Toadstools and cake

The last two weeks have been rather full on with work. A deadline for a new needle felt pattern, which is the largest thing I've designed instructions for. And because of a workshop happening up in the middle of that, a lightening 48 hour trip back down to Bampton, to my favourite haunt, Folly Fabrics.

Sharon (lovely shop owner and my host that night) took me on a little scenic walk around the village, where I snapped the 'Downton Abbey' church. Again.

And took touristy photos of pretty cottages and houses. I still miss the Cotswolds, despite loving Shropshire. And despite the fact that I could never afford to live here. 

One of the things I miss most, is the combination of mellow light on Cotswold stone, against a darkening sky. It brings out a horribly poignant homesickness. 'The Land of Lost Content' indeed.  

The Land of Lost Content

Into my heart an air that kills

From yon far country blows:

What are those blue remembered hills,

What spires, what farms are those?

That is the land of lost content,

I see it shining plain,

The happy highways where I went

And cannot come again.

A. E. Housman ('A Shopshire Lad')

I  am sure that many of us have those places. I do find it painfully ironic that this particular excerpt comes, of course, from A.E Housmans 'A Shropshire Lad' - and that one of my favourite musical collections by Ralph Vaughan Williams is 'On Wenlock Edge' - which I now find almost impossible to listen to.  

'On Wenlock Edge' is, as you may know, based around 'A Shropshire Lad'. The real Wenlock Edge - in Shropshire of course - is also close to the ancient green woodlands where Andy rests. All of these interwoven strands combine to make a tangled knot of intense sorrow and melancholia, which I try not to dwell on too much.

So let's not. Let's have a photograph of Sharon taking a photograph of wildflowers. As you do.

She was collecting autumn inspiration colours, and these 'Fox and Cubs' (as I know them) are the most gorgeous fiery blood orange.  

That night, a cake was decorated for the workshop. They are always themed to fit whatever we are making.

And there everyone was, the next day, with the usual combination of chatter and concentration. 

It's always lovely when people come back to my workshops and this time, four out of the nine places had been taken up by people I'd taught before. 

Teatime and the traditional toadstool dance around the cake. 

I never cease to feel so rewarded at the end of a session, when everyone has worked hard, ploughed through any difficulties and gone home with something they love.

I returned home to Shropshire that night (via train as usual), a little shattered, to find a box of macarons waiting for me; a present through the post from Joe. So sweet and so pretty; the only thing to do was to Instagram them. And then eat them. And feel lucky that I have a man who sends cake through the post.

The rest of the week was spent getting on with my pattern deadline, which was all business as usual; it will be published by Christmas, and it's my favourite one yet - I can't wait to show it off! 

'Those dirty old things'...

Jean and Brian, my wonderful neighbours, are having big clear outs this year. Having introduced them to the notion of 'vintage', they always let me know when they're getting rid of stuff and I am usually approached with 

'Is this of any use to you? It's been in the shed/loft for years and it's got to go'.

 

One of the many things which 'had to go' - having been languishing in one of Brian's many sheds for decades, was this fabulous wall mount. 'You don't have to have it, if you don't like it'.

I may have squealed with delight when he handed me this. Joe is rather keen to have hanging baskets at the cottage and this is the most perfect hanger imaginable.

Brian's sheds throw up many interesting things, some of which I find intriguing, if baffling. This is a 'something or other' which he gave me to put on to eBay; however, I find I am curiously attached to it, having a weakness for old painted things. Even if I don't know what they're for. He did explain it to me, but it it went in one ear and out of the other. This is a keeper though, whatever it is.

'You're not putting that dirty old thing on my clean table cloth' Jean protested, when Brian brought this sweet little lamp inside 'in case you're interested'. 'It's just an old thing I've had for years' he said as he handed it to me, Jean grimacing slightly.

To her dismay, I cradled it lovingly in my hands, crooning with pleasure. It just needs a bit of a clean and a candle.

 

Less disreputable, old Kilner jars which belonged to Jean's mother. Which of course 'are of use'.

Sometimes I'm given things which flummox even me, and I give them a punt on eBay. After all, pieces of toast and the legendary 'old rope' have been sold there. Then I have a bit of creative fun with the descriptions.

'Kitsch vintage swan novelty in original box - apparently floats!'

'This quirky and kitsch little swan pretty much sums up a lot about the 1960s. It looks as if it was designed to hold one of those highly perfumed bath salt blocks that my mother was so fond of and used to be given at Christmas. If only she'd had one of these! Made in England and designed by Jean Sorell Ltd, it measures approximately 8 x 8cm.

The box states that it will float when not holding bath salts, but I cannot guarantee this.'

Or how about another swan - 

'Vintage 1960's 'magic; glass swan ornament, original box and bits *unused*'

 'Where to start with this one? Well, it is basically a nice hand blown glass swan, which is all fine and well. This one is a little unusual in that it is apparently a 'magic swan'. How so, you ask? Well, it comes with the original dyed papers which turn it various colours. Such fun!

The instructions read as follows -
'To colour, fill the body with water and insert dye paper for one minute. Place thumb over aperture and and turn swan over. By a series of small movements the air bubble will gradually leave the head. Turn the swan up again without allowing the air back into the head'

There is no mention, however, about what you do with the plastic rose. In a further gesture towards beauty, I imagine it is stuck elegantly in the hole at the back, once you've managed to fill the swan with coloured water (and not getting it everywhere in the process).

This is why we invented the internet. Having said all that, it is a very pretty piece, never used, 'hand made by craftsmen from the finest British glass' and in its original box with packing. What's not to like?

Oh yes, and it measures 13 x 13 cm.

However, if I can sell things such as this rather crazy old flocked lion, which found a loving home several months ago, then I remain hopeful. Beauty in everything. Even Jean is almost convinced.

Despite everything

 

I've made very few of my own personal creations this year; partly because I am still struggling to recover my creativity after the awful, life changing events of 2013. *Warning* This is an old post that some people who don't know what happened may find upsetting, but I've put it in, as this is to some extent my personal blog and anyhow, it's been 'out there' since it happened.

Grief doesn't just stop once the initial agony subsides; it continues to send out ripples and in my case, this has meant a rather grey no-man's land as far as inspiration goes. Bit of a problem when your only income is creatively based.

So I have been busy flogging whatever I can on eBay, to pay the bills. Once upon a time, this wasn't such an issue, but my circumstances now mean that anything which doesn't bring in an income has to be forfeited in favour of things which do. But I have cobbled together a few things. Just to keep my hand in.

These odd looking beasties - 'Hawses' - were a bit of a self indulgent experiment and a move away from my mainstream cute style. If nothing else, it was good to try something different.

The rest has been more familiar work. I've fiddled about unsuccessfully with different ideas, including the 'Teddy Bear of Doom'. One of the most difficult things I have ever attempted, shown here at halfway stage. Limbless, unloved and a bit wistful. Little blighter.

On another note, my kits have found their way to Berlin, via the gorgeous AMODO shop - I feel as if I have gone international, albeit in a very small way!

  

But sadly, a squirrel and a simple circus bear have been pretty much the only finished work so far this year.  

I continue to weather things out and as always, try to look on the bright side. Despite everything that has happened, and some recent health issues, I have so many blessings in my life and count them every day.

Dance of the Craneflies

At this time of year the kitchen is  a magnet for crane flies and at night, if the window is left ajar, they clamber inside and head for the one light.

It's a love hotel for daddy long-legs. 

While I'm not over fond of them flitting about my head, they make the most incredible shapes in their courtship dances. 

My object was to capture the detail of my little short lived companions, as they danced their way through their brief existence. But I found the 'mistakes' even more attractive, and while the dim light meant 'off' colours, it simply added to the atmosphere

Where my camera could only catch traces of wing movement, graceful scatterings appeared. And with a bit of dickering about in Photoshop, the results are even artistic.

I can't help but imagine these images reproduced on huge canvases with somewhat pompous and meaningless titles such as 'We Are Building a New Kingdom'

or  'Towards the Celestial Light'

or even, ooh, I don't know, how about 'Within all of us - the Apocalypse!'

They would be displayed in the kind of understated but expensive foyers found in modernist buildings in the financial districts of large cities. Perhaps people would look at them and ponder the meaning behind the shadows.  

Unusually in Blackpool

I say unusually, as I have to admit, it hasn't been a main feature on my non-existent bucket list. But when someone special whisks you off for a weekend away, it doesn't really matter where it is. And this country mouse was rather surprised at what a fabulous time she had. 

Perhaps it's my Brighton roots, maybe it's having lived on the Devon coast in my childhood, but I have a soft spot for the seaside and all the paraphernalia which goes with it. And what's not to like about Blackpool Tower?

We took a wander down the small but famous pier. 

And went along the the sea front. Another secret pleasure of mine - the glitz and tack which goes with the British pleasure beach. 

 

We hunted for a place to gorge on ice cream - and they had to be proper old-school Sundaes (or in my case, a Knickerbocker Glory). We found them at Cafe Palma, just off the sea front. And returned the next day for more.

Later, we returned to the sea front to watch the first round of the International fireworks competition - this night it was China putting on a fabulous display. 

However, we weren't just here for the ice cream and sea views, we were here for the first Blackpool Comic Convention. Another thing I never envisaged myself writing about on this blog, but then, there have been a few of those. 

Queuing for two hours round various blocks to get in was mitigated by some fabulous costumes on display and the genial atmosphere of the crowd. We were lucky to get in at all, as we found later, many people queued for longer and were turned away, even with pre-booked tickets. 

The Winter Gardens is a spectacular pile, in typical grandiose Victorian style. Today it was rammed with comic fans.

Joe's the geek and comic hero fan, but I was happy just to enjoy a new experience and take numerous photos of Joe with his heroes and heroines.

I think he was particularly pleased with this one, alongside well known cos-play actress Kristen  Hughey.

What you need after a day traipsing around a super hero event is a super hero meal. So we returned to Cafe Palma for tea. Fish and chips for me, second time in two days. And meat pie for Joe. And more ice cream. 

It's been a long time - too long - since I had such simple, unalloyed fun - and I'm looking forward to a promised return trip. Because I haven't quite ploughed my way through the entire ice cream menu at Cafe Palma.