to his ear
• shirt with orange satin ruffle
• white dress very low cut back, green knicker elastic showing, tattoos, necklace made of giant buttons
• long yellow skateboard
• white trousers, red belt, tarten trilby
• musicians pass in opposite directions - one pair guitar and keyboard, other pair symbols and violin
• recumbant bike
• scruffy crusty dreadlocks down to back of knees

Sunday

Today has all been about:

• Getting bits for putting up shelves (and rescuing dying plants from B&Q)
• Putting up shelves
• Catching fragments of the Golf Open (this is a diversionary tactic - boring sports suddenly become appealing in the light of something more pressing to do - I have even figured out that birdies are below par scores and bogies are over par scores)
• Moving boxes around the room (sis and family coming to stay on Wednesday)
• Cleaning bathroom
• Chucking stuff away in the box room.
• Planting the rescued items (leaning on an ants' nest and getting ants running up and down my arm which freaked me out a little bit - been a bit itchy since then).

Norfolk Pit Firing



16th century thatched cottage, lovely garden on a lane to the beach. Beautiful weather. Drove up on friday night, stopped at a local shop on the way to pick up provisions. Skateboardy youths hung outside bikes thrown down and skateboards discarded. Man strides over, irritated there is stuff blocking his way he violently kicks a skateboard out of the way. 5 people pick out their essential items and get to the checkout with full baskets. On arrival we are greeted by the early arrivers. Cheese on toast for dinner but couldn't turn on the cooker. Cheese sandwiches for dinner. Stroll on the beach watching the sun set, sea lapping at the shore, sucking stones back down the beach. The earlies had been swimming in the sea and seen seals.

Later we lay in the garden looking at the stars. We watched satelite trajectories and shooting stars, milky way. I spilled wine in my hair.

Saturday spent preparing the pots in the garden. Those wishing to swim swam. Trailers arrived - Fran, superhost, Georg, with corregated steel sheet and sawdust, and the boys (driver overslept by 3 hours). Sense of anticipation built up over the day.



7pm everyone went down to the beach. Georg drove the sawdust and pots in the car. Lots of chiefs stood round with spades and discussed pits - size, shape, placement. They thought initially to use some existing holes as the basis of the pit and then abandoned them having decided it was harder to make it suit than start from scratch. Once decided to begin again it was dug in minutes. Then off for a dip in the sea again.



Tide seemed to be creeping in and the original holes gradually filled up with water. Then the pit started flooding. New pit site was chosen. Fran put a stone on the tide line to check when the tide turned. New pit was started and completed. Tide was receding. Pit was lined with sawdust, pots put in, filled up with sawdust. Screwed up newpaper covered the top and covered with sticks. Ceremonial lighting of the pit. Initial concerns about causing a public nuisance subsided when it transpired that all the parties on the beach were barbecueing, some with much more smoky fires. Lidded the pit and watched.



Half the party went off in search of fish and chips. Fran and Maddie returned to the cottage for snacks and came back with veggies to roast on the pit and carrots with their greens still on. Much wine was drunk. There is something very primeaval about sitting with a fire in a group. Back to how our ancestoers would have lived. Seeing the sky. Using the mateials around us. Cooking on an open fire, eating with fingers. Basic needs met, no luxuries, plenty.

The Polish group along the beach were burning a huge tree trunk. The men ran off for a dip and came back sans trunks, whooping and leaping while cupping their privates. Their women folk laughed egging them on, they played up to it with accidentally-on-purpose dropped towels, followed by fire leaping, risk of chargrilled balls.

The pit embers glowed but the warmth reduced. Wrapped up in blankets and huddled together eating 8 fish and 3 chips (ordered 8 fish and chips and 3 chips). The crowd drifted away as the wine ran out and tiredness overcame them. Then there were three of us, staying up, drinking wine until we were unable to stand, watching the sunrise begin. One swam in a sea that was much warmer at night than in the day. And then we went home.

Pit was opened the following morning. Pots were washed in the sea to reveal an array of smoky results.




Finally dragged all the firing schrapnal back to the cottage. Pots were cleaned up and polished and lunch was eaten. Then drove back to London.



A particularly wonderful weekend. My feet are itchy for more like that - open road, travelling, beach living, pottery.

Living in the Moment

Having worked for 15 years I feel that I have become an observer of the moment as opposed to living in the moment. In snatched moments during lunch I watch other people living the moments of their lives - a young couple snog on a bench. Remember the warmth and wetness of another's lips, probing tongue that excites the sexual, exchange of bodily heat and physical emotion. I remember it but don't feel it that often anymore. Its a new lovers experience. 3 dancers work out the choreography for a performance, testing out the movements, making sure they are sashaying the same way, thrusting hips in the right direction, counting steps... and dip, dip. A beautiful quivering whippet watches, as do a passing throng of painters and decorations - tanned necks, paint daubed clothes, smoking and joking.

A dance track comes on in the cafe - one of those phat tunes with a swell of bass and repetitive melody that reverberate in the body - stimulating the synapses. This was music of living in the moment - when we would dance all night at a whim, seek out excitement and experiences that became the stories of youth. Bogged down in the domestic I find myself yearning for excitement, stimulus and emotional reaction.

Bus

As I sit down I soak up the presence of the previous occupier through the seat of my skirt - warm left behind by their behind.

A little boy with a blond afro is playing with batman - walking him up the arm of his fit tall dad. Oops I nearly dropped matman he says laughing, spinning away he nearly lands a batman punch in the belly of some random stranger. Grinning with embarrassment the boy hides behind his dad's legs and pokes batman up his crotch. His dad brushes batman away.

Weirdly hard bodied man with died black hair and a tan holds himself tall. All muscle in a tight teeshirt. Pumped to the point it looks painfully angular. Stiff. No fat. A strangely plastic alien appearence. Could be Dr Spock.

Men’s Final Day

I like Nadal, but  he seems to be plagued by ill-fitting undergarments (he’s always hoicking them out of his bum, all through every match I’ve ever seen). Surely he could try a different style – say a boxer short rather than a brief or something that might not ride up so much. Or perhaps its just a nervous tick. His parent’s not wanting to make him paranoid never told him to stop it.

World cup has been a trauma of changing allegiances as teams supported fell round after round – there was South Africa (as hosts, and history and Nelson Mandela), France (I have a soft spot for them because they were at one point the arsenal team), England (although I didn’t have any delusions that we would get as far as the media thought we would), Brazil because of their football style, Argentina (style of play and the passions of Maradona), Ghana (as the only African side left after the group stages). So now it’s the Netherlands (Van Persie), or Spain (Fabregas), but Germany have been playing really well.

Feeling Hot Hot HOT

Bed was hot
Bath was cool
Fat rain was hot
Bus was hot
Train to Liverpool Street was hot
Bus was hot
Train to Peckham was cool (air con)
Building was hot
Office was hot
Meeting was hot
Cafe was hot
Afternoon in the office was hotter
Commute home was hot
House was hot
Dusk cooled
But not enough for a cool night's sleep.

Jewellery course on the hottest day of the year

Alex said we should go to a jewellery making course, so I agreed. She found a taster course which was going to make pendants and earrings. I got quite into the idea of doing some metal work again (its been 15+ years since I finished my degree and haven't touched metalworking since then - bad course, put me off). During the week I had an idea of what I wanted to make (focusing on the pendant since I don't wear earrings - no ear piecings - Dad used to say we were not allowed to mutilate our bodies and then by the time I was old enough to make up my own mind I no longer wanted to). Anyway, when we arrived the artist who was leading the session had a very specific idea in mind of what we were going to make and it transpired we weren't going to have much choice - we were making earrings and rings out of sheet metal. It is sensible to teach beginners the techniques needed to make the items by making everyone do the same. So we made earrings and rings instead.


Earring hoops were made from silver wire, decorative bits were made from sheet silver, hammered, punched with letters, milled with wire or fabric to get grooves and imprints. To learn to make the ring from sheet we started with a copper ring. Sheet was cut to the appropriate length, decorated, measured again and soldered together. I actually enjoyed it even though I didn't get to do what I wanted to do.

Our fellow learners included a supertanned woman with a croyden facelift hairstyle who had recently stopped being a manager at an estate agency, and a young rich woman who seemed to have had botox injections and collegen lip puffing in her upper lip. Much one-upmanship about areas where we lived ensued. The artist has a whole house just off Upper Street, ex-estate agent was living in Marylebone, botox girl was renting in Islington with a view to buying (she skipped lunch to view two properties, she looked like she skipped lunch most of the time). Artist was looking for a buy-to-let property and started getting professional advice from ex-estate agent.

We worked hard and tried to ignore the property discussion and got finished an hour early. Al and I repaired to the Cuba Libra and drank mojitos.

Raku raku



We do raku firings rarely, the results I have had prior to this term have been patchy (many broken pots and strange glaze results). This term they have been particularly successful.

Living in a Bubble

He strolls through the gardens, hands in pinstripe suit pockets. His suit is crushed on the back because he was lying on the grass with his eyes closed plugged into his ipod.

Its become overcast but is one of those weird days where the air is body temperature and the atmosphere is having no discernible impact on the skin.

I'm feeling cut off - I like to feel a bit of weather, and I have been listening to my ipod to get away from the noise of the office, but it blocks the sounds of the street, people and what is happening around me. Bubble living.

Quiet Saturday

Bails and I went for a coffee at the garden centre in Alexandra Palace. It was overcast and drizzly. We sat under a great big patio umbrella in the rain. Bails was buying a pot for her rubarb plant. I was trying not to buy anything at all since my garden is full, but came away with a clematis to climb through an old arching rose and some fat balls to try to temp the sparrows away from the shooting bamboo (they are sitting in big gangs on the limbs and bending them until they break and pecking out the forming leaves).

Definitely the summer season has started, I woke up this morning with 8 mosquito bites itching like mad on my legs. Probably picked up from a raku firing on Thursday or sitting outside the pizza place after (neighbourhood restaurant where we eat outside and drink too much sambuca). I forget how badly I react to their bites each winter and only remember when I've scratched them into big hot red patches - in India at the Taj Mahal, families kept staring and moving away because I looked diseased and a fellow british tourist pointed and exclaimed my girlfriend is afflicted with exactly the same problem!

Fight

A couple are fighting, walking down the side of H&M of Oxford Circus on opposite sides of the pavement. She is shrieking and he is as far away from her as possible. She stops, screams and runs off back to Oxford Street. He runs after her.

I turn the corner expecting him to have wrestled her to the ground. Instead, she is crying and screaming. She turns and leans her head on her arm up against the bus shelter. Weeping in great dramatic sobs. He punches himself in the face. Chucks his bag and then stands in front of a bus hoping it will run him down. It doesn't.

A crowd of people have formed an audience, pressed up against the windows of BHS. Car crash relationship. People just love to rubberneck. I take one last look - her long hair is a wild tangle around her face and shoulders, her eyes are wet and her mouth is contorted in a silent howl. I move away, it is too much of a drama, too theatrical and too painful to watch.

Shave

Man in a pinstripe suit has an electric shave on the tube platform. Standing next to him on the tube train I notice it isn't a very close one - whiskers still sprout patchily across his jaw. Pulls a necktie out of his pocket and puts it on, collars up, tie knot, collars down. He attempts to use the concave tube doors as a mirror - they are too much like the mirrors in a hall of mirrors to be much use - he is probably stretched in the middle without a head. This is the male equivalent of a woman doing her makeup on the tube. Never get a terribly satisfactory result with all the juddery bumping along.

Two escalators go up together at London Bridge. On one side two letchy middle aged business men ogle the blond teenage travel group girls on the other escalator who must be going to the London Dungeon this morning.

How to be silent (not)

The cafe was full of people eating alone. I finish my book and set it aside to eat. Became acutely aware of a man two tables away when he belched loudly. The belch lingered in the air unexcused (no companions, no need to excuse oneself, I suppose). His nose makes noises when he exhales through it. He clears his throat. His presence becomes as irriatating as the women next door chatting endlessly about work, jobs, hours. Big sigh. More nasal sputterings.

The women compare their grades [pay scales] against colleagues, muttering about fairness. How does she get to be an 11 when we're on 10, its not like she has much more than us to do. Its not fair. Perhaps because of the lack of proxmity to HQ they feel it is unlikely anyone sitting nearby would understand the discussion. But to me, unbeknownst to them, its clear. I feel like a spy.

Outside there are a lot of babies, not all of them cute. A particular bruiser that I would guess were a boy if she wasn't wearing a dress is trying to communicate with the table next door. Looking from one to the next, sort of pointing to her mother and saying mamamamma.

Nasal guy sighs loudly and clears his throat.

The White Pants

The white pants had a stubborn stain, shan't go into details. Hasten to add they are not my white pants (I profess to not own a single white piece of clothing). So, anyway, I had agreed to wash them in an attempt to get the stain out. I tossed in some dirty tea towels (wouldn't want to run the washing machine empty). A quick wash at 40 degrees didn't help. So I did a pre-wash, 90 degrees. (Fool). The pants came out clean, but a particular shade of pale pink. Pesky tea towels. Panic. New white pink pants. Put them in a weak bleach solution until they looked, well, better. Pink sheen had gone. Pleased with myself I put them back in the wash, dried them in the sunshine. Folded them up ready for collection.

When he came I decided not to tell the boyfiend the trials and tribulations. He picked them up and the first thing he said was, "you made my pants pink...", I ignored him and walked into the kitchen, "... and you weren't going to tell me!"

Oops caught.

Summer Rain

After the heat, rain. A large drop falls individually. Then more, hard and fast. I watch the little round wet marks overlapping, building until its saturated, just drops bouncing back up from the puddle where they land.

Grass blades raise up in appreciation. Flowers droop, rain drops pummelling their petals. As the sheets of rain keep coming petals fall and become plastered to the ground. Smell of rain on hot ground cleaning the air.

The sky lightens, the air lightens. It is daylight again and the rain stops. Overhead the gunmetal grey clouds have gone, left behind a gentler-seeming fluffiness only tinged with grey.

The cistus' crumpled paper flowers are folded in half. The petals drop off, one by one, before they ought to.

Homeward

It was nice after work to walk through the city - crossed Tower Bridge as it raised to let through a tall ship. Went through the back streets to keep away from the crowds of tourists and commuters.


At Liverpool Street they announced the platform for the delayed 17:38. The mass of standing bodies turned from the departures board and swarmed towards the entrance gates. Queue, bump, bump. Through the gate. Along the platform passing coach after coach with no lights and locked doors. Aware of being a member of a mob of determined walking people. We are walking with pace. Cutting across, brushing round, in front of slower people. I worry about my shoes stepping on my toes that are in sandals. I have to alter my stride to avoid placing my feet under the heels of those in front of me. I get a flash image - what if none of the carriages will be open, and we just surge along the platform until the end, fall off like lemmings. Or carry on in the same determined massing down the slope onto the line, along the tracks and away from the station...

Magic


At ceramics class last week we did two raku firings. There is something extremely exciting about the immediacy of a raku firing. In an hour watching the kiln heat up, checking the hole in the top of the kiln for signs of the glaze on the orange glowing pots go from orange peel texture to smooth. Once ready opening the kiln (against what we would normally do) and transferring red hot pots to bins of sawdust - fire, smoke. After half an hour getting the pots out of the sawdust and seeing the transformation - this time the turquoise all turned into the metallic copper. Quite liked the results for a change. And against normally all the pots I got out were whole (last time every pot was cracked!).