tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29831051320808370372024-03-13T09:49:03.535-07:00freckleface* freckleface * freckleface * freckleface* freckleface * freckleface * freckleface * freckleface * freckleface * frecklefacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15881334320685123475noreply@blogger.comBlogger421125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2983105132080837037.post-65900815483951075742016-12-25T11:42:00.004-08:002016-12-25T11:43:21.557-08:00The one where we went on an old steam train, Cuba part 3So what did we actually do while we were there?<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;">Cayo Levisa. You have to get a little boat out because it's actually an island. I'd decided this is where I wanted to be for my birthday. It was on the way there that the announcement about Fidel was made. They call him Fidel, not Castro.</span></td></tr>
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You already know about the horseriding. We took a bus and a boat to an idyllic Carribean white sand beach, where the clouds were thunderous, the wind was fierce and it spotted with rain.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;">On my 50th birthday. It was a bit cold and windy, but I went in the sea anyway. I'm British for goodness sake!</span></td></tr>
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We went to an amazing hotel with a pool and scenery to die for, which Fidel had visited. In fact it was his idea to have a hotel there.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;">La Boca, a little fishing village near Trinidad. Where the river meets the sea, that's where our little casa was, complete with its own balcony, so we could just sit and watch. Every now and again our Casa owner Guillerme would walk past and say 'Todo bien?' and his wife Viola would come by laughing 'Pintura, pintura, pintura!' with paint all over her hands. All that work-witnessing wore me out. I only moved to go for a swim or to go up the road to the pizza shack for lunch.</span></td></tr>
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We took a steam train to the Valley of Sugar Mills, high above Trinidad. We went to Hemingway's house as you've seen. We chilled at the seaside. We saw Cuba through the windows of our collectivo taxis.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;">It's not even a one horse town, it's just a little fishing port where the locals go for a dip at dusk and then they go out in their boats looking for a haul. </span></td></tr>
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We kept moving. In Havana you have to keep moving. There's always somebody saying 'Where are you from? Do you want to buy lobster? I know a restaurant, I know a disco. Do you want to buy cigars?' And after you've said all the 'No gracias', they simply say, 'Well, can you give me some money for food then, because I haven't eaten for two days?'<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;">That's a condor up there. They're everywhere. We also saw hummingbirds. So tiny and beautiful.</span></td></tr>
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What can you do? You give them some money, with a smile, and thank your lucky stars that you live in a country where there is hot water and supermarkets with food and the right to vote.<br />
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But what of Fidel? On the 25th November, at 10.30pm he died. Within hours he was cremated and his ashes were on display for the people. People all across the land queued for hours to sign the Book of Condolences.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;">That's one of the towers from the old Sugar mills in Iznaga. A picturesque shot on the left, but that's closer to reality on the right.</span></td></tr>
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The country went into nine days of mourning, which involved: no music (aside from political music played at one town hall), no entertainment, no museums open, and most of all, no alcohol! We firmly believed Ron (as they call rum in Cuba) would become our new bff, but no. Ron was on his best behaviour. We hardly saw him. One of our Collectivo friends said, 'Thanks Fidel. A free detox.'<br />
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I could have managed without the music, in fact when we heard the news, I felt quite touched and sad, and was impressed with the scale of the respect being shown. When the lady said, 'Our esteemed Commandant, our beloved Leader has died', I felt for her.<br />
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But I can confess that it wasn't until we went to a bar that night, my birthday, to meet friends for a few drinks, and was told 'No alcohol for nine days', that I properly went into mourning!<br />
Slightly joking; we did actually look at each other and burst out laughing. Hysteria probably.<br />
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When anyone thinks of Cuba, they think of music and Rum. Well, we did it neat. No music, no rum. And I can report it's still a fine place, a special place. In fact, I'd say we had a deeper experience of Cuba if anything.<br />
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So if you go, enjoy, but be prepared. You might need to adjust a bit, but if you are able to, you will be rewarded by meeting wonderful people and having a unique, eye-opening, possibly life-changing experience.<br />
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So long Cuba, I wish you all the very best.frecklefacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15881334320685123475noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2983105132080837037.post-86407070233077743912016-12-20T12:50:00.000-08:002016-12-20T13:03:26.832-08:00A Cuban adventure part 2<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;">Welcome to the countryside. This is just outside Vinales in the beautiful Pinar del Rio province. Despite the climate it is verdant, with mountains which look like a herd of elephants which have been half buried. There are palm trees and waterfalls. I really loved looking out of the window when we were travelling around. Once you arrive in Cuba, it becomes very clear that you are in the Carribean, which is one of those things you tend to overlook before you get there.</span></td></tr>
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Collectivo taxis became part of our lives. Every time we needed to move town, from Havana to Vinales, Vinales to Trinidad, Trinidad to La Boca, La Boca to Cienfuegos and Cienfuegos to Havana, we took one.<br />
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Forget buses, this is the way to do it. The price is similar, but they don't take as long and you get thrown together with other people who become new friends for a few hours.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7mXbXQwjxlw/WFbRIsIi5bI/AAAAAAAAJaw/6b6n1UIM11Y5luV6yuLDan09_JYb9Dx3QCLcB/s1600/horse3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7mXbXQwjxlw/WFbRIsIi5bI/AAAAAAAAJaw/6b6n1UIM11Y5luV6yuLDan09_JYb9Dx3QCLcB/s640/horse3.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;">Our very own cowboy, Manuel, who took us out for an amazing <strike>bum-numbing</strike> 5 hour ride, to a tobacco farm, a cave and a coffee plantation. He first got in the saddle aged one and a quarter. Q actually looked amazingly comfortable on his horse Morro. Every time Morro went to the toilet, Manuel would exclaim, 'Muchas cervezas, muchos mojitos!'</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">We met people from all over the world, and had the most wonderful chats. In fact that's a feature of this type of travelling. Everyone is open to chatting. We met people from France, Germany, Lithuania, Canada, America, Nicaragua, Mexico, Cuba, America, China, and had really great intense conversations.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kHfkZLuWopI/WFbSnI1qC0I/AAAAAAAAJa8/L22X5YyS4ME0VZS6tJMNGEzoyk386xx1ACEw/s1600/IMG_7151.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kHfkZLuWopI/WFbSnI1qC0I/AAAAAAAAJa8/L22X5YyS4ME0VZS6tJMNGEzoyk386xx1ACEw/s640/IMG_7151.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;">This is what the barns look like where they dry out the tobacco. They have just the right amount of humidity. Each area of the island is good for growing different crops. In this part of Pinar del Rio, the crop is tobacco. Farmers have to grow the designated crop or they will have their land taken off them. They also have to sell 90% of their crops to the government at a fixed price. The remaining 10% is theirs to smoke, to share with family or to sell.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Politics was favourite, with Donald Trump always raising his head at some point. In fact quite quickly. Within minutes most times. I'm sure we do a lot more small talk here before we get down to the nitty gritty. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I can report that we didn't encounter any Trump supporters. 'He's mad, right?' our American friend, Lavinia said. Our Canadian friend Joy, who is black, reported that her relatives were looking at how to leave the US because they no longer felt safe.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;">You know that nubile virgin who hand rolls your cigars for you on her thigh? Well, there she is on the left. Don't be disappointed. Everyone has off days.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;">That's a revolutionary on the right. They dip the cigar end in honey before you start puffing on it. I'm not a puffer normally, but you know, when in Cuba...</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">There was great concern amongst everyone that we spoke to about the rise of the right wing all across the world. I found that rather comforting. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;">Coco Loco, a drink as big as your head. It's got coconut water and various other bits in it, then they plonk down a bottle of rum on the table and you stick as much as you like in. Imagine the dilemma. There's no alcohol to be had for love nor money, and then you get access to some, but you're riding a horse with stirrups which are too long. Your feet only just reach if you point them as hard as you can, so you feel out of control. Meh. I had a tiny capful just because and then trotted home with all the grace of a sack of onions.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">But I guess that people doing what we were doing would be like-minded. I guess if we'd gone all-inclusive to Varadero for two weeks, maybe we might have met people with differing points of view? I don't know.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;">This was the cave part of our excursion. You walk about 250 metres in and then there's a natural swimming pool. Pitch black apart from torches, but absolutely heavenly. What an adventure. There were about 30 of us there, and I was the only one who went in! Crazy. They were all papping me. I was just on the point of executing some Ethel Merman synchronised swimming moves for their viewing pleasure, when then this German guy joined me with a headlight on, so we went off to explore instead.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I think my absolute favourite thing was chatting to people. Our Cuban friends were remarkably open and it was very clear that they are thoughtful, politically-aware people.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;">The left is the view of our street from our roof terrace in Vinales. There's always something to see. If it's not an old car, it's a pair of oxen and cart or the man who comes round on his onion-adorned bicycle, shouting, 'Cebolla! Cebolla!'</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">One Casa owner told us that Venezuela was very important to Cuba, that they get all their diesel from them, and that financial disaster in Venezuela means ruin for Cuba. No diesel means lorries can't transport goods across the country, farmers can't collect their crops. Really basic stuff. I couldn't help but feel rather worried on his behalf because from what I've read in the news recently, Venezuela is not looking good.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nuWG6ELVQZU/WFbZJ0RLO6I/AAAAAAAAJbg/vHZTJrniAWITtAMXqQbISgNdHE9hYZMIQCLcB/s1600/12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nuWG6ELVQZU/WFbZJ0RLO6I/AAAAAAAAJbg/vHZTJrniAWITtAMXqQbISgNdHE9hYZMIQCLcB/s640/12.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;">There you go, the oxen I told you about.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I overheard someone say, that in the early 1980s Cuba was doing well. Russia was there, supporting them. 1 CUP equalled 1 dollar. But then Communist Russia went bankrupt and they pulled out of Cuba and now 25 CUP equals 1 dollar, but the wages haven't gone up.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JbjsomG31No/WFbcpotFbRI/AAAAAAAAJbs/t4YiraMNM78Pv9Hd76mz_MjLAFPa0zFdgCLcB/s1600/IMG_7234.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JbjsomG31No/WFbcpotFbRI/AAAAAAAAJbs/t4YiraMNM78Pv9Hd76mz_MjLAFPa0zFdgCLcB/s640/IMG_7234.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;">That's our room there, with the white door. The kitchen is to the side of it, and that's the sitting room just in front of it.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Yes, they need change alright. I hope they get it. It doesn't feel right that things should be so unequal, that we should be able to afford a nice holiday there while they struggle to get loo roll and basic medication. It just doesn't feel right.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bz967IoofRo/WFbdx-hawoI/AAAAAAAAJb4/dZX38EQh6E45oFHKhO-Rdz0ghlnBCWLLACLcB/s1600/vinales2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bz967IoofRo/WFbdx-hawoI/AAAAAAAAJb4/dZX38EQh6E45oFHKhO-Rdz0ghlnBCWLLACLcB/s640/vinales2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">So what can we do? I guess, listen to what they are saying and be empathetic. This is their life. If you can do something to help, do it, whether that's giving tips or leaving presents. It's really difficult for them to get hold of so many things even if they could afford them, so any gifts are really useful and welcome.</span></td></tr>
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We left all sorts. Medication, toiletries, jewellery, make up, clothes, shoes, accessories, batteries. If you're out for the day with a guide, buy them something to eat or drink. We're not rich in British terms, but in Cuban terms we are, so we need to help if we can, and in a sensitive way.<br />
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One more post to come. It must be time to go to the seaside, surely?!frecklefacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15881334320685123475noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2983105132080837037.post-20912666385184120812016-12-16T08:37:00.002-08:002016-12-17T14:27:57.362-08:00Our (Wo)Man in Havana<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KvsZ5tQQWPk/WEsqVMNyndI/AAAAAAAAJXI/sfeHWbPiJGshbq0GRiLoJrKbQv1ASNqbwCLcB/s1600/IMG_7995.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="340" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KvsZ5tQQWPk/WEsqVMNyndI/AAAAAAAAJXI/sfeHWbPiJGshbq0GRiLoJrKbQv1ASNqbwCLcB/s640/IMG_7995.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;">The view from our balcony in Havana. You look into houses and they may have props holding ceilings up or look derelict, but then a couple of floors up, people are living. Our Casa hallway was full of broken chairs, but inside, it was so beautiful. One of our new friends told us that Havana is so dusty, you have to clean the whole apartment every day.</span></td></tr>
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So that's it. I'm 50 now. After months of milking it, with various different events, we went to Cuba for my actual birthday.<br />
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I really don't know where to start. Cuba is such a full-on experience. Our time there was multi-layered, with each day adding something new to the experience. In fact I'd call it an adventure, rather than a holiday.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gkECmyaIO2w/WEsuV6vTjKI/AAAAAAAAJXo/Mblk11FAGXoX4wq8p9KIQjLGISTYHJScgCLcB/s1600/havana1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="318" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gkECmyaIO2w/WEsuV6vTjKI/AAAAAAAAJXo/Mblk11FAGXoX4wq8p9KIQjLGISTYHJScgCLcB/s640/havana1.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;">Vintage cars are everywhere, not just in Havana. They are symbols of resilience and ingenuity, belching out the most awful fumes. Flower sellers on the corner. This is how things are sold, in an apparently impromptu fashion on the move, but Cubans understand how things work. </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-So00m1kP-cM/WEs2Y_C3RmI/AAAAAAAAJYc/_G5yQ7fecJQXYZcsUpGUILnAWa-qjzyDQCLcB/s1600/IMG_8084.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-So00m1kP-cM/WEs2Y_C3RmI/AAAAAAAAJYc/_G5yQ7fecJQXYZcsUpGUILnAWa-qjzyDQCLcB/s640/IMG_8084.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;">Bicycle taxis and horses and carts are even more common than the big old cars. Everyone is remarkably considerate of each other. They are really good drivers, there is no road rage, no anger, everyone just works together.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pnsuZeupa0g/WEs4buz_1TI/AAAAAAAAJYk/3TJBQVeNwcAvmEgMb-L6bESnBuEkexqxgCEw/s1600/havana8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pnsuZeupa0g/WEs4buz_1TI/AAAAAAAAJYk/3TJBQVeNwcAvmEgMb-L6bESnBuEkexqxgCEw/s640/havana8.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;">The education is good and you see school children in their cute little uniforms everywhere. We met lots of highly educated people. Unfortunately professions such as Engineers and University Lecturers are not so well paid, so instead or as well, they take jobs serving in bars or driving taxis, in order to earn more money. They told us it hurt their hearts that this is the case.</span></span></td></tr>
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We stayed in cities and in the countryside, spent time at the beach and on the road, and every day was full to the brim of sights and sounds and people. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-S95uYfgd3sg/WEsunF_uwuI/AAAAAAAAJXs/auclX77_pNI91M5ioFDKIavLElVHmDvLwCLcB/s1600/IMG_8088.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-S95uYfgd3sg/WEsunF_uwuI/AAAAAAAAJXs/auclX77_pNI91M5ioFDKIavLElVHmDvLwCLcB/s640/IMG_8088.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;">This tiny dot wasn't worried about a lack of music. She was wiggling her little hips for all she was worth, singing to herself, oblivious to the world and full of joy. That dog made me laugh. He's clearly seen it all before. Trinidad, Cuba.</span></td></tr>
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Cuba is a noisy, busy place, possibly one of the most difficult places to take photos, because everyone is on the move constantly and there are always people around. You take a shot and before the clicker goes, a bus has whizzed by or someone has arrived in the deserted hallway you thought looked attractive.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-yXh5DTOV_BM/WEs0MuoHQJI/AAAAAAAAJYI/5xmrtisuKZIma1chMffCZd8ipKOeyhfXACLcB/s1600/cuba3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-yXh5DTOV_BM/WEs0MuoHQJI/AAAAAAAAJYI/5xmrtisuKZIma1chMffCZd8ipKOeyhfXACLcB/s640/cuba3.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;">Our Casa for the first night, run by a lady called Reysa, who was very kind and motherly and probably saw in our eyes that we were daunted and needed a little help. It transpired that she was friends with our next Casa and the final Casa, so we saw her at a party on our last night. This is a very Cuban looking Casa, with high ceilings, an internal Courtyard with rooms off it, Saints, and the ubiquitous rocking chairs. Everyone has rocking chairs in Cuba, whether they are very simple wooden affairs, cast iron or antique bergere style caned chairs. So nice to sit in. I'm a convert.</span></td></tr>
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Because so much of it is deprived and in a state of degradation, it feels voyeuristic to take photos of people and their homes. What we consider to be faded grandeur or poetic decay is actually real life hardship for the people of Cuba, and it doesn't feel right to enjoy that. So, often, you keep your camera in your pocket.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;">Plaza de Cathedral, Havana</span></td></tr>
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We went now because we thought that Cuba might change and we wanted to see it in its 'authentic' state. But the reality of that is that this so-called 'authenticity' is hardship.<br />
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The truth is, Cuba needs to change, but in the right way for them. The people desperately want progress. They want the internet, decent wages, trade with America so that they can get things like parts for cars and goods in the shops, freedom to travel and generally to be up to date with the world.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DFWvtWH-OJo/WEs7-i07ChI/AAAAAAAAJYw/KesyqXMxpAY7gG0D1pKNGgfchvtPvzdJgCLcB/s1600/casa1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DFWvtWH-OJo/WEs7-i07ChI/AAAAAAAAJYw/KesyqXMxpAY7gG0D1pKNGgfchvtPvzdJgCLcB/s640/casa1.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;">Casa number 2, known as Casa Blanca, for obvious reasons. This is right on the Malecon, the sea road in Havana, where everyone comes at night to meet up and promenade. We watched from the balcony</span></td></tr>
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They are incredibly intelligent, well-qualified people and they don't want to be patronised. They understand that they are living in a time-warp and whilst they are fiercely proud of their country, they want the chance to be current and modern.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-AHMsFif6RRY/WEs8QE8Jq7I/AAAAAAAAJY0/5ZBNNicCpu0C-97JLGq57JV7zS9Tjc9LQCLcB/s1600/casa2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-AHMsFif6RRY/WEs8QE8Jq7I/AAAAAAAAJY0/5ZBNNicCpu0C-97JLGq57JV7zS9Tjc9LQCLcB/s640/casa2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;">It's a really clever mix of antique and modern. With everything painted white, everything fits together very nicely. I took a handful of outfits and wore them on repeat, leaving most of it behind as gifts when I left.</span></td></tr>
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So, what did we do? We elected to stay in Casa Particulares rather than hotels. These are homes belonging to Cubans, where you stay in an ensuite room and effectively live with the family. They cook you breakfast and dinner, do your laundry, organise your trips and transport, and look after you like you are their children. All you have to do is enjoy the luxury of being on the receiving end of all this precious care and loving attention, try to speak a little bit of Spanish and fall in love with them. They make it so easy.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dPzfTqt56fo/WEs-7EeZWWI/AAAAAAAAJY8/bWeXjO0PLYAssTaUhXr7oFaeJLzzEZLfACLcB/s1600/h1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dPzfTqt56fo/WEs-7EeZWWI/AAAAAAAAJY8/bWeXjO0PLYAssTaUhXr7oFaeJLzzEZLfACLcB/s640/h1.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;">Hemingway's house, about 10 miles outside of Havana, a real little oasis, but possibly a dilemma. Here he was, this rich American living in a beautiful house, set in huge grounds, and his neighbours all live in the simplest, most run-down shacks. Not sure how that would feel. </span></td></tr>
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The number one tip I would give to anyone thinking of travelling to Cuba is to learn Spanish. Cubans have very few opportunities for International travel, in fact a lot of them haven't even had the chance to visit other parts of their own country. So us privileged members of the English-speaking world need to do a bit of work.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;">Plenty of evidence of his passion for huntin', shootin' and fishin'!</span></td></tr>
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Luckily for me, I love languages. Many years ago, I used to teach English as a Foreign Language, and it struck me that in order to understand what my students were going through, maybe I needed to learn a new language. So I went to Spanish evening classes for a term and, my goodness, it has held me in good stead.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xab1-Ck2H_Y/WFQBvG-7JnI/AAAAAAAAJZo/RxL9urawT6YYhIneRNj4Ayb2gjRHxsPsACLcB/s1600/IMG_8081.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xab1-Ck2H_Y/WFQBvG-7JnI/AAAAAAAAJZo/RxL9urawT6YYhIneRNj4Ayb2gjRHxsPsACLcB/s640/IMG_8081.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;">Havana by night. This was the night that the period of official mourning came to an end. There were people everywhere, drinking rum and dancing. A fellow called Paulo came and started chatting to us. He told us he didn't like tourists, and he didn't like capitalism. But he did clearly like Ron (rum) and Q's beard. Kept leaning over and stroking it in wonder!</span></td></tr>
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More often than not, we stayed in Casas where they only spoke Spanish, and somehow we managed. I was seriously punching above my weight, but somehow, we understood each other and had conversations about really meaningful things and on occasion laughed until we cried. I have no idea how. I think it might have been magic. I know it felt like it.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;">Our final casa for the last night in Havana</span></td></tr>
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When we first arrived, it felt really difficult. On our first full day, we walked here there and everywhere trying to get bus tickets to take us from Havana to Vinales. A fruitless task. We were dismissed, sent from pillar to post, so that when somebody offered us a different solution, we were willing to take it regardless of what it involved.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;">Up the stairs to the roof terrace for breakfast</span></td></tr>
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We booked our first collectivo taxi. The man at the office said, 'I just need to tell you that there may be one or maybe two other people in your taxi.' We said, 'That's fine'.<br />
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Of course he was having a fine joke at our expense. There were nine of us in the taxi, which when it turned up was a 1940s Dodge. Straight out of the film Casablanca, with a steering wheel from a Seat, seats from a 1970s Lada, handcarved wooden door handles, and all manner of ingenious extras. Truly the Turner Prize of Heath Robinson inventions. I absolutely loved it. Spent half the journey chuckling to myself.<br />
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After a few days, something shifts and suddenly it starts to feel OK. Even seasoned travellers that we met said the same thing. From then on, you're fine. It looks chaotic. It looks like there's no system, but somehow, with a beer at lunchtime to help proceedings, everything works.<br />
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I spent months preparing for this holiday. I spoke to everybody I knew who had been to Cuba. I spent ages, trying to sort out accommodation and travel and excursions. All I needed for any of them to say, (which strangely none of them did) was, 'Don't worry, the Casa will sort out everything for you'. I mean really. They sort everything. If only I had known, it would have saved me so much worry and hassle. Those ladies are AMAZING. They know everyone and everything. Don't waste your time. Let them look after you. It's their job, their talent and their pleasure. They really want you to love your time in their country.<br />
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Well, seems I had plenty to say! And there will be more...frecklefacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15881334320685123475noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2983105132080837037.post-91522323176368566652016-10-29T10:25:00.000-07:002016-12-17T15:23:29.237-08:00We are family, I've got all my sisters with me!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Once upon a time, there were three little girls. They were often dressed in the same outfits, shared a bedroom and divided their time neatly between playing nicely together and tormenting the very life out of one another. It can only mean one thing. They were sisters.<br />
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But that's the beauty of all that childhood stuff. It knits you together, irrevocably, and when you get to a certain age, you realise how very precious that is. As adults we rarely get the chance to be together, all three of us at the same time and in the same place, due to distance and commitments, so when we do, it's a real treat.<br />
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About a week ago, we all converged on Salisbury in Wiltshire. It's on a train line for the other two, so it seemed a good place to meet.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Update, thanks to Fiona: Those are mating swan towels on the bed!!</td></tr>
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I was the last one to arrive as I had a four hour drive to get there (and a five hour drive back, horror of horrors). They were waiting for me, with a drink at the ready. Half a cider. Haven't been a cider drinker since I left Somerset thirty years ago. Turns out it's just like riding a bike, got straight back into it as though I'd never stopped.<br />
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We then popped up to drop our bags off and check out our rooms. Wow! Rather special! But then I knew that already, because <a href="http://crinolinerobot.blogspot.co.uk/2016/09/two-go-mad-in-salisbury_21.html">Mim only went and stayed there last month! </a><br />
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When we were kids, after mass on a Sunday, the priest, Father O'Brien would come round and say hello to everyone as we chatted outside. Every week he'd come out with the same questions. 'Who's the clever one, Mum? Who's the quiet one? Who's the naughty one, Mum?' We'd give each other the side eye, and shove someone other than ourselves forward for that last category. </div>
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As kids, we generally accepted that Fiona was the quiet one. Well, this week we re-evaluated the situation. Turns out that number 1 daughter Fiona was the naughty one all along! When faced with our pristine beds, she launched herself, like kids do into freshly fallen snow. Look at that face. I can't look at these photos without laughing.<br />
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So eventually we set off, in search of lunch. My little sister, who had planned and organised all of this for me as a wonderful birthday treat, had also brought some bits and pieces she had found in a folder from our Mum and Dad's house before it was cleared out, so we looked at old photos and documents and generally reminisced and marvelled at what she had found.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That's a 1930s handmade cotton dress I'm wearing there, bought when I <a href="http://www.frecklefaceblog.co.uk/2016/08/everything-but-kitchen-sink.html">went on an adventure with Serena a while back</a></td></tr>
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After that we all agreed, it was time to hit the chazzas. Amazing that all three of us like doing that. Salisbury was pretty good. I got a Jaeger velvet skirt, a tweed skirt and some plus fours!<br />
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Early evening, we went up to enjoy our fancy rooms and get ready for dinner, which Olivia had booked in the restaurant at the hotel. The food was lovely, and we washed it down with Peach Bellinis. All very delightful.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We had sweet potato chips with our salad. Delicious!</td></tr>
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Olivia had brought a whole loads of snacks for after tea, just in case we were still peckish, but we really weren't, so we just hung out in her room, watching TV and chatting until bedtime.<br />
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It was the best birthday treat I could have hoped for, and I loved it, loved it, loved it!<br />
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The only downside to all this wonderful celebration is that you get to be what feels like much older at the end of it. I'll be Five-OH next month! Yikes. Guess I'll just have to go somewhere nice to soften the blow...</div>
frecklefacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15881334320685123475noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2983105132080837037.post-66443413365512966462016-10-24T01:26:00.000-07:002016-12-17T15:32:16.680-08:00Allotment life<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I haven't <strike>bored you with</strike> treated you to an allotment update recently, and really I need to before the gloom of winter descends and it's all just a distant memory.<br />
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If we ignore June, we had a pretty good summer here in the East Midlands, with plenty of sunshine and warm days. I'm not at all a sunbather, but I do love waking up to bright days and being able to wander around in flip flops and summer dresses. I hate having to wear loads of layers, and I miss the flowers in winter. I like swimming in the outdoor pool and eating supper on the patio, so although I die in the intense heat (after a lot of moaning), I truly do love summer best of all, with Spring getting a Silver medal and Autumn scooping the Bronze.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;">The blackberries this year were plentiful and delicious. Gentleman's Avenue, where the bigwigs of Nottingham had their plots. Our friend Dancing Dave has just landed one there. We're going up for a visit next weekend.</td></tr>
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August/September was lovely so it seemed the perfect time to invite some friends up to see what it's all about, this allotment life. If I'm honest, I've hardly spent any time up there this year. I have two jobs and an unpaid role which take up most of my time and energy. Every year I say I'm going to do less work, but for the time being, it's just wishful thinking. Good job there's a man-who-can to keep things going.<br />
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So one weekend Serena and Claire came to see us. We hadn't discussed food or anything but great minds think alike. We took homemade scones, cream and jam made from the currant bushes up on Q's plot, and they brought wine and crisps. What a lovely combination that proved to be.<br />
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A surprise visitor. So beautiful!</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">A sudden downpour sent us scurrying into the shed Q has fashioned from some bits of wood he was given, including a child's Wendy House. It's still awaiting a finished door and windows, but hopefully by winter it will be watertight, so he can seek refuge and make himself a cup of tea. </span></div>
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Then the following weekend Phil and Varanya visited. This time we had bread, cheese and a cup of tea. It's one of the rules of nature, that everything tastes better outside, so we really enjoyed it.<br />
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The allotment has a very special feel about it. It's easier to relax and unwind up there than anywhere else I know. There's the most amazing variety of wildlife, big skies, the wind blows and you feel free. I love it, much more than our garden.<br />
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I'm already looking forward to next summer when we can have some more friends to visit.frecklefacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15881334320685123475noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2983105132080837037.post-74170584296413480462016-10-16T10:52:00.000-07:002016-12-17T15:20:36.434-08:00She was a day tripperI had a bit of time off work the other week, and there was talk of maybe going away for a few days, but we didn't get our act together, so after careful scrutiny of the weather forecast, I persuaded Q that a day out was in order.<br />
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As a driver, I find train trips such a luxury. No traffic, no mystifying one-way systems and no hassle with parking. Plus, it can be quicker. Twenty three whole minutes to Newark-on-Trent, a small market town on the banks of the River Trent, bursting with civil war history. Plus you get to see fields and orchards and woodlands and into people's back gardens. Much better than roads.<br />
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That's the ruined Newark Castle there, 12th century if you're interested. I like the fact that it sits within a park, accessible to all, and actually there were quite a few people just sitting there, basking in the early autumn sunshine.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;">That's a me-made patchwork skirt there, been slowly adding to it for months, thinking it might end up as a bedspread, but I had a rush of blood to the head and decided to make it into a skirt. It looks fine from the front but from the side I look a bit like one of those crocheted dolls who use their skirts to hide the loo roll. Not exactly the look I was aiming for, so it may find itself on a bed yet.</td></tr>
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We'd been given some hot tips about where to go for eating and drinking, but the rest of it was free form, just wandering and exploring.<br />
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We sat outside for a coffee and it felt positively continental. We both agreed we could be on holiday and rebranded our day out as a mini-break.<br />
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There are a few plaques referring to the siege of Newark during the Civil War, but I plumped for this one because it features Charles the First's Queen, Henrietta, who happens to share a birthday with me*. When you get to my age, you want to share photos with someone older than you, and she is. 357 years older to be precise.</div>
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*some sources give it as a day earlier, in which case 357 years and 1 day older.</div>
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We missed a trick, visiting on practically the only day of the week there is no market. Some days it's a fruit and veg type market, but on others it's a flea market. I'll be going back on flea market day.<br />
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There's a big old church just off the Market Square. It asks for donations from people taking photographs, £1 for stills and £2 for videos. Being the well-behaved, law-abiding citizens we are, we did as we were told. I saw a couple of buckets on the floor and put my coins in. Turns out they were the buckets to collect rainfall. Oops.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;">A carved wooden door within a door, and vintage grafitti on the choristers pews! </td></tr>
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And guess what else there is? Only a vintage shop called Vintage Vixen! I had heard of it before, but had completely forgotten about it, so what a nice surprise. The lady who runs it was lovely and her prices were very reasonable, so we spent a happy half hour rummaging through the rails. I saw a few things which I thought...oh, yes, Mim would like this and ooh, that would be perfect for Curtise. Turns out there were a couple of things which were perfect for me too; a pair of 1980s dungarees and a red dirndl skirt. I've hardly stopped wearing them since I bought them, so I'm sure they'll be coming to a blog post near you soon.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;">Me-made patchwork skirt, t-shirt, necklace, cardigan and belt charity shopped, earrings and havaiianas gifted</td></tr>
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After shopping and a slap up lunch, we took the train back to Nottingham for part 2 of our mini-break, a drinky in the Famous Spiegeltent, (a mobile dance hall) which had popped up in the Market Square. This one was built in 1920 in Belgium and has even hosted Marlene Dietrich.<br />
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I had a whole bottle of prosecco to myself (OK, it was an individual serving) and he had a pint while we took photos and sang along to the Blue Danube<br />
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Da-da-da, Da-da-da, Da-da-da-da-da. Can't hit the right notes, but I know all the lyrics.<br />
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That velvet canopy was so beautiful, and actually the whole interior was really cosy. I could just imagine Ms Dietrich hitting those <strike>high</strike> low notes.<br />
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After all that excitement we went home and had a cheese and wine evening for two. The perfect end to a perfect day.frecklefacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15881334320685123475noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2983105132080837037.post-85172988976511735032016-09-23T13:15:00.000-07:002016-09-23T13:23:54.017-07:00Sew; a needle pulling threadI know the exact moment my interest in sewing was born.<br />
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I was about seven years old. Madame Di Bono (that was really her name!) was working on my First Holy Communion dress and I needed a fitting. My mother took me in to her workshop for a visit, and as always, I had my teddy bear with me. Madame Di Bono noticed that he was a remarkably bare bear and proposed an outfit. I agreed, so she stopped what she was doing, scooped up a scrap of fabric, and within a matter of minutes had made this little playsuit for him.<br />
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It was like magic. I was spellbound. So many possibilities had suddenly opened up.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LTOjzJLF8Qg/V9cGoi-h5_I/AAAAAAAAJOs/l2vS-J4i3KEaX3Xy6E8hIRfN8gDhhtnBQCLcB/s1600/outfit3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LTOjzJLF8Qg/V9cGoi-h5_I/AAAAAAAAJOs/l2vS-J4i3KEaX3Xy6E8hIRfN8gDhhtnBQCLcB/s640/outfit3.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; padding-top: 4px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Once he was in this outfit, he didn't look like a boy so much anymore. One quick gender re-evaluation and Teddy became Angelina <br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">After that I snaffled spare bits of fabric from my mum and started knocking up very basic outfits for myself. My first efforts were a towelling halter neck top, a bikini and when I found some net curtains, an M&S vest was transformed into a tutu. Angelina got one too. We quite liked matching outfits, but then, that type of thing was popular in the 1970s.</span></span></td></tr>
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This started off life as a shift dress, but way too big, so it needed a refashion</div>
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So fast forward to today and sewing is still top of my list when I have a bit of free time. When everyone starts talking about Autumn, I go into denial and start making summerwear. A couple of weeks ago, with temperatures forecast in the 20s, it seemed to me the perfect moment for a playsuit to match Angelina's.<br />
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It's one of those cut and shuts again. This will be the sixth garment I have made using this bodice pattern and the fifth time I've used the trousers/shorts. I've also made the shift dress/top three times. I think it's fair to say I've had my value out of these patterns.</div>
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You've seen most of them before. It might be time to try out one of my other patterns. The good news is I have next week off work, with no big plans, so I think it's time to get the sewing machine out again.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">However before that, I've got a full weekend, with the girls from Uni coming to stay. Seven of them! And I still need to finish the alterations to my dress.<br /><br />How about you, got anything nice planned for the weekend?</span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-f-HWrjYLrK0/V9cObv_wxeI/AAAAAAAAJPU/e-yvdoIhCwsIAq631PFMeRHsQMoR-mr3gCLcB/s1600/outfit1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-f-HWrjYLrK0/V9cObv_wxeI/AAAAAAAAJPU/e-yvdoIhCwsIAq631PFMeRHsQMoR-mr3gCLcB/s1600/outfit1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><br /></a>frecklefacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15881334320685123475noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2983105132080837037.post-57731404564236469482016-08-19T05:25:00.000-07:002016-12-17T15:15:07.179-08:00Everything but the kitchen sink*<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="http://www.serenasimmons.com/">Serena </a>emailed me a few weeks back, asking if we were going to go to the Lincolnshire Home Show this year.<br />
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As she said, 'This will make it our 4th year...which cements it as a tradition in my books!'<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;">Matching strappy sandals, colourful toe nails, big sunnies and straw baskets from <a href="http://www.frecklefaceblog.co.uk/2015/10/a-few-days-in-dordogne.html">our trip to France</a>. We're twinnies!</td></tr>
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I wouldn't miss it for the world!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;">This pair of chairs was down from £200 to £120, but I'm sure he'd have accepted £100. I was sorely tempted, but just couldn't think of anywhere to put them. There's only one thing for it. I need a bigger house.<br />
Belt and gypsy top from charity shop £1, and 70s Pucci print maxi skirt from car boot in 2011, 50p</td></tr>
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We have the best time. I get over to Serena's for early o'clock, then we mooch up to an airfield in Lincolnshire, via Waitrose in Newark where we get some supplies (coffee, pastries and cash), chatting all the way. We go in her car, because it's bigger than mine, so we can fit more in.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;">We admire these bird houses every year. I was dead set on getting a couple of these antique metal churns to use as planters on the patio with a couple of small trees in them. They were £15 each, which I thought was a good price</td></tr>
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Once there, we hit the field, faced with stall after stall of everything antique or vintage you can imagine, from gilded mirrors, to chandeliers, to stone statues for the garden to the humblest little winky wonky stools to use as side tables to paintings to little bits of jewellery. There's every price tag from a pound up to thousands of pounds, so there's something for everyone.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;">Decisions, decisions. We loved that enamel dresser</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;">Weighing up whether to try on this 1940s cotton dress</td></tr>
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We pretend we're interior designers for the day, and like to imagine things in situ. It's all 'Ooh, that would look nice in a farmhouse kitchen, or wouldn't that look great in a loft apartment?' We don't live in either of those; they are the imaginary homes belonging to our imaginary customers. We love it! (Well, I do anyway!)<br />
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Serena has two pussy cats already, but that one nearly came home with her too.</div>
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One of the things I love about wearing vintage clothing is that complete strangers use it as an introduction to talk to you. We had a lovely chat with these ladies in the loo!</div>
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The first couple of years we took a picnic lunch, but last year we discovered a stall selling stone-baked made-to-order pizzas. They were amazing. There's no going back to sandwiches after that.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;">Imagine our disappointment when the pizza van wasn't there. We had to settle for chips! Lazing around on the grass after lunch meant we missed out on some purchases. By 3 o'clock when we went back to the stall to do the business, the man with the metal planters had packed up and gone</td></tr>
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On the way home, we pop into Doddington Hall, for a coffee, then we chat our way back to Nottingham.<br />
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Finally, I get home, walk in the door, and Q greets me with the words, 'More junk?'<br />
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It's a tradition!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;">This year's junk: a Scottish dancing brooch (£4) to replace one I lost years ago and a bird bath (£10) which looks like it could belong to Snow White. I also bought something else which I'll show you soon!<br />
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*The title refers to a purchase in year 1, when I actually came home <a href="http://www.frecklefaceblog.co.uk/2014/04/let-them-eat-fresh-vegetables.html">with a kitchen sink unit</a>. Every year since, Q's parting words when I set off are, 'Don't buy anything big and impractical.' <br />
Makes me laugh every time.<br />
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BIG THANKS and photographic credit to Serena for taking all the pictures of me. </td></tr>
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<br />frecklefacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15881334320685123475noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2983105132080837037.post-27800180153768569452016-08-04T14:26:00.000-07:002016-12-17T14:26:45.565-08:00We went camping. It rained. The End.And so it came to pass that summer arrived in Olde England. The natives were happy, basking in the sunshine. It seemed an ideal time to get the tent out and go and explore the countryside.<br />
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My idea of camping involves rugs on the grass and tea lights flickering in jars as it goes dark, drinking wine and lying on your back looking up at the stars until you can't keep your eyes open any longer.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;">My current favourite dress courtesy of Kinky Melon. It's an early 1970s dress by Radley for whom Ossy Clark and Celia Birtwell designed. <br />
You see that cake? That's not just any cake. That's a homemade banana tea bread which was the best one I've ever made. It was so moist it was like eating toffee. Gorgeous!<br />
That little fold up table, the two fishermen's stools and the cooler box were all from car boots. I bought that cooler for £1 the day before we set off. What a bargain! I love the colour.</td></tr>
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Thinking the place would be inundated with happy campers, we booked and paid for a pitch in advance, in the Derbyshire Peak District.<br />
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We arrived at the campsite and sorted out a nice quiet spot by a river. The sun was shining. All was well. While he made lunch, I tested out the camp bed. I volunteered, no fuss. That's how much of a team player I am. At our age you don't sleep on the ground in a sleeping bag if you want to be able to walk the next day. It was fine, things were looking good.<br />
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And then it started to rain. Nice big fat raindrops with a bit of driving wind, which made it impossible to cook outside. Ours is a three man tent with a small porch at the front. With a little improvisation and a couple of umbrellas, we managed to cook pasta with a tomato sauce, but I can't say it was fun.<br />
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After tea, we decided that we couldn't let rain stop play so we went off for a walk along the Manifold river. It was just us and great big black slugs nearly the length of my feet, which moved all slowly, like articulated lorries which pull out in front of you on the motorway.<br />
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Everyone else was tucked up in their vans and house-sized tents. If I'm honest I prefer it that way. I like a country walk where you don't meet any other humans. Anti-social tendencies alert.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;">Tin roof, wooden structure, stone steps. That'll do nicely thank you. I positively swooned over this blue door and rambling rose combo.</td></tr>
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Day 2 arrived, with a cool, steady drizzle. We decided to wander down country lanes and across fields into the next village, Hartington. Despite the rain it was a perfect country walk. Tranquil and unchanged, with sheep and cows grazing, bridges under which trolls might quite feasibly live, huge wild rhubarb, like umbrellas for wood nymphs and everywhere, wild honeysuckle and geraniums.<br />
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Hartington village starts off low, but towards one edge it reaches skyward, and that's where you'll find the church with a graveyard which melts into the foggy hills, reminding me every step of the way of the Bronte sisters.<br />
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All that walking made us a bit peckish, so we wandered into the General Stores for a sandwich and a drink. We ended up with a surprisingly sophisticated toasted goat's cheese and pesto panini and cappucino. Nothing olde worlde about that.<br />
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I'm always looking out for the perfect little hut. This one was definitely a contender.<br />
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Day 3 and it was time to trundle off home. We decided to head out via some pretty little villages. I think this roadside pop up picnic thing must be in the genes. My grandparents were always at it.<br />
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Do you ever put crisps in your sandwiches? You should try it, it's all salty and crunchy.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">So that was that. And now we're back to real life. And a proper bed. Heaven!</span></td></tr>
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<br />frecklefacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15881334320685123475noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2983105132080837037.post-66676018483235821632016-07-04T08:18:00.000-07:002016-12-17T15:13:57.492-08:00MidsummerAbout fifteen or sixteen years ago, we had a <a href="http://www.frecklefaceblog.co.uk/2013/01/apartment-tour-sweden.html">Swedish friend</a> living in Nottingham. She told us that Midsummer was celebrated by everyone in Scandinavia, so when Midsummer dawned bright and sunny, we decided to throw an impromptu party in her honour. It was one of those idyllic, perfect, spontaneous evenings where we brought a few people together who all hit it off, and we drank, ate and laughed into the early hours of the morning.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The original party. This was in my old house, which had a little wooden summerhouse at the bottom of the garden. Anna is wearing a traditional floral headdress she made. She made a matching one for me too. </td></tr>
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Time passed and Anna left the UK, but every year <a href="http://www.frecklefaceblog.co.uk/2012/07/stockholm-part-2.html">wherever in the world she was</a>, in memory of that evening, we sent a message to wish each other 'Happy Midsummer'.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A lot of the same people from the original party were able to make it again, which was so lovely. </td></tr>
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A few weeks ago, she sent a message saying she thought she might come over for a few days to visit us for Midsummer. I said to her, 'Do you want to chill or party?' The message came straight back. 'I think...party!'<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gathering armfuls of wild flowers from the allotment to decorate the house for our Midsummer party</td></tr>
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She arrived on the Thursday night, so we had a practice session, eating and drinking outside until it went dark.<br />
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The next day at brunch, Anna mentioned a great day out she remembered with us, her and our <a href="http://www.frecklefaceblog.co.uk/2015/05/israel-land-of-milk-and-honey-and.html">friend from Israel</a>, so we decided to revisit Cromford Mills, built by Richard Arkwright, a pioneer in the Industrial revolution.<br />
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After a whirlwind trip, we whizzed home in my new car, which I've named Blanche Dubois, because although she looks beautiful, there's all sorts of problems under the surface.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wearing a me-made sheet dress. That photo on the right needs to be snapped up by the local rag!</td></tr>
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It was time to party! I have to confess, I never felt less like it, since it was the day after the referendum in the UK, but if you can't celebrate, at least you can drown your sorrows with friends.<br />
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Thankfully the almost incessant rain we had in June stopped for a day in order to allow us to sit outside. Phew. I was so busy plying people with food and drink that I forgot to take any photos. Fortunately Anna took one of me and my adorable friend, Varanya.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I've been wearing this dress a lot recently. It's a 1960s crimplene column dress with some snazzy diamante trim. I love the colour and the fact that it makes me look tall.</td></tr>
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The next day we met up briefly with my little sis who was in Nottingham for the day, went into town, got home in time for our lovely friend Angela to visit and then went out for a meal and to the pub, where we were the last ones to leave.<br />
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By day 4, when we took Anna back to the station to get her train down to the airport, after three nights of partying, we were all pretty much broken. There was just enough energy for a quick group selfie.<br />
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We called it the selfie of pain. :D<br />
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God, we had SO much fun. Let's do it all again next year!<br />
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<br />frecklefacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15881334320685123475noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2983105132080837037.post-43025291585004734422016-06-16T14:22:00.000-07:002016-12-17T14:49:13.604-08:00The Emerald IsleI've noticed a pattern in my life, whereby during January, February and March, I'm mainly left to my own devices, so I can go at my own pace, following my little routines and keeping up with all my little jobs. But then, once Spring hits, it just becomes this crazy whirlwind of trips and invitations and weekends away and visitors and being ON all the time, with precious little down time.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Portaferry side of the Lough</td></tr>
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Don't get me wrong; I enjoy every minute of it, but sometimes I just feel the need to crawl away and lie in a darkened room with nobody to please. I think this phenomenon is called being an adult. Do you ever suffer from it?</div>
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So, the last few weeks have been busy, full of all the things above, and the next month is pretty booked up too. </div>
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The most recent event has been three days in Ireland with work. The whole team went on a bespoke residential training course/team building thing, which was really interesting and lovely, but also quite intense since we spent every waking hour together. I'm not used to that much talking and listening. I came home and went straight for a lie down.<br />
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It wasn't quite, 'Hello Q, I'm off to bed', but very nearly.</div>
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But anyway, look at this beautiful place! Who knew Northern Ireland was so pretty?<br />
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This is an hour's drive from Belfast, but a world away from what I'd expect. Wonderfully peaceful, and such a different pace to where I live.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Strangford village on the other side of the water is the very definition of pretty</td></tr>
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We stayed on the shores of a lough which is fed by the Irish sea. A ferry whizzes you across to the other side, but when the fog comes up, even on a beautiful sunny day, you get trapped until it disappears again.</div>
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In our odd bits of spare time, we paddled in the water. It was freezing cold and totally heavenly. We went for a beach walk, a village tour and a woodland wander. </div>
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And we ate for England! Celia, our host at the b&b is a top notch cook and <a href="http://www.belfastfoodnetwork.org/portfolio-item/cooking-up-a-slow-food-storm/">real foodie</a>. In fact, turns out that amongst many other things, she's the leader of the Slow Food movement for Northern Ireland.<br />
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We ate lentil salad with miso paste, shredded beetroot and cabbage salad, seaweed with labneh and herbs, cauliflower cheese, homemade quiche, soda bread farls with dulse, plant-based yoghurt with stewed rhubarb and granola, lemon drizzle cake with ginger and turmeric, her own honey..the list goes on. It was exactly the kind of food I like to eat. She made all our meals except for one, when we ate out, so that the carnivores amongst us could get their chops round some meat.<br />
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When we first googled the little town of Portaferry, we saw a lot of photos of boarded up houses. It all looked a bit run down, but with people like Celia and her partner moving in and doing <a href="http://www.spouncerecology.com/news/viewdetails.asp?ID=112">grass roots regeneration projects</a>, it's being brought back to life.<br />
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I love that. It seems to me, that it would be better to invest money into places and communities which exist and are run down in the first instance, before building all over the green belt? These places have history and soul and there are always lovely old buildings waiting to be brought back to life.<br />
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Look at this lady! She runs a little shop called Blaney's which sells penny sweets and smells like the kind of shop my grandparents used to take me to. Gosh, I'm a sucker for nostalgia.</div>
frecklefacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15881334320685123475noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2983105132080837037.post-35065550707351629302016-05-19T12:35:00.000-07:002016-12-17T15:32:26.998-08:00Red, white and blue<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I had a lovely sunshine-filled week off work last week. </span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here I am in that classic Union Jack colour combo inspired by <a href="http://helgavontrollop.blogspot.co.uk/2012/08/pushing-through-my-usual-skin.html">Helga the Great</a>. 1970s cotton midi skirt courtesy of our <a href="http://sopastcaring.blogspot.co.uk/">Curtise</a> (Missing In Action at a local charity shop, last known sighting: Sheffield)</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We fitted in a quick trip up North to attend a christening, which somehow we managed to miss. However we did make it for the buffet afterwards. Oops. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I baked a <a href="http://www.dailymail.co.uk/home/you/article-3247791/Simply-Nigella-Apricot-almond-cake-rosewater-cardamom.html">Nigella Apricot, almond, rosewater and cardomon cake</a>. It was a bit of an acquired taste, but by the time we'd finished scoffing the whole cake between the two of us, we'd definitely acquired it. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">I also pottered in the garden, hung out at the allotment, went out for dinner and....what else? Oh yes, I bought a car! </span></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I've been driving a red Nissan Micra for the last 12 years. Not the same vehicle; when one died, I went out and bought a replacement. My friends who'd teased me about me driving a Noddy car, had a good old belly laugh over that. I did too. They assumed I'd be upgrading. But I don't know anything about engines, and all the mechanics I spoke to agreed the old style Nissan Micra was a good reliable car. So, that was my logic. But really, that model is too old now to go for a hat trick, so I knew it was time for a Brave New World.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">I asked my tennis chums for advice and one of them suggested a Fiat 500. Brilliant Nicole got it absolutely right. It's small, economical and I love its retro design. I found this one over the border in Derby.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">I know I will feel a little bit blue when I take the little red car to the scrappers, but it turns out the future is white. I love driving round in this little car. </span></div>
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frecklefacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15881334320685123475noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2983105132080837037.post-61415118686648531732016-05-11T03:34:00.000-07:002016-12-17T14:23:45.465-08:00In search of bluebells<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">A couple of weeks ago, we set off in search of bluebell woods. Every year I have the same idea, but every year I seem to leave it a little bit too late and miss them, so this year I was ready. As soon as ours were out in the garden, we were off.</span></td></tr>
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The internet is brilliant for finding out about this kind of thing. We ended up in the sweetly named Bunny Woods, which is just by a village called Bunny, over the border in Leicestershire.<br />
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Of all the habitats, my favourites are woodlands and mountains. I know most people favour the sea, but not me. I dream of a little cabin in the woods, surrounded by bluebells, foxgloves, scabious and anenomes. In the autumn I'll pick brambles, mushrooms and sweet chestnuts. There will be a little stream to cool off in.<br />
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I'd decided I was going to sell this vintage 60s or 70s dress, as part of my great clear out, but I thought I'd give it one last outing, just to make sure. Anyway, I've changed my mind, it's staying put for the time being.<br />
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It was a bit cool so to begin with I had a thermal top on underneath, but once we set off, I had a 'Stop the car!' moment. I had to go back and strip off. It's a thick crimplene, and with the extra layer, I felt like a boil in the bag chicken.<br />
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I felt a bit Little Red Riding Hood charging round the woods in this outfit, and told him so. He said three little words. '<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Don%27t_Look_Now">Don't Look Now'.</a><br />
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That's probably more like it.<br />
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There they are!<br />
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Little purple beauties.<br />
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I'm so pleased Spring is here, even though it does mean another year is whizzing by. I'd rather age surrounded by sunshine and flowers. Although as I type this it is raining again. If I ruled the world, we'd have sunshine during the day and then rain at night, because the garden needs it and it's a nice sound to sleep to.<br />
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He's been busy up the allotment building a shed. The blossom is out. Again, that is such a fleeting moment. One minute it's on the tree and the next you have confetti all over the lawn.<br />
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I hear we have summer again tomorrow. Bring it on I say!frecklefacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15881334320685123475noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2983105132080837037.post-5183309321213895782016-04-19T13:31:00.000-07:002016-12-17T14:45:46.776-08:00What's new, pussycat?Lately I've been having a bit of a Spring purge, chipping away at all the endless things I don't need. It's the usual pass it on to friends, charity shops and ebay scenario. I try not to pass anything more to landfill than absolutely necessary.<br />
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I'm hoping eventually to be able to reintegrate the small bedroom back into the house as usable space, maybe with my sewing machine set up so that it's much easier to do little sewing projects. In the meantime, every now and again, I claim the dining table and then there's fabric and thread everywhere for a few days.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;">I've taken up patchwork again, slowly. I'm sure I'll decide eventually what to use it for.</td></tr>
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Sometimes a stray pin finds its way onto the sofa or rug, and then there's a massive yelp as human flesh yields to sharp pointed metal. I get told off and hang my head in shame, but somehow it keeps happening, so I think everyone will be pleased when the sewing department is rehomed.<br />
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I knocked up this little bag with some leftovers. It's very useful for days out. The turquoise fabric is what's left after making a dress and a pair of shorts, and the pocket fabric also has a matching cushion and porch curtain.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;">I know you're supposed to stand three quarters on and do something with your leg to make you look slimmer. Maybe even brush your hair. But, let's be honest, this isn't Vogue.<br />
I've been growing that belly this winter, since I've been unable to play my beloved tennis, but it's time to sort it out. Walking, salad and weekend-only alcohol are on the cards.</td></tr>
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I've also been following the rule of dealing with things on the mending pile before starting a new project, so hems have been altered and other scintillating things of that nature. The dress above was a 1960s Hawaiian dress before, but huge and in a different style. Luckily the main pieces were intact so I unpicked it all, made a pattern from another dress I wear loads in the summer, and remade it.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The much worn 1960s dress having a day out in Dordogne, last September</td></tr>
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My current project is to recycle loose covers from our old sofa, which, after 20 years service, has been retired. I'm currently unpicking what feels like miles of stitching. In its next life, it will be a dress.<br />
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Talking of creative things, a while ago, I received the most wonderful surprise package. I came in after work to find it on the kitchen island. I was mystified, so I started ripping it open. Everything about it was beautifully done. The penny was starting to drop. It was a gift from the lovely and talented Lynn after I commented on her blog. I once had a writing case very like this, which had belonged to my dad, and which was stolen in a burglary, years ago. So this replaces it. I can put special bits and pieces in it.<br />
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Thank you so much Lynn, it was the kindest thought. I love it. x<br />
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So how about you, has Spring had any effects on you? Any cleaning and tidying? Or are you inspired to start a new project or regime?<br />
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I loved hearing about what's happening in your towns and villages, thank you.<br />
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frecklefacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15881334320685123475noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2983105132080837037.post-9908750127850073152016-04-13T23:47:00.001-07:002016-12-17T15:18:08.033-08:00Country roads take me homeI've just had a whirlwind few days down in the South West, visiting friends, family and sorting out the last few bits to do with my mum's house before it gets passed on to new owners.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-w_RgdnRLJ7A/Vw1ktVFSbKI/AAAAAAAAJCw/IIjeIWCRr8MefVwIF23WD4es-uKZTI85ACLcB/s1600/kk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-w_RgdnRLJ7A/Vw1ktVFSbKI/AAAAAAAAJCw/IIjeIWCRr8MefVwIF23WD4es-uKZTI85ACLcB/s640/kk.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;">I stopped off in Bristol on the way down to catch up with my lovely greeting card chums. I really miss seeing them, but we're planning a proper day out soon.</td></tr>
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It was a pretty full on schedule and I camped out in an empty house again, but it was lovely to see everyone, albeit briefly and spend time in the country towns and villages of my childhood.<br />
<img border="0" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9PTWnpjuviw/Vw1j4kKub-I/AAAAAAAAJCY/yqGrgC0JjmozzuJhvBRxyG-BCV41zxowQCLcB/s640/IMG_1731.JPG" width="640" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; color: black;">Even though I wasn't staying in Merriott, where the family home was for many years, I always like to drive through, just to check all is well. It's very rural. Not a place in any kind of hurry. People say hello when they pass each other on the street, even if they have never met before.</span><br />
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Most of the village is made up of 17th and 18th century hamstone cottages, hamstone being the local honey coloured stone, quarried at Ham Hill, a place we spent a lot of time running around in during our childhood.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;">Manor cottage, a grade 2 listed farmhouse built in 1663, which sits at the end of our road. I love the mullion windows with curly ironwork</td></tr>
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The village is still encircled by working farms so it's quite common to get caught behind a tractor. In years gone by, you'd get stuck behind animals moving from barn to field, but that doesn't happen any more.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;">Pronounced 'Tamill' by the locals, just down this lane is the mill which produced the sailcloth for The Victory</td></tr>
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Merriott was mentioned in the Domesday book, mainly for its rich agricultural land but also in relation to its mills which produced cloth for sailcloth, including for Nelson's ship, The Victory. This means something to me, as my four times great grandfather fought alongside him in the Battle of Trafalgar.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;">This is cider country. That church is where my great aunt was christened, married and had her funeral service. She was born and bred in the village and had the most wonderful Somerset accent, along with her mother, our great-great aunt, who would tell us stories about her life in service in the big house, and had the most endearing chuckle in the entire universe</td></tr>
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The next town, Crewkerne also has its connections, as that is where Vice Admiral Hardy of 'Kiss me, Hardy' (or kismet, you choose) fame, went to school.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The old <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Village_lock-up">lock-up</a>, where drunks would get put in for the night by the local constabulary after drinking too much cider</td></tr>
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At one point the village was owned by the family of the ill-fated <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lady_Jane_Grey">Lady Jane Grey</a>, but after she was executed, the lands were seized by the crown and redistributed. There was a rumour that our school, not so far away, was haunted by poor old Lady Jane. Who can blame her for not finding peace?<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;">This lovely lady was like a second mum to me in my late teens and early twenties when my parents lived abroad and I was living in the family home. She's a great cook and full of life and fun. We've remained friends ever since and I always try to see her when I'm down that way.</td></tr>
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The latest upsetting of the peace relates to Damien Hirst's sister, who has bought the old King's Head pub then shut it and tried to gain change of use to make it into a house. The locals <a href="http://www.westerngazette.co.uk/Residents-sign-petition-save-King-s-Head-pub/story-21231446-detail/story.html">aren't best pleased</a>.</div>
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So, do tell, what's it like where you come from? What's great or interesting about it?</div>
frecklefacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15881334320685123475noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2983105132080837037.post-88989414542751982332016-03-19T12:19:00.000-07:002016-12-17T14:48:02.137-08:00Now is the Wetherspoons of our discontentWell, that's what <a href="http://vintagevixon.blogspot.co.uk/2016/03/eastern-promise-day-trip-to-leicester.html">Vix</a> and I thought when <a href="http://sopastcaring.blogspot.com/">Curtise</a> turned up, scandalising us with news of a bad review of one of the three Wetherspoons we had to choose from on our inaugural tour of Leicester. If there was a bad one, we missed it. And we gave it a fair shot, visiting two thirds of their offering during our few short hours there.<br />
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Must have been someone with higher standards than us.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DgXFBc1GKgQ/Vu6M8ZmMJnI/AAAAAAAAJCI/acElVmKE6vkcidxdoOimOEKmUYfAmdBvQ/s1600/leci3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="474" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DgXFBc1GKgQ/Vu6M8ZmMJnI/AAAAAAAAJCI/acElVmKE6vkcidxdoOimOEKmUYfAmdBvQ/s640/leci3.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I love this picture of these two giggling away</td></tr>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_Ti3Va4MlnE/Vu1x0puag1I/AAAAAAAAJBM/ym9_TKGTWXIyIM_Z4zflYOMJMK4cSSwqw/s1600/leicester8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="442" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_Ti3Va4MlnE/Vu1x0puag1I/AAAAAAAAJBM/ym9_TKGTWXIyIM_Z4zflYOMJMK4cSSwqw/s640/leicester8.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;">In the Victorian era, Industrialisation happened in Leicester, with textiles, hosiery and footwear bringing wealth to the city. These grand buildings of the time are so impressive. On the left, the white building looks like a chateau with its external staircase, and the opulent copper door on the right is definitely meant to be seen</td></tr>
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Leicester is one of the oldest cities in England, dating back to Roman times, and unlike many other cities, has managed to retain a large number of its historic buildings. The first one we spotted was this amazing Art Nouveau building, built in 1901, The Turkey Cafe.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-c4vXJM_YDbI/Vu1lF4tKPEI/AAAAAAAAJAQ/OUqf3Dk5tOAhLarvKBFGSrXKs2naHem0A/s1600/leicester5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="332" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-c4vXJM_YDbI/Vu1lF4tKPEI/AAAAAAAAJAQ/OUqf3Dk5tOAhLarvKBFGSrXKs2naHem0A/s640/leicester5.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Vix looked like a Russian Princess with her huge furry hat, whilst Curtise and I followed in her wake as ladies-in-waiting. My favourite example of the Vix effect on this occasion, was when one fellow came up to us and said, 'hold on, didn't I just see you...at London Fashion Week?' We had to laugh.</span></td></tr>
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When we saw this road sign, we knew we were in exactly the right place. Cheap: our motto and our byword.<br />
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_CWGxZj_VOY/Vu10GLkpmsI/AAAAAAAAJBc/MQ3eT3RswVcT6erDu2409m4rq-cH9FzNQ/s1600/leicester9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="306" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_CWGxZj_VOY/Vu10GLkpmsI/AAAAAAAAJBc/MQ3eT3RswVcT6erDu2409m4rq-cH9FzNQ/s640/leicester9.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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When this day out was in the planning, Curtise sent me a text: 'Your mission - should you choose to accept it - is to research chazzas, vintage shopping and Wetherspoons in Leicester. Yes, I know - homework.'<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xh698TmD2T4/Vu10l8pNpzI/AAAAAAAAJBg/_ML2Lr6y7r0XQcrhTsL7jEDl_MHwX8a5Q/s1600/leicester10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="342" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xh698TmD2T4/Vu10l8pNpzI/AAAAAAAAJBg/_ML2Lr6y7r0XQcrhTsL7jEDl_MHwX8a5Q/s640/leicester10.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">
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Back in the early to mid 1980s, my boyfriend at the time was at Uni in Leicester, so we used to go to this market to get our fresh veg. There's Lineker's, good old Gary's family business.<br />
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One foot in the grave? No, we've got plenty of days out left in us.</div>
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Well, I'm not one to shirk my responsibilities, so I set to. Turns out Leicester has rather a good vintage selection, of which we visited three.<br />
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-iX11Upm5slo/Vu1wMQyiaXI/AAAAAAAAJAw/XswO51PH8eA0gKkDO9-O1b4j7l5oAHbKw/s1600/leicester2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="422" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-iX11Upm5slo/Vu1wMQyiaXI/AAAAAAAAJAw/XswO51PH8eA0gKkDO9-O1b4j7l5oAHbKw/s640/leicester2.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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Our favourite was <a href="http://www.leicestermercury.co.uk/Dolly-Mix-Vintage/story-12032160-detail/story.html">Dolly Mix Vintage</a>. Three floors of frocks, from antique to the 1980s. The interior was rather inspiring too, with a loft style room, filled with quirky props and plenty of windows for light. I noticed a definite Eastern influence. We agreed we could happily live in a space like that.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HWj9ICv_92s/Vu1wZdjydkI/AAAAAAAAJA4/wRRxnIbNWjEy9AFpM3pbfkikfMHQ8_t_Q/s1600/leicester3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="402" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HWj9ICv_92s/Vu1wZdjydkI/AAAAAAAAJA4/wRRxnIbNWjEy9AFpM3pbfkikfMHQ8_t_Q/s640/leicester3.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I absolutely loved this little corner which was set up as an artist's studio with a poster of a Thai Prince above it</td></tr>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-COOPxFH1UeQ/Vu1wT2XSG8I/AAAAAAAAJA0/aebffHTb43wmqCf3WGI9Wkz9DG-hFoalA/s1600/leicester4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="416" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-COOPxFH1UeQ/Vu1wT2XSG8I/AAAAAAAAJA0/aebffHTb43wmqCf3WGI9Wkz9DG-hFoalA/s640/leicester4.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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No day out is complete without a lunch break at the aforementioned Wetherspoons. We've become so predictable. Mexican bean burgers all round. They had a pint, I had a glass of wine. Because, as my companions like to point out, I'm a lady.<br />
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In case you were in any doubt.<br />
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-u75lN41SO6U/Vu1v9XZGkUI/AAAAAAAAJAs/izmwLhlNAKci3vX_5Cid0-_4ZiDROMnzg/s1600/leicester7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-u75lN41SO6U/Vu1v9XZGkUI/AAAAAAAAJAs/izmwLhlNAKci3vX_5Cid0-_4ZiDROMnzg/s640/leicester7.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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Shopping fix sated, we decided to have a bit of a mooch around. We knew we wanted to visit King Richard III, who has found his forever home in the Cathedral after spending a frankly impolite amount of time kicking his heels beneath a car park.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VfEAYdxX580/Vu1urUnoalI/AAAAAAAAJAg/IUxLAw407csmcBw5FMwsHgTzQPhP4cVPA/s1600/leicester1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="364" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VfEAYdxX580/Vu1urUnoalI/AAAAAAAAJAg/IUxLAw407csmcBw5FMwsHgTzQPhP4cVPA/s640/leicester1.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">We paid our respects, and all agreed we love the smell of a church. That mix of history, wood polish and incense.</span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-h2CLaSiSpyc/Vu1lVIpIDhI/AAAAAAAAJAY/TwccEhL-g2k-REMIs5Pe0f4paJ7VHiekg/s1600/leicester6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="428" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-h2CLaSiSpyc/Vu1lVIpIDhI/AAAAAAAAJAY/TwccEhL-g2k-REMIs5Pe0f4paJ7VHiekg/s640/leicester6.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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So, what did I manage to find? A couple of 1970s German cotton cushions, with a really cute print and a fabric box were my favourite purchases. But I also came home with some great gifts from the girls. The funkiest pair of vintage Wellies from Vix, plus a zip pull for my dodgy shoulder and an enamel pendant. From Curtise, my very own Skirt Supplier, a fab 70s midi skirt and a 70s does 40s top which fits me to perfection.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dboGO713Wv0/Vu19V_YIZ2I/AAAAAAAAJB0/zraO-0urIcYodIL99mcF1I5qMRhN9L9Pw/s1600/leicester12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="446" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dboGO713Wv0/Vu19V_YIZ2I/AAAAAAAAJB0/zraO-0urIcYodIL99mcF1I5qMRhN9L9Pw/s640/leicester12.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In a nod to my Irish roots, I wore green and a shamrock for St Patrick's day</td></tr>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-howG0quLwx4/Vu19aZ0HOdI/AAAAAAAAJB4/-izGFKXwEc4wCqHWx3KO5ACxCcKJPTklg/s1600/leicester11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="440" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-howG0quLwx4/Vu19aZ0HOdI/AAAAAAAAJB4/-izGFKXwEc4wCqHWx3KO5ACxCcKJPTklg/s640/leicester11.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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Such is the success of our trademark days out that my sister and I are going to do one soon. Coming to a town near you?frecklefacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15881334320685123475noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2983105132080837037.post-10711961188502027172016-03-14T15:40:00.001-07:002016-12-17T14:32:49.980-08:00Square eyed and lazyAfter some years of trial and error, I've come to the conclusion that it is quite simply foolish to spend January and February in the Northern hemisphere. We should all just head south, in search of sunshine.<br />
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If for any reason, this isn't possible, I've come up with a pretty good Plan B.<br />
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-q9wpbSDXVtU/Vuc4QZgKhPI/AAAAAAAAI_c/iOOWhuKKPL4xuFCgO8TfmOtCtkpY7W7TA/s1600/IMG_1248.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-q9wpbSDXVtU/Vuc4QZgKhPI/AAAAAAAAI_c/iOOWhuKKPL4xuFCgO8TfmOtCtkpY7W7TA/s640/IMG_1248.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
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In order to get through British wintertime, I've spent a rather scandalous amount of time in bed, propped up with pillows watching films and catch up TV. And although at times my bedroom has looked like a <a href="http://www.saatchigallery.com/artists/artpages/tracey_emin_my_bed.htm">Tracy Emin installation piece</a>, it has generally been very enjoyable. We had a bed picnic last week with a double episode of Trapped. Felt rather decadent.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zH_Rva689k4/Vuc384l17dI/AAAAAAAAI_Y/Iu8LuVIenwkymDcvz24o_OXOu2udFhMuw/s1600/IMG_9716.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="430" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zH_Rva689k4/Vuc384l17dI/AAAAAAAAI_Y/Iu8LuVIenwkymDcvz24o_OXOu2udFhMuw/s640/IMG_9716.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Frida Kahlo's wonderfully colourful house in the film 'Frida'</td></tr>
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So, what films have I watched?<br />
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The Danish Girl: lovely interiors, strong female lead and the opportunity for me to say 'I've been there' when they go out into the harbour in Copenhagen. But of course mainly it's about Eddie Redmayne's charachter going through a transformative experience, which I felt was done in a sensitive and credible way. You can see how, once an idea, which might come almost accidentally, is allowed to take hold, it can be very difficult to shake off, and whole lives can change as a result.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-FGl-VKmloZQ/Vuc4jztji0I/AAAAAAAAI_g/TM-tu-cjxt4AUBcX1l8HI71B3llCKR3PA/s1600/t.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="430" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-FGl-VKmloZQ/Vuc4jztji0I/AAAAAAAAI_g/TM-tu-cjxt4AUBcX1l8HI71B3llCKR3PA/s640/t.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image from the film 'Frida'</td></tr>
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The Changeling: Not what I expected, in fact I was quite shocked by several aspects of this true story. I won't give too much detail in case you haven't seen it. If you haven't, but get the chance, then watch it, but prepare to be upset. Angelina Jolie put in a brilliant performance.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Vm73Xn9YLhc/Vuc44fKpEfI/AAAAAAAAI_o/4HVYV4cVFfoJb8UxpnkFHl-bDuz6lfdBA/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="530" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Vm73Xn9YLhc/Vuc44fKpEfI/AAAAAAAAI_o/4HVYV4cVFfoJb8UxpnkFHl-bDuz6lfdBA/s640/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image from the film 'Frida'</td></tr>
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Frida: loved everything about this film. The costumes, the depiction of Mexico in the early 20th century and the relationship between Diego and Frida. Makes you think too, about what some people achieve even in a short life, with all the odds against them.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Sup67oSPcHU/Vuc5h0CZRGI/AAAAAAAAI_0/o0uKrYq9tmAMENrWm8IT8hk8PcDqNtA3w/s1600/Untitled-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="406" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Sup67oSPcHU/Vuc5h0CZRGI/AAAAAAAAI_0/o0uKrYq9tmAMENrWm8IT8hk8PcDqNtA3w/s640/Untitled-1.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">A vaguely Frida outfit worn last week. Cotton 1970s gypsy style skirt from the wonderfully generous <a href="http://sopastcaring.blogspot.co.uk/">Curtise</a>.<br />I currently have a frozen shoulder on my right hand side, meaning I can't do much with my right hand. On the one hand, the limited movement is rendering it impossible to achieve a Frida hairdo. On the other, I'm making almost daily progress towards the Frida eyebrow.</span></td></tr>
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So with that thought in mind, and the first of the Spring sunshine this weekend, I've shifted my backside, got out in the garden and started the post-Winter clear up. It was lovely. Fresh air, sunshine, seeing things come back to life. Good therapy.<br />
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Have you seen any good films lately? Please tell me I'm not the only square eyes out there?<br />
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Also, what's your favourite season and why?frecklefacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15881334320685123475noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2983105132080837037.post-27355325031372482262016-02-26T07:31:00.000-08:002016-12-17T14:37:54.914-08:00A country walk to blow the cobwebs awayI thought it was all going so well, this winter. We've hardly had any snow and the nights were getting lighter. Yes, fair to say I was feeling pretty good about it all.<br />
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Well.<br />
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The universe has shown me who's boss. Sent me a dose of bubonic plague. OK, technically it might have just been a cold or flu, but man, it was bad. Two week's worth of lying in bed bad. My first ever sick note from the doctor bad.<br />
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Thankfully I'm on the mend now, so we thought it would be a good idea to go out from some fresh air. Blow away the cobwebs and all that. I didn't fancy a proper yomp, just a gentle initiation back into real life. So off we went to Epperstone, a little village in rural Nottinghamshire for a mooch around.<br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GKph3B33d30/VtBj7FM9nMI/AAAAAAAAI-g/Va6bvIH17C8/s1600/IMG_1234.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GKph3B33d30/VtBj7FM9nMI/AAAAAAAAI-g/Va6bvIH17C8/s640/IMG_1234.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
At first glance, it's pretty, with red brick cottages, several dovecotes and a church dating back to the 13th century.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-961vHBFVQuY/VtBlIcnH6FI/AAAAAAAAI-4/bnn7r_FTfwE/s1600/king%2Band%2Bqueen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-961vHBFVQuY/VtBlIcnH6FI/AAAAAAAAI-4/bnn7r_FTfwE/s640/king%2Band%2Bqueen.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">These quasi-medieval carved heads on the church porch, are of an unnamed king and queen.</span></td></tr>
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Throw in a mention in the Domesday book and a pub where the chef used to cook for the Queen and suddenly it's also interesting. When I get my appetite back properly, I think we should go and try it out.<br />
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We followed a public footpath which led us up into fields, giving lovely views over the surrounding countryside. The wind was ferocious so he tied his scarf around my head to keep me warm, Lawrence of Arabia style. We sheltered under a tree to eat our lunch.<br />
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Our walk back took us through the really lovely church graveyard. What an amazing place to rest in peace. Spring flowers are giving it their all. Daffodils, snowdrops, crocuses, primroses, celandine and periwinkle. All blooming their socks off.<br />
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I'm not going to say this out loud, just in case I jinx it, but I reckon maybe, just maybe, Spring is around the corner? Who's with me? All in agreement say 'Aye'!<br />
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All these pictures of graveyards have got me to thinking about an interesting presentation we had at work to do with digital online remains. Have you ever thought about that? What would happen to all your various online accounts when you die? How they might be accessed and by whom? It's a new area, but apparently people are starting to write this type of thing into their will.<br />
As a start, I've written down every online account I can think of that I have, from banks to social media to websites, with user names and passwords. The next step is to simplify, as there are too many. I think I will try one user name and one password, but put it in my diary to change them once a month. What are your thoughts? I'd be very interested to hear.frecklefacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15881334320685123475noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2983105132080837037.post-29486320457651213892016-01-25T10:09:00.000-08:002016-12-17T14:47:02.152-08:00Lagos, Nigeria 1973. A moment in time, captured on filmI've noticed a trend very recently of people changing their profile pictures on facebook to photos of themselves as children. It's lovely to see, and it has got me to thinking.<br />
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When we were kids, our dad always had the camera handy, and as a result our childhoods are well documented. I love looking back at the old photos, and it is absolutely true that they prompt memories, so that with some photos, I can actually remember the circumstances at the time of the photo.<br />
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Fast forward to my twenties and thirties, from which I have practically no photos. There's probably a good twenty years of my life which went undocumented. Sometimes when I look back at diairies, I see the names of people who I can't even remember any more. They have come and gone, leaving no trace.<br />
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A large factor in this was a huge reluctance to be photographed myself. I always looked awful, like a gurning rabbit caught in the headlights. Plenty of chins but no eyes. And the more photos I saw like this, the less I wanted to be photographed. At weddings, I'd stand at the back in the group photos, behind all the tall men.<br />
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But I regret it now. I wish I had photos of those people who have been part of my life. I wish I had photos of me, no matter how awful, because they are the doors to the memories.<br />
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A case in point; the first photo on this post was my original facebook profile picture. I can tell you that it was taken in 1973 at Tarqua Bay, an island paradise, just off Lagos, Nigeria, only accessible by boat.<br />
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I was six years old and that day I was captured in the middle of building a massive sandcastle, a very impressive monument with doors and windows and shell decorations to make it pretty. I was sat just outside the clubhouse, down the stairs to the right, and the water I kept putting in the moat, kept disappearing into the sand. My dad said 'smile' and this is what he got, for his troubles.<br />
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Once my father interrupted me, I decided it was a good time to enquire about a snack. He was definitely the softer touch. Look, success. Mr Crispy no less! They were good crisps and are a still a weakness of mine. Chocolate I can take or leave, but crisps? Stand aside, I'm approaching the buffet table at a pace.</div>
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Tarqua Bay was a regular gig for us. Every Sunday, we would wait on the jetty at the Ambassador's residence in Ikoyi, Lagos. Eventually a little banana boat would arrive and we would get on board, put on our life jackets and set sail across the lagoon for the beach. We would end up in the bay at Tarqua. There we would disembark in the water, wade to the shore and then walk all the way up to the wooden <a href="http://www.thegreenwhitegreen.com/2013/12/tarkwa-bay-beach-lagos.html?m=1">clubhouse</a>, where there were surfboards, refreshments and sun loungers. </div>
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Once at the clubhouse, we would grab a surfboard, walk down to the beach, and, provided there were no red flags, get in and do a bit of body surfing. The waves in Nigeria are pretty impressive, matched only by the jelly fish. Most weeks you'd come out pink from the stings and feeling slightly radioactive, but it would wear off eventually.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Same day. This is a picture of my sister, she's talking to one of the older girls and is just about to blow a bubble with her gum.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Here I am with my mum. I approached her saying 'Muuuuum.....Muuuuumy'. Her response, which I remember very clearly, was: 'The grown ups are talking, you'll have to wait a minute.' Which I was happy to do, because I rather enjoyed listening in on grown up conversations, and then when she was ready to speak to me, she said, 'what do you want?' I didn't actually have anything to say, because all I'd wanted was a bit of attention, so I carried on munching my Mr Crispys :)</span></td></tr>
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I'm so happy that I have the pictures to match my memories, and I guess the point I'm making is that despite struggling with the whole idea of selfies and the negative connotations attached, I don't want to lose any more years or memories. I don't want to get to 70 and not know what I was doing, what I looked like or who I spent time with at 40 or 50 or 60. If the means of remembering is to take photos of myself posing around in frocks, I guess I'm going to have to swallow my misgivings and gurn and bear it.<br />
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Anyway, to come back to those photos of kids on facebook, have you got any great photos with stories attached? I'd love to hear them or even better, how about doing a blog post? Who fancies joining in?<br />
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ps: fun fact. Wings recorded their Band on the Run album in Lagos, Nigeria in 1973. I'm still waiting for that to come up in a pub quiz.<br />
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pps: I'll be round to see what you've all been up to soon.frecklefacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15881334320685123475noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2983105132080837037.post-91961506344199147852016-01-03T11:25:00.001-08:002016-12-17T14:42:15.327-08:00It's grim (weather) up northI'm the type of person who wants to go places and see things. If there's a travel programme, or a documentary or a film set somewhere I haven't visited, I point at the screen and say, 'I want to go there'. It doesn't need to be glamorous or exotic, although those characteristics please me immensely, but interesting and new to me will do just as well if that is what is on offer.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_upV-j_YIHg/VolruQXDV4I/AAAAAAAAI7Q/Q3J91TQuPQk/s1600/transporter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_upV-j_YIHg/VolruQXDV4I/AAAAAAAAI7Q/Q3J91TQuPQk/s640/transporter.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;">That's the Transporter Bridge in Middlesbrough. There are only six working examples in the world. Your car drives onto a platform and then is swung across the river, dangling from that top structure. Sadly it was shut or we could have tried it. </td></tr>
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I like to paraphrase <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Breakfast_at_Tiffany%27s_(film)">Holly Golightly</a>, so I usually follow 'I want to go there' with 'Besides, I've never been to .... before'. In her case it was Brazil, which for the record, I want to go to.<br />
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So, anyway, when we were up north at Christmas and the prospect of a Boxing Day walk loomed, I had a plan. I mean there's nothing wrong with Redcar; they filmed that <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0783233/trivia">long scene from Atonement</a> there, which lends it interest, and at Saltburn, there's always some yarn-bombing and a marvellous smell of fish and chips, but I've been to both of them before.<br />
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The grade II listed art deco clock tower at Seaton Carew, with ladies and gents' lavatories conveniently located at the base</div>
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So this year I suggested Hartlepool via Seaton Carew, based on a recommendation from my friend Gina.<br />
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It was 'orrible weather. It rained all day on Christmas day and Boxing day, in fact a lot of the north of the country have suffered terrible floods as a consequence, and some of the roads were rather waterlogged, but it got us out of the house and despite general amusement at our destination, it proved a pleasing adventure.<br />
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Since I was driving, inevitably we took a wrong turn, but that turned out well, because we were able to see the imposing industrial landscape at close quarters.<br />
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Some views had me pretending we were on a road trip across America, maybe in oil producing country like Texas or somewhere with heavy industry like Detroit. Other times looking through the mist and marshlands to the towers on the horizon I felt as though we were in the Wizard of Oz. It wasn't glamorous, but it did have a kind of bleak beauty, which I found rather exciting.</div>
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Unfortunately we didn't get to see the tall ships at Hartlepool, because the Maritime experience was shut, but we did witness a lot of seagulls enjoying puddles, so the trip wasn't entirely wasted.</div>
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Other than that it's mainly been eating, drinking and watching films.<br />
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<b>The Butler</b>: oh my goodness, what an amazing film. Forest Whittaker and Oprah Winfrey put in mesmerising performances.<br />
<b>The Sapphires:</b> really enjoyed the costumes and the singing and was rooting for those girls from the word go.<br />
<b>The Hundred Foot Journey:</b> France, food, romance, comedy. A lovely way to spend an afternoon. At the end I got up and cooked pasta with panache.<br />
<b>Italian for Beginners:</b> sweet, sweet Danish film, with happy endings.<br />
I've still got the Grand Budapest Hotel to look forward to.<br />
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So anyway, it's 2016. Better be a good one or I'll want to know why. While we're on the subject, anybody got any interesting travel plans you want to tell me about?frecklefacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15881334320685123475noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2983105132080837037.post-26168485608510412582015-12-22T03:24:00.001-08:002016-12-17T14:48:20.577-08:00'Tis the season to be sociable, fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-laThe invitation said come any time after 5pm. But we have insider information. Experience has taught us that there are two distinct phases to Jane and Paul's parties. I like to arrive somewhere between eight and half past. When I hear the words, 'You've just missed all the kids, it was very noisy', I nod silently, knowing I've done the right thing.<br />
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This is my pub quiz crowd. We've known each other for twenty years, since we were neighbours in our previous house. Jane and Paul used to live three doors away, but then eventually they moved. Once they'd settled in and established that it was a nice neighbourhood, we followed them and now we live four doors away.<br />
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They can run, but they can't hide.<br />
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Last night the gang was being lippy. Saying things like, 'It's getting late, must be time for Q and Tania to arrive soon'. 'She's probably just pulling down a pair of curtains and whipping up a dress to wear'. 'Yes, and taking some photos for her blog'. Cheeky beggars. :)<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;">The boys, being cheeky. <br />
I went as the Christmas Fairy. Oh look, there's me taking a photo of my dress before going to the party! It isn't a curtain, but I did partially sew it. Originally it was a 1960s handmade child's first holy communion dress, hence the bodice was made for a very flat chest. I needed to remodel it to be able to fit into it.</td></tr>
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After all that talk of blogging, I decided the least I could do was feature them all.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5Kl2bXSdwTI/VnhyUIBpFOI/AAAAAAAAI60/U0Jp8V_BXbU/s1600/xmas7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="262" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5Kl2bXSdwTI/VnhyUIBpFOI/AAAAAAAAI60/U0Jp8V_BXbU/s640/xmas7.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;">Here it is before I tinkered with the bodice. It reminds me of Vivien Leigh's dress in Waterloo Bridge and Moira Shearer's frock in The Red Shoes. I'd love to have hair like either of those two.</td></tr>
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I've also been out and about catching up with people. Like my lovely friend Angela. I've known her even longer. The first time I ever saw her was when she came and did a talk on my teacher training course. She was warm, funny, intelligent and insightful and I took to her immediately.<br />
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Not long after I qualified, I was invited to teach a group of visiting Professors from Minsk University. Angela was one of the other lecturers, and over the next few years teaching at the University together, we became great friends.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GZLlg2Ru-jc/VnhqGxJ5m6I/AAAAAAAAI6I/XU4WgcGroj8/s1600/xmas4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="410" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GZLlg2Ru-jc/VnhqGxJ5m6I/AAAAAAAAI6I/XU4WgcGroj8/s640/xmas4.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;">The Market Square in Retford, with market in full flow and Christmas lights up, all twinkly and lovely. We had a good rummage round the chazzas and various other shops then repaired to a very plush new restaurant for lunch. </td></tr>
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She lives up in the north of the county now. Since I always get lost when I drive anywhere unfamiliar, when I turned up half an hour late with a sorry tale of wrong turnings and poor road signage, she welcomed me in with lots of laughter and great hospitality. She has cream carpets, so like the good girl I am, I took my shoes off. She immediately offered a huge cow slipper for my feet, sat me down on the lazy boy sofa, and produced coffee and cake. Now that's what you call a welcome!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MqYmzs_fJe8/Vnh2gqkppPI/AAAAAAAAI7A/-ll1bxad5tc/s1600/xmas8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MqYmzs_fJe8/Vnh2gqkppPI/AAAAAAAAI7A/-ll1bxad5tc/s640/xmas8.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;">Spencer's with lovely chandeliers and plush velour upholstery where my favourite Christmas Elf very kindly treated me to lunch.</td></tr>
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At my current rate of blogging, we'll be well into 2016 before I trouble you again, so eat, drink and be merry, and I'll see you on the other side.frecklefacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15881334320685123475noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2983105132080837037.post-76734492510085193042015-12-06T06:16:00.000-08:002016-12-17T14:31:24.844-08:00I've got the key to the door, never been 49 before!<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
Last week I turned 49. I don't normally bother much on my birthday, mostly what I want to do is to do nothing, guilt free, but with my 50th next year, for which I really want to go on a special holiday, I thought it would be good to get my backside out of the house and do a dress rehearsal.</div>
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I settled on a night away in a hotel with dinner. You can find some good deals, especially at this time of year when it always rains and anyone sensible stays at home, wearing jumpers and slippers.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mn2OcacCha0/VluMIYsTKfI/AAAAAAAAI4E/NLC-jpDtEc4/s1600/bday2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="432" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mn2OcacCha0/VluMIYsTKfI/AAAAAAAAI4E/NLC-jpDtEc4/s640/bday2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;">We were very lucky to get an upgrade to a superior suite. What a bathroom. Massive tub, mirror and twin basins (no good for me, I want to brush my teeth in private, thanks). The combination of a magnifying mirror and good lighting meant I was able to see my eyebrows properly. What a shock. Good job I took my tweazers. Emergency deforestation required.</td></tr>
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Here's where we went, <a href="http://www.classiclodges.co.uk/our-hotels/charingworth-manor/">Charingworth Manor</a>, a 14th century manor house in the Cotswolds. Our package included afternoon cream tea on arrival, a two course dinner, an overnight stay and breakfast. I feel podged just thinking about it.</div>
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After our cream tea, Q settled in with his Jo Nesbo while I went for a swim and sauna.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--TigpYYsWgg/VluPbrINlcI/AAAAAAAAI4k/jNGEmfD8t7Y/s1600/bday4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--TigpYYsWgg/VluPbrINlcI/AAAAAAAAI4k/jNGEmfD8t7Y/s640/bday4.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">A few weeks ago my elder sister turned 50 and amongst the celebrations, it struck me that on that day 50 years earlier, my tiny mum had become a mother for the first time, changing her life forever. It had never occurred to me before that any birthday is as momentous for the mother as it is for the birthday celebrant. So I wore this dress in celebration of my Scottish mother, who used to dress us in kilts and taught us how to dance the Gay Gordons.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Whilst our suite, in an outbuilding, was all light and modern, the main house was cozy and atmospheric, with flagstone floors, mullion windows and open fires. This was the drawing room, above. Such a nice room to relax in. I'm a sucker for an open fire.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Rh9AEVmJyW0/VluOPpBzqTI/AAAAAAAAI4Y/_9Vaz1VrYzk/s1600/bday1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="324" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Rh9AEVmJyW0/VluOPpBzqTI/AAAAAAAAI4Y/_9Vaz1VrYzk/s640/bday1.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;">Dinner for two. I had melon three ways and mushroom risotto. Q had goat's cheese mousse and salmon with a chocolate surprise for dessert.<br />
The tartan Hogmanay dress is by Cornell, and there's a very handy label saying 1976. No Miss Marple detective work required.</td></tr>
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The next day we went to Stratford upon Avon, Shakespeare HQ, for a mooch round. There are some amazing 15th and 16th century buildings. I love the half-timbered winky-wonky look of them.<br />
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Since we arrived too late to do the Shakespeare tour, we decided to just meander, going for lunch, visiting some charity shops and some high street shops. I don't often visit 'normal' shops so I am out of touch with retail prices. Fair to say I was shocked at how expensive everything is. I bought a Jaeger cashmere jumper for £6.29, new it would cost <a href="http://www.jaeger.co.uk/women-cashmere/cashmere-shop">£175</a>. Within the last couple of months I've bought Q a couple of tweed jackets, both for under a tenner. New they would be the best part of £200 each. Crazy. That's nearly £600 for three items of clothing.<br />
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I came away wondering, how do people who don't shop in charity shops actually afford anything?<br />
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I was so touched by all the well-wishers this year, so many lovely messages on social media, so many cards in real life and some lovely presents. Here below is what was in the exciting looking parcels given to me by <a href="http://sopastcaring.blogspot.co.uk/">Curtise</a> and <a href="http://vintagevixon.blogspot.co.uk/">Vix.</a></div>
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From Vix, an amazing 1970s psychedelic blouse by Jantzen, made in Canada, 1950s Ber-nia made in Spain apron with tags still attached, a folksy embroidery panel with prancing horses to add to a craft project, vintage red and blue tights (blue ones already worn) hair soap, Spanish style hair decoration, which also came with castanets (but Q hijacked them as soon as they were out of the paper). </div>
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From Curtise, a beautiful folk embroidered skirt by Toast, a vintage tapestry lipstick holder with mirror (already used on a daily basis) and a novelty sign for the milkman.</div>
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Blimey! </div>
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Thanks so much for your kindness and generosity. x</div>
frecklefacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15881334320685123475noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2983105132080837037.post-7971458243051136082015-11-15T13:25:00.000-08:002016-12-17T14:47:19.053-08:00A cheeky day outWent out, didn't we?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OvSzl6Iwa6c/Vkjh13O1tSI/AAAAAAAAI2o/TCPFhWcXLIQ/s1600/DSC00333.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OvSzl6Iwa6c/Vkjh13O1tSI/AAAAAAAAI2o/TCPFhWcXLIQ/s640/DSC00333.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #45818e; font-size: x-small;">Photo 'borrowed' from <a href="http://vintagevixon.blogspot.co.uk/">Vix,</a> oops, sorry, thank you.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #45818e; font-size: x-small;">I bought that sheepskin coat on our day out. I thought it might be a bit football manager circa 1976, so I asked Q what he thought. He had two words for me. <a href="http://dailyfeed.co.uk/2015/08/heres-what-the-cast-of-only-fools-horses-look-like-now/#.VkjpxRyuHrw">Del Boy</a> :D</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Went for a day out to get away from all the boring stuff and have a laugh. It was just what the doctor would have ordered if we'd explained the symptoms:</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Too many days spent at work</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Too many things getting on our nerves</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Not enough boozy lunches</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DNj16wNwHu4/VkjiGBUtTGI/AAAAAAAAI2w/6TPV9l_skoc/s1600/burton1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DNj16wNwHu4/VkjiGBUtTGI/AAAAAAAAI2w/6TPV9l_skoc/s640/burton1.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #45818e;">If you've ever wondered how Vix manages to find quite so much vintage, quite so easily, we now know the secret. She has magical powers. She doesn't so much <i>look</i> for vintage as <i>divine</i> for it. It's like Moses with the Red Sea, she just walks into a shop and the hangers on the rails part to reveal treasures. We trot along behind, open-mouthed.</span></td></tr>
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If you suffer from these ailments, what you need is a girly day out.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dXMH8drVuhY/VkjnQT6FNGI/AAAAAAAAI3M/AARYqP__XmI/s1600/b5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dXMH8drVuhY/VkjnQT6FNGI/AAAAAAAAI3M/AARYqP__XmI/s640/b5.JPG" width="478" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #45818e;">Sparkling beauty!</span></td></tr>
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Go and chat through your dilemmas, try on something sparkly and fabulous, egg each other on and eat chips for lunch. Then, five minutes after leaving the pub, turn around and go back in again for more wine, just to seal the deal.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Hzos4JIZ4H0/VkjiP5f6x5I/AAAAAAAAI24/23J2oqx73qk/s1600/b2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Hzos4JIZ4H0/VkjiP5f6x5I/AAAAAAAAI24/23J2oqx73qk/s640/b2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #45818e;">The perfect Jean Varon wedding dress, empire line, maribou trimmed and with a train fit for a Queen</span></td></tr>
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I promise, you will feel much better.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cojvmpFcYVE/VkjnvxwTsLI/AAAAAAAAI3Y/owif54v_6Rs/s1600/b3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="304" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cojvmpFcYVE/VkjnvxwTsLI/AAAAAAAAI3Y/owif54v_6Rs/s640/b3.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #45818e;">Two exciting looking parcels for later in the month and look! A sequined boob tube disco dress from <a href="http://sopastcaring.blogspot.co.uk/">Curtise</a>. Are you all crazily jealous?</span></td></tr>
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Trust me. I'm a blogger.frecklefacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15881334320685123475noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2983105132080837037.post-70314656683916416542015-11-01T12:34:00.000-08:002016-12-17T14:39:12.818-08:00Treasure TuesdayTwo exciting things happened this week.<br />
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I got home from work on Tuesday to find one of our friends in, chatting. She was delivering a parcel of treasure for me from another friend who she'd met up with a few days earlier.<br />
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What a lovely surprise! Thank you so much <a href="https://www.facebook.com/GinaStalleyCeramics">lovely Gina</a>! X<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6Syw5KfyG_0/VjZuc82V7VI/AAAAAAAAI2I/7k1qzh0SHWk/s1600/hall5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="562" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6Syw5KfyG_0/VjZuc82V7VI/AAAAAAAAI2I/7k1qzh0SHWk/s640/hall5.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wendy Wales is behaving herself in company, but Claudia Capri is giving a bit of side eye. She'll need to pack that in.</td></tr>
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My parcel of treasure included a 1960s shift dress and a 1940s style dress, a polka dot skirt, age unknown, two cardis, a couple of tops, a pair of dolls and some sparkly beaded necklaces!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PgKrkyGOEmE/VjZtaeHPSEI/AAAAAAAAI18/9ZRkfSQwHRY/s1600/hall4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="546" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PgKrkyGOEmE/VjZtaeHPSEI/AAAAAAAAI18/9ZRkfSQwHRY/s640/hall4.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I've already worn the shift dress, but forgot to take a photo, and the cardigan hasn't been off my back</td></tr>
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The very next day I started wearing my goodies; first up the skirt. It's an acetate fabric, handmade. I feel it could be anywhere from the 40s to the 60s, but I just don't know.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-llZhU3gPrB8/VjZ0YVzeJeI/AAAAAAAAI2Y/TWXuDHP7Y4E/s1600/hall6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="548" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-llZhU3gPrB8/VjZ0YVzeJeI/AAAAAAAAI2Y/TWXuDHP7Y4E/s640/hall6.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;">Things will look even nicer once they're ironed, but I don't do that type of thing willy nilly. It's purely on a needs basis in this house.</td></tr>
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She also delivered an invitation. 'We're going out on Saturday. There's a halloween party on in the pub. We're all dressing up. Are you coming?'<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-b3YPeued-RA/VjZqBOqdCaI/AAAAAAAAI1g/rEMg4F78cYU/s1600/hall1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="506" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-b3YPeued-RA/VjZqBOqdCaI/AAAAAAAAI1g/rEMg4F78cYU/s640/hall1.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Well, why not?</span></td></tr>
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The party turned out to be an Oasis tribute band with an amp so powerful I could imagine little green men singing along on Mars. Well, if they knew the words.<br />
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I stuck tissue in my ears, like the old fogey I am. Mainly we smiled at each other for a couple of hours, and did the odd bit of sign language, but when the band had a break, we did some intensive chatting and agreed to a rematch later on this month.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PlLJB25kJMc/VjZqTpgG0_I/AAAAAAAAI1w/IMp2FEaNrdM/s1600/hall3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="588" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PlLJB25kJMc/VjZqTpgG0_I/AAAAAAAAI1w/IMp2FEaNrdM/s640/hall3.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">A disco. We're going to a disco. That's going to need an outfit. Can't wait.</span></td></tr>
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frecklefacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15881334320685123475noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2983105132080837037.post-48669787757360132402015-10-19T14:37:00.000-07:002016-12-17T14:38:15.363-08:00Autumn updateA lot of the time I don't have much of interest to share, and therefore don't post, but I've noticed that I still enjoy it when other people post about everyday stuff, so, here's a little catch up, just to say hello.<br />
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I had to pop down south last week to deal with some family stuff. My big sis still lives down there so it was a lovely opportunity to go and see her.<br />
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My sis works in the cafe at a vintage bazaar. She's always been good with food and is very sociable, so it's the perfect job for her.<br />
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After she finished work, we went to visit a relative in hospital. I knew it would be the last time I would see him, so it was the chance to say goodbye. Now he's gone, the last of his generation. As kids we adored him, he always made us scream with laughter. Even to the end, he retained his sense of humour. When the nurse came in, he said with a massive cheeky grin, 'I've got a present for you' and produced his bed pan.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KRZgHewvJUE/ViVNOB3jdEI/AAAAAAAAIyw/qllo0r45MLY/s1600/mum.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="306" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KRZgHewvJUE/ViVNOB3jdEI/AAAAAAAAIyw/qllo0r45MLY/s640/mum.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;">My accommodation and me, the morning after the night before, feeling a little bit delicate. The cheeky tenants took the bathroom mirror with them when they left, so I had to use my ipad as a mirror. Necessity is the mother of invention.</td></tr>
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I was staying in my mum's empty house and was a bit worried about how it would be, whether memories of how she was when she was living there would make me sad and keep me awake. I needn't have worried. My sis took me out on a pub crawl. Turns out it wasn't maudlin thoughts which kept me awake, it was the wine headache! But we did have fun. A friend from when we were teens has a wine bar in town, so we ended up there, having a good old laugh with him.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--T39RRMIRVY/ViVM-tnw9dI/AAAAAAAAIyo/oH69fIStoTQ/s1600/tania.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="448" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--T39RRMIRVY/ViVM-tnw9dI/AAAAAAAAIyo/oH69fIStoTQ/s640/tania.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;">Get home, take shoes off, drink coffee, eat toast, go to bed. There's our newly tiled fireplace in the background there, still getting used to it.</td></tr>
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I spotted this dress in the vintage bazaar. It's a paisley maxi dress, probably late 60s or early 70s. I wore it out last Friday night when we caught up with friends for drinks.<br />
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Then on Saturday after work, my lovely friend Angela came over, bearing gifts! This mirror belonged to her uncle. When his house was cleared out, she discovered it and thought I might like it. She's not wrong!<br />
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Thanks Angel-face! xxfrecklefacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15881334320685123475noreply@blogger.com12