Haberdashery

Sometimes you spend an entire day trying to find a way to make a certain thing. You start with wire. Your first attempts end up on the floor and half a morning has gone by. You have an idea of how it might work, if only you could find that thing you've had for years, but don't know which box it is in.

Thank goodness you never throw anything useful away! Nylon lace is a nono, but interesting bits and bobs are uncovered; you find the rules to your game of Nine Men's Morris you thought you'd lost. A whole box of antique handmade lace is explored - but is sacred. Not for cutting.

Nothing useful in here today...

Not even in the glorious treasure chest that is the bottom layer of my workbasket.

Ah, here is a dusty basket with long abandoned temari balls...maybe there is something lurking in here...

Possibly a solution -

But no; after another experiment gone wrong, it's hard to feel that the day has not been wasted, except to find out what doesn't work!

The big clear up

Well, we survived that and the snow is gone. I've been out of the village for the first time since Dec 13th - a quick scenic spin on the motorbike. Time to survey the damage to my pots and round up the causalities. I seem to have lost most of my herbs, including some old friends like my twisted rosemary bush, which had such a pungent aroma. Andy's been clearing the ground for our new big poly tunnel, his Christmas present from his parents (thank you very much Mr and Mrs M) which will take up most of the left hand side of the plot.

My poor little studio has not been tidied for weeks and I could barely see the floor. I didn't really want to either, as the rug was almost grey with - stuff - in places. In my defence, I had confirmation of my other illustration job this month, and am now juggling it with the design work. Both of these have spring/early summer deadlines and both are full time jobs in themselves, so things have slipped somewhat. Look away now, if you have delicate nerves.

There were roughly forty jars of chutneys and jams shouldering each other for space - why have I got them in the studio? Because at some point last autumn I was dead set on labelling up each and every one, a thankless task which had to be abandoned for more important work-related things. Some had almost become part of the furniture...

Look, there's a herd of them sheltering beneath the wastepaper basket -

Eventually they were herded up and returned to their rightful home - the stores cupboard - labelled or not labelled. Which might be interesting at some future date.

Now, observe the difference;

What are the picture books? OK, here's a larger close up for the book lovers - click on for detail

There is even room for my legs under the table at last.

Snowed in

So, not being owners of even a car (let alone a four-wheel drive) we are snowed in. No gritter comes our way and the Co-op, our only shop, has been stripped. Quite often this is referred to a needless panic buying, but when the only shop for miles is almost empty and the roads to any town are impassable then things take on a different complexion. However, my habit of keeping an overstocked supplies cupboard (often laughingly referred to as my *nuclear supplies*) means that we can keep going comfortably for several days. Though we are being careful with logs and milk. And kibble.

The cats have taken personal umbrage at the disordering of their world and shuffle awkwardly through the garden like small, outraged snowploughs. Yesterday, just as the white heavens opened, I went for a solitary walk across the fields. Today Andy went a-wandering and came back with some splendid photos, such as this robin keeping within close shelter of a Dexter cow. Whether for warmth, or to take advantage of the earth being cleared (and grubs therein) - it was shadowing its large guardian, who seemed a little bemused by the attention.

Far beyond the village, the landscape lies buried and hushed.

And I might be biased, but I think nothing is as lovely as Cotswold stone in the snow.

We'll be fine - I have baked a loaf the size of a small planet.

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.