Scene of Crime

Look what I found at lunchtime, fallen from the Christmas tree like a ripe fruit. A sad little ribbon remained tied to the branch from which he fell. We weren't supposed to eat them until New Year's Day, when we undress the tree and put him outside for another year. There were a couple of crumbs, which I *tidied* away.

Later, there were a few more crumbs, but no sign of a body.

EDIT - I wish I could claim to have made our gingerbread people, but they are out of my league - all thanks to my talented baking friends generosity.

Turning pennies into cheese

Despite needing an initial defrosting, our little pot tree looked very pretty when he was dressed. He comes in every Christmas Eve and goes back outside on January the 1st. We like to keep our quiet celebrations short and special.

I bought him fourteen years ago, when he was a scruffy 10 inch urchin, and against the odds, he's thrived. Now he has finally burst his pot in a bid for freedom.

Here he is on Christmas morning, being looked after by Oscar, my latest needle felt piece.

This year he is proudly displaying some beautiful gingerbread people, made by an old friend with whom we have recently re-made contact. Each one is delightfully hand painted and the room smells sweetly of spicy goodness.

The three of us trained together to be illustrators way back in the early 1990's. Now she makes wonderfully decorated cakes and cookies, I make felt toys and Andy wears his fingers to the bone as a supermarket manager supporting us. Which just goes to show how life takes unexpected turns.

Every week before Christmas, I count the pennies in my penny pot. Usually it is spent on nice cheese and this year it was spent on very select cheese indeed. One piece, to be precise. Although we only have two shops in the village, one of them is an excellent deli, which specialises in local cheeses. There were only two of these 'Cerney Pyramids' left - unpasteurised goat's cheeses covered with ash and seasalt, from the village of North Cerney, just over the border in Gloucestershire. Being a premium product, they are not cheap. But the kind shopowner generously gave me a little discount as he knows that I am a hardcore gourmet cheese lover with very shallow pockets. Now it waits, like the rest of the world, for New Year's Eve, when it will be eaten with reverence.

Unholy mackerel

A couple of months ago, Andy came back from work with eight large reduced-in-price fresh mackerel 'because I know you like your mackerel'. So kind. 'It needs eating now though, it won't last much longer'. There is only so much not-entirely-fresh mackerel a girl can eat, so I decided to try cold pickling it, as I believe they do in Scandanavia. (I might be wrong on this).

Bit of a faff, but I had that holy glow one gets from preserving. No waste in this house! A month later, I tried some. I love rollmop herrings, but my fishy pickles were in a class of their own - quite sour and mushy, though I bravely ate the whole dish. The jar went to the back of the fridge, where I found it a few days ago. There was something about it I didn't quite trust - I may even have started a new eco-system. It smelled - very fishy, but I don't think it was off - just funny coloured in parts. Nonetheless, it has been disposed of.

Things which brought smiles

Being properly better at last is enough to make me attempt to click my heels in the air with glee. And thank you to everyone for being so kind in their comments and emails. I hope I am never that wiped out by anything again - too tedious. But terribly touched to be sent gifts for my well being - a care bundle from kind Ann of Frayed at the Edge - lavender bags, warm wristlets, oh-so-welcome tissues -

- and a double wrapped parcel papered with eclectic bits and bobs, which could only come from my letter-pressing ephemera-loving friend. I was feeling lousy when I opened it, but I smiled as I unwrapped it -

Under interesting and distracting paper diversities, such as this ever-so-slightly crotchety (but very amusing) response to the now ubiquitous 'Keep Calm' band wagon -

- was a beautifully scripted note on letter pressed note paper, alongside an ex-library edition of John Masefield's 'Midnight Folk' which I haven't read since I was a child, decorated with lovely line illustrations by Rowland Hilder. Thank you so much.

Andy, like a well trained truffle hound, is now very good at finding books which he's never heard of, but after eighteen years with me, senses to be collectible or valuable - or both. He out-did himself with this one, picked up for 50p. Pookie the Fairy Rabbit is not my era, nor did I have his books when I was little, but as a collector I know it by reputation (and value), especially a scarce early edition in spiffy condition like this one. Nice one Andy!

Having sold several calendars, I decided to spread the love and treat myself to one (number 44 out of one hundred) of Jake Parker's brilliant limited edition book, showing his one-a-day ink sketches from 'Inktober' - now, understandably sold out. Isn't the linework gorgeous?

The heroic man even included an original artwork with each and every one, which is a bit above and beyond the call of duty, but lucky for those of us who invested in the book.

However, the best thing to arrive in the post was a photo which I have never seen, of my mum and a small me outside an aunty's house. It was found by her daughter and she thought I'd like it. I have so few childhood photos, most of them taken by other people, and only a handful from my early years. We didn't have a camera; we didn't have much of anything. At the time this was taken, my parents, unmarried and having run off together, were living from hand to mouth on benefits, my elderly alcoholic dad being a chronic invalid, and unable to work. There were two rooms. We had two old single beds in one of them, me sleeping with mum, my dad in the other, in a flat in a slummy converted Victorian house in Exeter. The walls were damp, there was a two bar electric heater, no fridge (which is why I hate Carnation milk - we used that instead of fresh as it wouldn't go off) and the most modern thing we had was an old battery powered radio - even in the late 1960's this was a bit unusual.

There was one lavatory shared between several people, and in the winter when the pipes froze, we had to go across to the public facilities in the local park. Much of this I remember, some of it my mum told me; she often talked to me about things she probably didn't realise I was taking in and which I would never forget.

Under the circumstances, cameras - expensive items in those days - and retaining memories were probably the last things on my parent's minds. But this precious little snapshot reminds me that once, a long time ago, I had a mother who loved me very much, even if I didn't have her for very long.

Before I forget -

The Winter online edition of UK Handmade is now available, including a Q&A between myself and Rima and Tui of the Hermitage (pages 40-45)

and finally

I am the very first featured artist on the Wingham Woolwork website with a selection of my needle felt work - thank you very much to them.

and really and truly finally -

We are out walking again, and there are two beautiful new walks recorded in Chedworth and Eastleach on my Cotswold Peeps blog.

I'll shut up now.

Taking advice from friends

ancient portfolio work - 1993

Lemsip powders, Lemsip cough medicine, lemon Lockets - it's a good job lemon is one of my favourite flavours.

For the first time since starting this blog, four years ago, I am taking what I believe is called a *blog break* - just a small one, so I have one thing less to worry about. Finding myself ill for the second time this month, I am really and truly going to bugger off (quaint Anglo-Saxon expression for my American readers) and rest - as everyone from Andy to friends to my lovely clients have advised. And as up till now I have tried to ignore. Apart from working on things-I-can't-reveal, coughing and snuffling, there is nothing to write about. I'm just too wiped out to try to do everything as I usually do, not even write a halfway entertaining blogpost; so you aren't missing anything except monstrous amounts of sickly self pity.

Cough.

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!

All about mushrooms

On Sunday it rained. And rained. And rained. And in the afternoon, it cleared. The fungi season has come late upon us, due to a prolonged dry spell. We were keen to see if recent wet weather had persuaded any mushrooms or fungi to sprout. There were some, but not as many as we are used to. and mostly of the 'dull' beige-brown variety which blend in with the fallen leaves.

We did discover a new, prolific corner of the woods, which was crammed with goodies. To his delight, Andy found a 'Penny Bun'. If you watch Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall, Valentine Warner and the rest of our lovely hunter-gathering TV chefs, you might believe that all you have to do is walk into a field and Boletus/Chicken of the Woods/Truffles/Morels/Chanterelles will be growing in abundance, conveniently within camera shot and almost leap-frogging into your picturesque basket. Sadly, despite many years of fungi hunting, I have yet to find such happy hunting grounds, and this is the very first we have found, anywhere. See the little knife? It belonged to Andy's grandfather. We always cut the stalks, to avoid pulling up the root system. Remember this knife; it makes another appearance, later on.

This part of the woods proved to be a treasure trove. It was also Someone Else's pet puffball patch; there were white cut stumps, evidencing another fungi gatherer. We found plenty of others.

I was particularly interested in a colony of what looked like Shaggy Parasoles, but were browner than any I had ever seen. I didn't trust my judgement enough to pick any.

Bliss it is to shuffle through autumn leaves, ducking under branches, hunting for mushrooms to photograph or pick. It got dark all too soon, but we were partly compensated by a lovely sunset. We headed home with our foragings.

Supper was rather inevitable, with homemade bread. Earthy tasting goodness.

Today I found myself in the woods again, and being on my own, did a little 'off pisting'. I pretty much know where things grow along the footpaths, and was looking for new spots. I dived into the undergrowth, following deer paths.

At once I found some wood blewits, already feasted on by some woodland creature, but there were enough for me to gather.

Back to the new puffball patch. Sure enough, since our last visit, more had popped up.

Some had gone over; only ever eat the white fruit bodies- if the interior is anything other than pristine white, discard. I learnt this the hard way when I was eleven and gave myself a very nasty upset stomach, eating a slightly yellowing specimen. This one is already at the 'puff' stage, exploding to let loose powdery spores.

I revisited my 'are-they-aren't-they' possible shaggy parasoles. They had grown pretty fast and were looking more familiar. Here they are, on Sunday -

And today -

I picked one close by that I was sure was 'right'.

Looking at this fallen one, it has all the characteristics of a shaggy parasole. But I would need to get home to double check.

Further on I found a wonderful city of fresh Birch Polypores, or 'razor strops'. They are inedible, but look so pretty growing together. My fungi bible, 'Mushrooms' by Roger Phillips, records that Otzi, the 'Iceman' mummy found in the Alps, was carrying some, possibly for antibiotic use.

Now I wanted to see how the large fly agaric that we had found on Sunday was faring. First of all I located its baby brother. The other day it had looked like this;

Today it was missing most of it's white spots, but had survived fairly well.

Cheek by jowl were also growing wood blewits (top left corner) puffballs, (centre right) and there is our rotting agaric friend lying in the leaf mould (bottom right corner). A little more cropping to be done.

Reaching in my pocket for the knife I found - nothing. Well, my gloves, my mobile, assorted bags and various other gubbins, but no knife. Oh, how many times had I nagged poor Andy about looking after his Grandfather's knife, and 'give it to me or you'll lose it'...

With my heart beating faster I followed my route back to the last place I might have left it - the maybe-parasol patch. Did I carelessly put it down while I was taking shots of them? Yes, I had. Oh happy day! There it was, blending in rather too well with the woodland floor. Can you see it? Look closer...

I felt a huge wave of relief at not losing a precious family heirloom (and not mine either). Back it went to the safety of my pocket.

I retraced my steps again, harvested a few Blewits and puffballs, and found the large Fly Agaric Andy had found on Sunday. Then it looked like this -

Today it is decaying beautifully; the red skin must be particularly delicious to slugs, although the whole thing is, of course, poisonous to humans.

I returned across the fields to my bike, pondering that I was sure I had found parasoles along the edge here before, and sure enough, as if prompted - can you spot them?

The little darlings. And their big brother growing in splendid solitude nearby;

Out came the nearly-lost knife and into my bag they went. A good haul.

Back at the cottage, I checked my bible, and confirmed that I had indeed picked two types of Parasole Mushrooms. The flesh turns pinky red when it is cut or bruised and the not-quite-sure one with the browner cap was already blushing. I cannot emphasise enough that you should check, check and check again when identifying mushrooms to eat. I always do, even though this has been my hobby since I was 10. I will eat nothing if in doubt; use a guide to see early fruiting stages, read about the habitat, whether it is rare, what it can be confused with. Google image search is a very good way of seeing various specimens and finding useful websites.

I am pleased to relate that the blewits, puffballs and parasoles provided an excellent lunch, with no side effects.