Sukey & fame

Another toy rolls off the production line - Sukey was ordered back in Spring. She is a near-copy of another blue cat, Selina, I made a while back. But a bit different.

Her nose is a little heart and her tail rises ever so gently in the air as if it is in mid-twitch. Or simply saying 'hello'.

And the fame? Well, the UK magazine 'Let's Get Crafting' did an introduction to needle felting this month - here is someone who's work I've known since my early felting days, Melanie of Felt Me Up Designs and her jolly little birds.

Oh, and me with a few of my thingys, answering a few questions about the craft. I think this magazine is available at the usual places such as WHSmith, but I've popped the questions in below as well. Not sure about the fame, but it's very nice to be picked out.

How did you start needle felting?

Two and a half years ago I received an anonymous needle felting kit in the post. I had been getting several comments on my blog that I should try needle felting actual models of the 'Imaginary Toys' artworks that I paint, (I am also a professional artist and illustrator) but I didn't know what it was then. Had I not been sent the kit, I might never have tried it! As soon as I picked up a needle and realised that I could sculpt the merino wool into anything I liked, I was hooked and haven't stopped since. Little did I know then that my collectible toys would be such an instant hit or that I would end up making them as my main career. That single mysterious gift changed my whole life.

What do you enjoy about it?

It is one of the simplest crafts I have ever tried; a few needles, a cushioned block and some wool and you are away! The only limit is your imagination and hand skills - it really is a form of sculpting and the better your visual spatial awareness, the better you will be at it. It is also cheap - small amounts of wool will only cost a few pounds and it is a portable craft which can be done tidily on your lap - no mess! I find it totally absorbing and therapeutic and so satisfying to create a real model from your imagination.

How long does it take you to make your larger toys?

A very long time - several days. I've never really timed myself, but a small, simple thing like my Camellia dog design will take at least twenty hours of solid work. I am often asked how I get the fine, smooth finish on my toys; there is no magic, instant technique, just hours of patient fine tuning; stabbing gently away with one fine needle, tucking the wispy hairs in, until I get the firm, smooth surface I prefer.

What's your favourite creation?

Oooh, difficult! My animals are tiny pieces of my soul and they seem to transform themselves into such funny little personalities. I love my goose birds and my elephants - but If I really had to pick just one it would be Oscar, as he was a real character, and such a happy chap.

Mr Jingles invited me..

Mr Jingles invited me to the Christmas open day at Teddy Bears of Witney last Sunday - but sadly, with my usual transport problems (not having any) and Andy working all day, I couldn't get to town. Which is a shame, as I would have liked to have met some of the regulars who were at the 25th anniversary party earlier this year, where I did my first needle felting demonstration. Also a shame as the pencil sketch of Mr Jingles is courtesy of me.



I very rarely do any *proper* sketching from life - even though it was just from a photo. Not because I don't enjoy it, but because I have filled out sheets and sheets and even more sheets of sketches for work this year and there is only so much sketching one can do. To fit him in the left hand corner of the card I flipped the original image from the catalogue photo -

And moved his position slightly with a bit of artistic license. I am very fond of certain types of teddy bears, but strangely I have no desire to make them.



Today my lovely Christmas card from the shop arrived, featuring of course, the real Mr Jingles.

And this afternoon my wood order arrived - I have changed supplier for the first time in eight years and for about the same price we got more - and cut to smaller size too. With Andy at work and with the logs blocking access for our neighbours cars (and we wouldn't want that, or World War Three would break out) - there was only one thing to do...


...stack the blessed things. I can confirm that piling up what must have been about half a ton of wood to more than six feet high is excellent physiotherapy. Even better, this should see us through to the New Year if we are careful.

Rambling Rose

Ramblin’ rose, ramblin’ rose

Why you ramble, no one knows,

Wild and wind-blown, that’s how you’ve grown,

Who can cling to a ramblin’ rose?

(Nat King Cole)

I am back to work and not before time - my piggy bank is decidedly convex after so many weeks of not earning. Rose was commissioned almost a year ago and what with one thing and another, she has taken some time to finish. She is not just a pink elephant, she is half a load of wood for the wood burner and a big grocery shop for my depleted store cupboards; appearances can be deceptive.

Now she is on her way to America, to join her new owner and I am almost finished with another back-order. I have a list of people who want to know when I will have new stock for sale, but I must get the last couple of things made before starting new designs. I'm thinking moles and hedgehogs, maybe a squirrel. Red of course.

The client asked for a photo of myself with Rose, before she was shipped off. I am 100% camera allergic, but after many, many tries and deletes, we managed to come up with something passable and as I don't think I've ever posted a picture of me here, this is my dubious gift to you in the season of giving.

I have also finally begun selling postcards of favourite toys, the first set is of chaps, printed on glossy card, six to a pack without envelopes and going for the princely sum of $6/£4 from my Etsy shop. I'm really impressed with the new changes Etsy have been rolling out, and for all those in the UK who get flummoxed by dollars, you can now chose to see prices in Sterling as well. If they take off I'll be getting more sets printed. If not, I'll never be short of stationary, ever.

Arm update - (yawn) - I had my first physiotherapy session today and been properly examined by someone who really knows about these things. Seems I've been using my shoulder blade to compensate for what would normally be movements from my socket, so I've got a set of 'tough love' exercises to stretch and unstiffen the bits which have become recalcitrant. No pain, no gain. Oooh. Ouch. Argh.

Some kind of normality

Last Friday saw us begin a marathon of cross country travelling 'up North' for the funeral of Andy's Nan. Normally we'd have gone by motorbike and it would have taken about two or three hours, but with the UK suffering sub-zero temperatures and my arm being how it is, we booked train tickets from Oxford. So began a hodgepodge journey starting with us setting off the dark, icy early morning, layered up like Michelin men on the bike, leaving the bike with Debs-of-the-bees who lives nearer to the city, catching a bus to Oxford, then a train to Manchester, picked up by car, fed and watered by Andy's nice parents and another car journey to Yorkshire for an overnight stay at a motel. It snowed overnight and Selby Abbey, where the simple service was held, was looking stunning. The sun came out; a nice way to say goodbye to a long life which was finally at rest.

Later that day we did the same journey in reverse, but slower. Driving through the vibrant city of Manchester to the station was a surreal experience for both of us. We felt a little like visitors from a secluded community, goggling at the new space-age office blocks, the hordes of shoppers clutching bulging shopping bags (how much *stuff* does a person need???) the crowded eateries, the groups of rowdy night-outers...it was like descending into some kind of urban hell, not improved by the various football fans being police-escorted and later on the train, the distinctly un-charming presence of racist thugs getting tanked up on cheap lager. We decided to stay standing up in the corridor well away from them, until they disembarked.

It took over 6 hours to return, ending with a slow, wind chilled half hour ride near midnight, along treacherous roads covered in black ice, both of us frozen by the time we arrived back to a cottage full of sleepy cats. Rarely have I felt so thankful to be home. But this sad, necessary journey was a marker for us; we had decided that Monday was going to be 'N-Day' - a return to Normality. And so it has been. I am finally back in bed, bolstered up and last night had the best night's sleep I've had since my accident, comfy under a proper quilt and able to stretch my legs out. My arm is much better, thanks to my homemade physiotherapy of housework, sweeping with a dust-pan and brush proving painful but effective.

While we were at Andy's old home, I took the opportunity to re-visit the very first needle felted toy I made, way back in 2008. He was a birthday present for Andy's mother; he is tiny compared to the size I work at today! He was a bit fuzzy after two years and I took the opportunity to give him a bit of a makeover - so although you may think that I have double posted the same picture, look more closely. Same but different. Rather like country folks and city folks.

Notes from the sofa

I am still sleeping on the sofa, propped up with various cushions and pillows; thank you to the kind people who've enquired about my silly arm - the fracture is healing nicely, but the muscles and wot-nots around it still hurt like billy-o and each day is a new battle to unstiffen everything and try to raise my arm a little more. Bed is still a no-go area, after one very bad night.

So here we are last night at precisely 11.30, tucked up cosy in a goose down sleeping bag, my little Roberts radio tuned in for the start of the first Ashes match - for my American friends, this is as important to cricket loving Brits and Aussies as the World Series is to you lot, only more so. I speak jokingly of course. I have my 'miners torch' strapped to my head as I finish a glass of wine and read my bedtime book (the latest Alan Banks crime thriller, 'Bad Boy' - nothing too highbrow).

Mousie sleeps on her raggedy cushion, on the sofa top and when I change ends in a few hours she will start purring loudly in my ear. The cricket commentators say hello to all the Brits staying up late to listen in, in time honoured tradition and it's all rather lovely.

On the big, low coffee table to my right, Pumpkin is slobbed out. We have a bedtime routine in which I put his cushion out for him and he leaps up to settle down for a good sleep. Further up, glowering down like a skinny, malevolent demon, is Samson. His sleeping place is a particular stair, though given half the chance he will take over the sofa. We are one cat short, fat Clover. Despite the freezing temperature outside, she has hied off for the evening. She's done this all her life and is quite self sufficient. For now, it is just me, three sleepy cats, the faint crackle of a cricket match tuning in from the other side of the world and the fuzzy snoring of my beloved Andy, almost directly above my head in the real bedroom.

Postcards from the French Front

Mrs J.G Strangham, 7 West Avenue, Forest Hall, Newcastle-upon-Tyne, England

'My dear wife and kiddies Sunday (undated)

This is a new series of cards and as I am busy with a long letter for you (so that you shall get it on Sunday (green) I thought that I would just let you know how I am getting on. I got your letter tonight and I see that you are troubling very much about me standing the weather conditions. Well dears, I am pleased to tell you that I am in good form again. The weather is much better and it has been glorious today. I was out today for a long walk and quite enjoyed it. Just got back to camp in nice time for tea. Best love and good hopes that you will...(writing is damaged at this point)...you have had bad (writing is damaged) yourself I see. (?) send another card tomorrow. God bless you all and keep you until I return again your loving hubby. xxoxxxxxxxoo'

Miss Isa M Strangham, 7 West Avenue, Forest Hall, Newcastle on Tyne, England

Wed 22/8/17

'Now my little darling, what do you think of this rose? I was pleased to get your painting it was very lovely I am sure. You want to put your hair in ringlets (?) do you? Well you can if you want to; you shouldn't have bothered to ask me about that when I am not at home, you know when I look at your photo I always see a little girl with wavy hair so you see it doesn't matter a little bit. I hope you have enjoyed your holidays but I thought you had another week yet. I was pleased to get Molly's photo. I am quite well, write later (word obscured) best love daddy oxxxxooxx Busy as usual'

Friday Nov 22 18

My darling little girl

I was very pleased the other day when I got that nice long letter letting me know all your doings at the wedding. Were you not afraid when the padre and the other two officers came in. He would look smart when he got your mother's apron on, especially when he was such a great big man. Wouldn't it have been grand if your daddy had been one of the privates, I just fancy what you would say to this. The very thing we were wishing. Well I am glad my little dear that you are helping your mother as much as you can, of course you are getting a big girl now. I am longing to see those photographs of Albert and you. I hope that all of you are still keeping clear of the flue (sp). (Referring to the 1918 Spanish Flu Pandemic) Poor little Betty, tell her uncle sends some xs for her. I hope your auntie Annie is a lot better now and all the others who are sick. Tell grandma she has to be careful and not any cold. I see that you have another week holiday why don't you keep it until your daddy gets home? I am quite well will close with best love and kisses to Albert and yourself from your loving daddy

I do hope he made it home to his 'kiddies' and in one piece.

Lying fallow

It's been nearly five weeks since I duffed my arm up - I wish I could say that I've had a nice time of it and indulged in some serious relaxing, but until recently my days have been dull and pain filled - I don't mind admitting that I've had some pretty bleak moments. I had three cracks in my upper arm/shoulder joint and it was never going to be an instant heal; using it for anything has ranged from difficult to downright impossible.

From an early age I decided to dedicate myself to a creative life - there has been no room in my life for a 'proper job' which might have made things financially easier, nor for children who demand so much care and attention. All I ever wanted was what I had until recently, even during the many years when I barely earned a bean from it. Literally everything I do revolves around a rich, image filled inner world which soaks up inspiration from the outer world. Losing the physical ability to draw even a rough scribble has been a very hard lesson in learning to appreciate what I used to take for granted; my creative mind went dead for a while, which was almost worse than the constant pain.



So far, so self pitying. I also realise that it was my own silly fault for falling off a stile in the first place and that far worse things are happening in the world. It's not terminal and I am finally getting better. More to the point, I have really appreciated everyone's kind comments and private messages - thank you so much - if they were magic medicine I'd be turning cartwheels. I have also been the lucky recipient of this gorgeous stained glass fragment with engraved hare, from the hands of LiZZie - I have long admired her work, though our plastic window panes do not do this beauty justice. She sells similar items in her Etsy shop, and they are ideal Christmas presents, so warm and glowing.

Also, huge thanks to the kind friends who took the trouble to send me cards and little gifts, all of which brought bright points to my days. What is that horrid brown lump in front of them? Why, it's my voodoo quince of course.

While we were in Herefordshire, Andy went off exploring and returned with a quince. It was a golden, bumpy-lumpy hard fruit - inedible, but beautiful to look at. My arm was colourfully swathed at the time with wrap-around bruising which has only just faded, and I pretended that the quince was soaking the bad stuff up as I recovered. It will be at least a week before I have something approaching normal mobility, by which time my voodoo quince will be ready for a ceremonial dumping in the compost heap.

Next week I have a check-up x-ray to make sure everything in my silly arm is behaving. I can't feel anything crunching around inside anymore and I can put a little weight on it. I can chop vegetables again, spread butter on toast, do my trousers up and almost clean my teeth right handed again. When I can sleep in our bed again, not the saggy sofa, when I can haul myself out of the bath on my own (thank you Andy!) and needle felt for more than ten minutes without cramping up, I will be properly well again and be a little less boring.

Herefordshire break

After our last disastrous attempt to go on holiday, we planned the next one very carefully. We booked an annex in a 15th century farmhouse in rural Herefordshire, one of the last few un-spoilt areas of England. It is just a county away from us, so not too far on the bike and the weather was set fair. Our landlady was lovely and so was the cottage. A mediaeval traditionally built timber frame with original cruck frame construction inside, dating back to the early 1400's and far older than our little 240 year old stone Cotswold home.

Unfortunately it was also on the edge of a busy road, with a constant stream of heavy traffic which barely stopped except for a few hours at night. It was a bit of a change from our own peaceful little lane. However, we had lots of outings planned, Andy had almost every detailed map of the county and had Googled the backside out of Herefordshire, so walks and little trips to historic towns would keep us busy. Neither of us had been here before and walking round the village we were charmed by the plethora of historic timber framed houses, part of the famous Black and White Trail.

For Phil Rickman fans, this is Merrily Watkins territory, the mysterious, shadowy Borderlands between England and Wales. He is one of my favourite writers, so this was a bit of a pilgrimage for me.

On our first full day last Sunday, we biked over to the pretty village of Lingen to do a big circular walk through woods and fields. It was about then that we began to fall in love with the Herefordshire countryside; I felt distinctly unfaithful to my beloved Cotswolds. Not only is it stuffed with interesting and beautiful buildings -

- but it is plumply cushioned with trees - even more than we have and most of them deciduous; nice mixed native woodlands hummocking the gentle swells of the landscape.

It was a last echo of summer and we happily strolled for about six miles, noticing the differences in flora and fauna, soaking up the warm autumnal sunshine. We stopped to share a pork pie and watch a Red Kite hunting over the ploughed fields. It had been, we hardly dared say it, the most perfect of days, full of interest and pleasantness. Life seemed very sweet indeed and we were destined to have a wonderful holiday. Oh hubris! Oh fickle Gods!

We were about half a mile from Lingen, where the bike was parked, coming along a woodland path, Andy ahead as usual, with me pottering behind. Then I came across what was to be my final hurdle. Instead of the usual stile with handy stepover, there was a cobbled together construction consisting of a wooden fence panel and a resty metal gate, the only way past being to climb over precariously or squeeze round the tiny gap at the edge. Not wishing to turn one of my ankles as I'm prone to do, I began climbing the slim posted hurdle. At some point gravity and I had a disagreement because somehow I found myself falling backwards, landing directly onto my shoulder and slamming my right arm - my working arm - into the hard earth.

I screamed twice, loudly. Poor Andy came running up the track, white and frightened. I almost fainted from the sheer agony of trying to sit up, but we eventually managed it and he called 999 for an ambulance. At this point, even though I was practically vomiting from the pain of every step forward, I was determined to get on the back of the bike to be taken to hospital, a barmy idea I quickly gave up as I stumbled along the last of the footpath, cradling my useless arm. Andy ran ahead to Lingen, coming across the dispersing congregation of the Methodist chapel, who had just finished their Harvest service.

A nice man with a soft Welsh accent drove his Landrover up and drove me back to Lingen, to the pub. Soon I seemed to be the centre of attention, with concerned villagers cooing over me. The local nurse arrived to look after me until the ambulance arrived. I have never in my life come across such collective kindness.

To cut a long and sorry saga short, I was whisked to the county hospital, (looked after by super ambulance medics) where eventually a fracture of my right shoulder area was diagnosed. As it was impossible for me to ride pillion on the bike we had to stay overnight in a city motel and the next day, after a proper sling was fitted, I somehow managed to get painfully back to our holiday cottage via country bus and taxi. With no other transport than the motorbike, I was confined to a couple of short village walks for the rest of the week, feeling terrible at ruining our holiday with my clumsiness. Andy's parents heroically drove down from the North to take me back to the Cotswolds by car at the end of our stay, which was wonderful. Thank you again - I know you read this sometimes.

Ten days on, my right arm is healing but useless. I am sleeping upright on our saggy sofa, as lying down is too painful. I can't work at anything and can barely lift a can of beans - needless to say I am bored and grouchy as hell and going loopy with inactivity. I wish I could be more graceful about it, but I am afraid I make a very bad invalid.

However the memory of the good will of the people of Lingen village is the shining bright light in the gloom and I've even managed to stay in contact. High on gas and oxygen, I shoved a Moo card in the nurse's hand before the ambulance took me away and have been able to update her and thank everyone. It was lovely to know that my recovery was toasted at the pub that evening, the Royal George and Andy has written to the Lingen village website, where his email has been posted on the front page. We have rather fallen in love with the area - and next year we will return.

(Typed with one hand and a pain killer).