Holly-bobs

By the time you read this, we will be trundling down to the West Country on the Varedero to a small one room barn conversion (with four poster bed) in Parracombe. I don't think I've stopped working since Feb 2008, when my first needle felt kit arrived, wonderously and anonymously through the post. (Thank you, fairy Godmother). It has been an incredible year-and-a-bit, but I am serious need of some non-creative relaxation, (well, just my Moleskine sketchbook...) This will be my first week's holiday since 2005, soon after I started this blog and went totally freelance.

In need of fish&chips&icecream&pinkrock&beer money, I got stuck into my neglected commissions list and fulfilled an order for our lovely neighbour, four Christmas robins.





We are going to see old and much loved friends and paddle in the cold North Devon sea. Hopefully this Saturday we will visit the Devon County Show, which is going to reduce me to happy tears; it was the one big event mum used to save up for, so that we could have a 'rural' day out together and dream of having chickens. I haven't been since I was eleven, when friends of the family had to take me, as mum was too ill from her chemo to come. She was determined that I should not miss it; she knew how much I loved it. It wasn't the same without her, but by the looks of it, I managed to enjoy myself.





Because she shielded me from the worst of her sickness, I had no idea how fatally ill she was, nor that my dad would pass away before her, only a few months after these pictures were taken. Me, in my hand embroidered 'FONZ' flares, and my hippy hat with animal badges on.






I have never felt so close to this little girl as I do now, stood atop the biggest combine harvester at the show. Her life was about to be scattered to the four winds, and yet, she survived. She become lots of different kinds of people over the years and ended up, circle-wise, pretty much the same person as she was then, with similar ambitions as she has now. Country life, smallholding, growing veg, home baking, painting and making things. She thought she would spend all her life in her beloved Devon, but spent most of it trying to get back.






I know that this time round, that young 'me' and the spirit of my mother will be with me, somehow, sizing up pigs, crooning over hens and bustling round the WI tent looking at chutneys. The ultimate aim of our trip is have a look at property prices...let's see if we can't get on the housing ladder this time round, before we reach our dotage. I've been too long away from home.

A weekend off

This one's for me

I seem to have suddenly acquired a quantity of work, through private commissions and a rather large trade order. All of these have 'CONFIDENTIAL' stamped across them, in big red letters, but suffice to say that I have been stabbing away with my hot little felting needle every day for about 8 hours in the studio and then some more in front of the evening television (else Andy wouldn't see me at all...) In fact, I have been in danger of overdoing it, as Friday night found my wrist quite strained and painful, so I had a weekend of enforced rest. Which gave me a chance to make a list of things I haven't had time to do and must do before the world falls apart.

Updating accounts
E-mailing neglected friends and contacts
Tidying studio
Making marmalade
Putting together trade card order
Order more glass eyes
Ditto logo ribbons
Make lemon drizzzle cake for cake starved partner

I got some of these done. Studio is now tidy-ish, accounts and emails dealt with, big, buttery, lemony cake baked and nearly vanished. But by Sunday I needed to get out, so we took the bike across to our favourite part of round-here and I cobbled together a little film of it.

In anticipation;

1) This contains some footage shot from a moving bike, so if you get motion sickness or suchlike, best avoided.
2) I was very careful about taking the films, the motorbike (a Honda Varadero) is built like a tractor, we were going slowly, Andy is a brilliant and safe driver, the lane was deserted, and I've been riding pillion in all conditions for a decade.
3) There is some music with it.
4) If you can watch it in full screen at high quality, the landscape shots are rather pretty. You can't do this with the blogger film here, but you can with the Youtube version.

OTHER NEWS

I have a few animals for sale, ranging from 45 - 60 UK pounds (65 - 88 US dollars) and a little shipping. If you'd like advance details of these before I post them up here on the blog, let me know and I'll e-mail the info - I'm not putting them on Etsy to start with, as I've had so many enquiries from UK people who aren't comfortable with Etsy or its dollar system. This is the last batch I will have to offer for a while as I have so many orders to fulfill.


So here we are again at Monday, and another 6 days of wooliness. I'm not complaining at all, just thanking my little bunch of angels who work overtime for me. (There are seven of them and yes, I really do believe they are there).

Slipping and sliding

We are engulfed by freezing fog. With our village being situated in a valley it's like being smothered in an icy soup. Poor Andy is working right up until Christmas Eve night and yesterday was the last opportunity we had for getting a few festive bits and pieces in. I raided the Red Flannel Elephant petty cash, and we headed up the hill towards Stow-on-the-Wold, where the sun was breaking through and we carefully pootled along, the only motorbike out on the roads. When the weather is nice, you can barely move for fair-weather bikers on their shiny, under-used machines, togged out in nice matching leathers and spiffy helmets. They usually ignore us, in our tatty gear, although it is considered polite to nod at other passing bikers. They would have found yesterday a bit difficult, I think.

We made it to town safely. I spent the last of my pennies on a modest amount of cheese and wine, feeling some what bemused at the amounts of consumables being crammed into overflowing trolleys - is the world coming to an end? Are the shops shutting for a month? How many crisps and chocolates is it possible to consume without bursting? Reeling slightly from the rare foray into civilization, we togged up again and set off home. Up on the Stow road, there are magnificent views across the Cotswolds, and today we were looking down into an ethereal kingdom, wreathed in mists. Unwisely, and just as the fairytales tell you not to do, we took the bike off the main road and into the back lanes...

...it was quite stunning. And quite lethal. Carefully turning a sharp corner, we hit a deep patch of icy sludge. Thanks to Andy's years of driving in adverse conditions and his presence of mind, we slowly veered into the middle of the road, falling sideways onto the freezing mud. This is otherwise known as 'dropping the bike'. The bike was alright - it was cushioned by us. Andy scrambled off, and I lay, like a fallen tin soldier, partially astride my fallen mount. It's a big Honda Varadero, and weighs more than I do. Stunned, my first thoughts were; Andy's ok, he's walking about. I'm ok, I can feel everything. Oh bugger, did the wine survive? Still on my side and under the bike, I glanced to the tank bag, where our precious bottles of wine were about to cascade out onto the unforgiving tarmac. With my right arm free, I was able to gently slide them back in, and made sure the bag was rescued before disentangling myself.

First thing to do was to haul the Honda up, and get it out of any oncoming traffic, although in the end only two other vehicles passed us, unconcerned at our plight. Andy had been stabbed by the foot pedal as we toppled over and I'd turned my weak ankle again. The rest of my body was feeling a bit crushed too. We decided that Andy would take the rest of the shopping home, and I would begin walking until he came back for me.



I had been wanting to take some photos anyway, so I was quite content to limp along, admiring the scenery, thanking God that we'd had such a lucky escape. Just as my hands were starting to freeze, I heard the familiar chuntling of our poor old jalopy, and was soon home and esconced on the sofa with tea and Chelsea buns.

Miraculously, the only real casualties were a smashed packet of Hovis cheese biscuits, one egg and Andy's nice corduroy trousers; the foot pedal not only gave him a nasty dig in the leg, it ripped the bottom part of his best trews too. I have plenty of interesting bruises, minor whiplash, and feel as if I've been trampled by baby elephants. And I'm hobbling. But both of us are safe and alive. Really, it could have been a lot worse.

We might have lost the wine.