Tomorrow is another day

And I get stuck in the bellies of my two jobs. Is it bellies? Maybe it should be rumps. Something to do with really getting your teeth into something juicy. I knew that soon the two crests would meet and I'd have to put all my smaller balls down and start juggling the two big medicine balls, while simultaneously trying to wobble the little ones with my toes. If any of that makes any sense; I'm too tired to make a coherent metaphor or whatever they are called. However. Days have been spent finishing off tasks, admin and general communication. Some are months old.

This is Petra. I finished her back at the beginning of February, when we were snowed in and she was commandeered the next day for - something. She went away for months, and returned this week. She was reserved by someone who has been very patient. She needed a bit of TLC and her own label, and now is on her way to her new home.

Finished another little commission which was ordered back in 2008; I'm afraid I am taking no more commissions at all now until (possibly) sometime next year, depending on what happens with things. And I'm not even sure when I will have time to add anything new to my shop. Just can't fit any more hours in the day.

So, in the middle of all this getting-up-to-dateness, it was lovely to win a give-away at Angelsey Allsorts - thank you so much. I used to have a sheet of the first design, when I was about seven, which dates it to the early/mid seventies. It is wonderfully thin, shiny and cheap-looking. I'm sure it probably tore when I was using it, but for something this flimsy and throwaway to survive in mint condition really gives meaning to the word 'ephemera'. I am a bit of a vintage wrapping paper nerd; one of my favourite resource books is 'All Wrapped Up', page upon crowded page of wonderful old designs which are great for colour inspiration and mood boards.

And across from America, this sweet card and heirloom squash seeds from Libby Buttons - thank you too! I aspire to grow a beauty as illustrated on the packet, my challenge for 2010.

Which seamlessy leads me on to my calendars - I've got the final batch in, so there are now limited numbers available in my Etsy shop - thank you ever so much to everyone who has kindly bought one so far.

Today was supposed to be when I started work, but even all the whittling down, the lists took over again - the worst ones are the ones in my head; when I have everything crossed off and something rises to the surface which I had completely forgotten about. But I am almost done (though I am almost asleep on my feet) and tomorrow, tomorrow is another day. And anything not done - will just have to wait. (EDIT - reading this back, I sound like a proper misery guts, moaning away. Actually, things are looking really good, I just need to go and have a bath and get some decent sleep).

UPDATED - Foggy Walk and After Storm Cycle at my other blog, Cotswold Peeps - escaping the lists!

Seasonal Changes

Last match of the season

Things are changing. Throughout the summer it has been my humble goal to earn a minimum of £50/$80 a week. Just to get by with food, bills and the odd bottle of beer. I managed that. Many, many thanks to everyone who supported me and purchased my bits and bobs. Now I find that the handful of 'seeds' I have been secretly planting are starting to sprout; an ongoing job which has been stop-starting since February has started again. Another seed sown two years ago has finally put forth shoots and to my delighted surprise I was summoned to London for a business meeting last Friday.

Our country train station, not as sleepy as it looks.

If all goes well, I will be working on projects that fulfill my wildest dreams, with (for the first time) the freedom to indulge my imagination completely. But, that is as far as I can say; as is usual, these things remain confidential until they go public. What it does mean is that making things for sale will take a back seat and I can cease worrying about earning that £50 a week.





What it also means is that I am stretched to my limits time-wise. I am keeping up the exercise though, although I rather overdid it yesterday; a nine mile cycle followed by a four mile walk in the sun has left me exhausted. For those of you who do not get bored with my endless ramblings, it is recorded on my Cotswold Peeps blog (not too much text and lots of nice pictures) My morning cycle was happily diverted by a village yard sale. I restrained myself from visiting all of the venues, but found an excellent haul for only a few pounds.

An enamel pot, a nutmeg grater and only-slightly-chipped hare mug = £1.20p/$2.00 the lot. The pot and the grater still had their Daylesford price stickers on; the uber-upmarket, organic, lifestyle (sorry, 'farmers') shop, just up the road. They originally cost an eye watering £9.99/$16.65 and £12.99/$21.65 - and were barely used.

A useful box for 50p/.83 cents. Because you can never have enough useful boxes. And best of all, for a princely £2.00/$3.00, a wonderful little etching of Bertram Mills circus, signed by the artist 'Gould' - whoever they were. In a vintage frame.

I did much Googling, but failed to trace them. It is so skillfully done and with such lovely composition that I am sure it was rendered by a trained artist.

Next week I will be able to show a fully grown 'seed', planted earlier this year and now grown to fruition. For now, I must try to keep on top of everything; game over, and back to the pavilion for another winter.

Morris men, beer and cricket

Our cricket season draws to a close, heralded by the annual President's Match and beer festival. For the last seven years, since leaving our old home, we have commuted back to play cricket. Andy thought about joining another club, but our hearts and friends are here; they are not things you drop lightly. It's about 15 miles away via the lanes, and as it was a special occasion we stayed the night over with a lovely friend.


The President's game is a friendly between old and existing members of our cricket club; the President picks what he hopes will be a crack team of retired or moved-away players, and the Club - mostly the youngsters - play them. This year the Club wore silly hats. It is a light hearted affair, bolstered by beer and good humour.

Naturally, this being a summer game, held in August, it was cold and windy. We were joined by Eynsham Morris, who usually dance in the tea interval. Eynsham Morris has been in recorded existence since 1856, and is thought to go back beyond, to the 17th and 18th centuries. Cecil Sharpe, the renowned collector of folk dances, witnessed them dance in the now closed Railway Inn, in 1908.

“The dancers met me, I remember, one dull, wet afternoon in mid winter, in an ill-lighted upper room of a wayside inn. They came straight from the fields in their working clothes, sodden with mud, and danced in boots heavily weighted with mud to the music of a mouth organ, indifferently played. The depression which not unnaturally lay heavily upon us all at the start was, however, as by a miracle dispelled immediately the dance began, and they gave me as fine an exhibition of Morris dancing as it has ever been my good fortune to see.”
(CJ. Sharp, The Morris Book, part III, 2nd edn. 1924)

The Eynsham Morris website is full of the team's fascinating, rich history and well worth a browse.

They are one of the things I still miss about our old village. They trickled in one by one, standing to watch the game and get an early beer or two in.

When the first innings was over and everyone trooped in for tea (or beer) and to partake of the good spread provided by the President's wife, they began dancing.

The highlight was the village 'in-joke', whereupon a pretty young lady volunteer becomes the centre of the dance; 'Maid of the Mill', otherwise known as the Eynsham Morris fertility dance. Various sweet and, one suspects, suggestive things are whispered to her, as the dancers 'court' her, to the barely concealed amusement of the onlookers, most of whom know how the dance ends.

I spent most of the second inning sat in the pavilion with friends and had one of the most disgusting pints of real ale I have ever had the misfortune to imbibe. It was called 'Grunter' and tasted as if someone had put several cigarette butts in the barrel. Should you come across this revolting and thankfully rare beer - avoid.

We - that is to say, the Club, for whom Andy was playing - lost, pretty rapidly, and not before time. All this cold, grim day was lacking was rain, and sure enough, it arrived. As is customary at the end of every match, everyone shook hands like gentlemen, even though they were all familiar and close friends.

With the near end of the season and the beginning of autumn proper, I have been frantically tackling tasks and chores in preparation for a new batch of commercial work which arrived, as I thought it would, this week. I am almost at the end of my commissions list. Including this chap; a portrait and a little different to what I normally do.

With my new exercise regime still going strong, I have begun recording my almost-daily wanderings in a new blog, 'Cotswolds Peeps' - more for my own pleasure than anything. It's a kind of record of the countryside, and the tiny things that happen in the natural world, which I find interesting. And, of course, the ever-changing weather.