Work hard, play hard.

Now the winter is finally over, once or twice a week we escape with a picnic - I cannot think of many other things I'd rather do than set off with Andy, a simple bundle of food, the open road and the prospect of a few miles ahead; especially in May, when the lanes are drifting with Queen Anne's Lace and the mild wind is scented with oilseed rape.




The weather is changeable and though we may set off in bright sunshine, dark clouds bounce across from the West, threatening rain. The new leafage glows against the grey skies - that is the joy of an English spring; the moist, fresh, greeness which never fails to fill me with hope and happiness.




As we were tramping the edges of the fields this week, we spotted...




Can you see it? No? Come closer. I can see it, because I know where it is - hidden tightly - there's the clue.




Ah, he's been rumbled - there he goes!




Mr Hare, you are a shy fellow - but now we know exactly where you are!





Choosing the right picnic spot depends on the mood of the weather. Sometimes it is best just to find a sheltered spot and watch the rain clouds roll in. There must be good eggs, and a thermos of watery hot chocolate which tastes ever-so-slightly of mildew.






We shared our breadcrumbs with an excited ant, who had never seen such riches in his microcosmic world. He staggered off, his little back laden with this wonderful new bounty. Somewhere below the earth, in a patch of West Oxfordshire, a new religion has been born. Centred around bread.

Turning the circle of our walk, we headed into the reserve. It is a bumper bluebell year in the UK - our woods are carpeted with acres of them stretching out of eye's reach. And I would hate to be the only British blogger not to show a picture of them.




The woodlands never sound so pretty as in Spring, when the birds are singing their hearts out and the cuckoo is doing what all respectable cuckoos should do.






After a good four hours, it's home to a small queue of impatient geese, demanding crowns. This mega order is almost done and they go off for their photoshoot next Friday. There are little gangs of animals dotted around the studio, waiting to be packed. At times I feel as if they are plotting something.

Marching mice

"We are the marching mice,
We march from Here to There,
We marches up and marches down,
We do not have a care!"

"We are the marching mice,
We do not give a fig,
For bears or geese or silly dogs,
Although we're not that big."

"We are the marching mice,
We marches all night long,
And when our tails begin to fail,
We sing this little song."

PS - many thanks to CUTEABLE , for giving the Mice Brigade a mention.

Dorchester away

THWACK! It's the cheerful slap of leather on willow as we start another cricket season. Last year was frankly miserable, weather wise, but we were blessed last Sunday with near perfect Spring weather, as we opened with a friendly match in Dorchester-on-thames. I love watching cricket, but sometimes six hours or so sat on the boundary can be a little too much. So I sloped off with my camera to investigate the village centre. Dorchester has it's very own Abbey - and on this Sunday afternoon I had the place entirely to myself. It is small, but ancient; there has been a place of worship here since Saxon times, circa 635. The first altar you see on entering, displays some rare 14th century paintings which miraculously survived Cromwell's thugs.




The floors are paved with memorials and burial stones, from the sublime -





- to the sinister...




...this one being the most heart stopping I have ever read.





'Reader! If thou has a Heart famed for Tenderness and Pity, Contemplate this Spot. In which are desposited the Remains of a Young Lady, whose artless Beauty, Innocence of Mind and gentle Manner once obtain'd her the Love and Esteem of all who knew her. But when Nerves were too delicately spun to bear the rude Shakes and Jostlings which we meet in this transitory World, Nature gave way. She sunk and died a Martyr to Excesive Sensibility. Mrs Sarah Fletcher, Wife of Captain Fletcher, departed this Life at the village of Clifton on the 7 of June 1799 in the 29 year of her age. May her Soul meet that Peace in Heaven which this Earth denied her'.


I wondered (as must have so many others) just what 'rude shakes and jostlings' the poor soul had endured, and sent her a kind thought, because she died so young and so lamented. (EDIT - I've found an almost identical photo on Flickr, with the full and tragic story, here).





Every pew displayed an exquisitely colour co-ordinated set of kneelers and the still Sunday afternoon air was drenched with the heavy scent of lilies from elaborate displays. Quietly I wandered into the Shrine Chapel, where a thirteenth century Crusader knight lies, not on his back in pious prayer, but unusally poised for battle action.





Here too is the shrine to the founder, St Birinus, with bright carvings hidden in the upper niches






The Chancel and the East window are spectacular, but too grandiose for my taste. I prefer the simplicity of stone and paint.




Outside, the sweetest of cottages, sitting slightly wonkily behind the gravestones.






I headed back to the ground, my peaceful touristing done, and returned to a rather more earthly entertainment.




As usual I came prepared with the bare necessities and some work.




It was the first properly warm day of the year and in my sheltered corner I kept half an eye on our chaps, while getting on with the penguins. We won. Andy was 57 not out. He acknowledged his half century with a modest twitch of the bat.




If only it stays this way for the rest of the season.

That was the week that was...

I thought it had been another so-so week filled with all day needle felting sessions, housework and the odd walk, but in retrospect, it has been rather action packed. My polar bear trio proved to be more exacting than I anticipated; trying to sculpt three almost identical white blobs is quite tricky, the simple shape brings out the worst of the perfectionist in me, and I am still tweaking infinitesimally small contours here and there.





I finally got round to designing a catalogue (well, a small poster really) for my card range. I've been a bit lazy about bothering shops recently, even the ones who've stocked me before. The first one I sent out had an immediate response, and I am really pleased that the gorgeous shop Ark of Cambridge - the Norfolk Street branch - now have a selection of my designs. I had some blushingly nice feedback from the shop manageress about the flyer, and apparently a customer spotted it, and said how beautiful all the colours were. It is good to have them all laid out like this; a bit more professional than a handful of samples and a 'please stock me' letter.




A fat little packet smuggled across the border from the mysterious Adanaland arrived in the post. Full of delightful letterpress scraps, which made me ache to have the space to get my own neglected kit out. (The adorable shire horse is printed by the Incline Press: coincidentally, Sue of Mouse Notebook has just blogged about her day printing there, with scrummy closeups of type and nice papery things - lucky sausage).





Also enclosed were another batch of 'The Travelling Urchin', produced exquisitely and lovingly by Alan Brignull, the founder and benign ruler of Adanaland - I love these little A6 treasures, and am very grateful to him for my growing collection.

It was a welcome little diversion as I plodded on with the next trio for my trade order.




Jackie of Dog Daisy Chains and Karen of Moonlight and Hares asked about RSI and stabbing myself. Ladies, it is no and yes. No, I am lucky enough not to get RSI, just tired bits when I work for more than 8 hours a day. I try to do regular carpal tunnel exercises and I have a super-duper wrist support with two thumb splints, a hand splint and padded bead palm, which really helps when I'm on a marathon session.



Stabbing, however, is a regular occurrence. I frequently hold tiny bits of felt (for instance, beaks) and stab them into hard little shapes, often driving the needle straight down into the pad of my thumb. So I'm experimenting with using two thimbles for protection. It's not as sensory as using my naked fingers, but it hurts less when the needle slips.




I've probably mentioned at least a dozen times that I don't get out much. Getting out can be a bit expensive on a narrow budget, but kind Andy whisked me off to Cotswold Wildlife Park this week, which, despite it being rammed (because of the Easter holidays) was utterly brilliant. The last big day out we had was at the Barrington ploughing match, last September. I get quite giddy with the sheer pleasure of new surroundings and experiences; I came away with my head whirring, over a hundred reference photos and two tiny glass animals...




Nobly, I have restrained myself from posting an endless line of yet-another-zoo-animal here. (Collective sighs of relief!)

BIG EDIT - I had awarded this big, sharp rhino horn to a certain large company who seem to be taking unpermitted advantage of one of Little Cotton Rabbits lovely designs. At last they seem to be responding, but I'll save my half hearted cheer for when they actually do something positive. So the rhino stays.



Oh, by the end of April I will be able to stop thinking in threes!

Fairies and yellow dogs

Several weeks ago, when Winter was still prising his icy fingers under our rickety door, a packet of fairy goodness flew all the way over from Canada. Now, the delightful Fairy Gazette is published by Templar - but MY fairy gazettes are oh-so-special limited little limited editions, hand bound and signed by their creators and in that respect, they are priceless. And quite beautiful.





My favourite aspect of them - apart from the gorgeous colouring - is the 'advertising'. Utterly charming -




I am delighted that both Frances and Avril have started blogs - 'Fairy Lanterns' and 'Over the Garden Wall'. I can think of many fellow bloggers who will love their gentle ways, and I'm so glad to have made their aquaintance - and urge my fellow fairy lovers to go and knock - quietly - at their door, to say hello and welcome. And a very big thank you to them both, from me, for their generous gift.





As for me - I am terribly dull, being halfway through a trade order. I am not going to make a habit of this, but this is for a very special company. Making (almost) identical models takes far longer than one-offs, but I am sure it is Good For Me. And looking forward to being able to spill the beans when it is all done and dusted.

The next four days are forecast to be full of another trio of slow-shaping lumps.




Now that I have finished my little band of dogs;-





I have to admit I'd rather be out here...



With this person...




...sat in the sun behind a drystone wall, with a simple picnic. Maybe I'm just getting lazy.

WEBCAM UPDATE

I took my web cam offline for a while, but it's back. If you would like to watch the craft equivalent of paint drying, I am at my desk most days. If you are not in the UK, but somewhere outlandish where time is different, then I will usually be shutting down for the night while you are sipping your morning coffee, or, contrawise, I will be main-lining my morning pot of tea, while you are deciding which pajamas to wear. Unless, of course, I have escaped to the great outdoors.