May the 4th be with you - a blogger's guide to Sheffield

I can think of no better way to see the country, than through a series of blogging days out. In 2013 I did Nottinghamshire, Derbyshire, West Midlands and Wales. Yesterday I added to my repertoire by joining the most lovely group of women for a day out in South Yorkshire. Sheffield to be precise. Famous for stainless steel, snooker and being the home of our Curtise!

Sheffield does municipal architecture rather well. Here we are at a vintage fair in the beautiful interior of the town hall at the top of the staircase. It was like being in Downton Abbey.

Tilly's North Wing. We awarded it best in show. There's Sandra modelling for us.

Porn stars, mojitos and chips. That's what bloggers have for luncheon. Just in case you were wondering. Krista was with us at the table and we all wore pink in her honour. Lipstick and jewellery in my case.

We weren't chatted up by any of the inmates at Wetherspoons. Most peculiar. But thankfully the natural order was restored when Vix was papped by this blogger. Phew, still got it!

Sandra, Sara, smiles and Sheffield stainless steel sculpture.

The muses

Who's that girl? That's Em looking like a film star

Our own tropical bird of paradise, Vix, in her new flamenco top.

Gisela with her cheeky monkey bag and smile.

The one that got away. Curtise should have been wearing this to date night last night. She and the girls looked marvellous in it.

Psychedelic prints and plenty of chatter. So much to say you can hardly fit it all into one day. We need another!

Only five of them. There were seven of us!

Told you the municipal architecture was good. They have done some fantastic regeneration in Sheffield. The area surrounding the building is particularly lovely, with open spaces, sculptures and the winter gardens.

Enjoying a drink in the spring sunshine before we all went off in different directions. There were presents and purchases, but that's for another day.

Which part of the country will we visit next? Watch this space!

You can take the girl out of the country, but you can't take the country out of the girl

I almost feel this post doesn't need words, the pictures seem to do most of the work for me. But I'll tell you what it's all about.Our friends from Finland were over for a flying visit, so we met up. The setting was Ashover in rural Derbyshire. A traditional Georgian country pub lunch, followed by a traditional country walk. It's a quintessential English village with a small shop, a Post office and a couple of pubs. The country girl in me would happily live there.

 

Back home, we luxuriated in the sunshine. It's such a lovely time of the year to be out in the garden. Every day you see developments, a shoot sticking up here, a flower unfurling its petals there.

Apple blossom. Rosemary and potato bread. Home grown leaves for a green salad.

This one is a Pasque flower. Such a fantastic colour combination, the purple and orange.

We're doing our utmost to cover that huge fence we put up this time last year. Clematis Montana. A joy in April.

Car boot treasures. These will go in pots on the patio. It's still a bit too early because of the danger of frost, but I am itching to get them out there.

I like my garden to be full to overflowing. It's my way of bringing the countryside to me.

Which are you, a country bumpkin or a city slicker?

Girls just wanna have fun!

The weeks are flying by, the clocks have gone back and here we are in April. The months of this year have been a bit of a blur, and so was this weekend, as reflected in these photos.

On Friday night I went out to my friend's house for dinner. She had rediscovered her pile of vinyl and invited us to play DJ. We had a merry time and before you could say granny jamming we were up out of our seats busting our finest moves.

1960's Hawaiian dress with train by Alice Polynesia Fashions. The girls examined it thoroughly, whilst repeating like a mantra, 'sewing bee, sewing bee'. Not on this occasion.

My dance partner was the exotically named Monsieur Sauvignon Blanc. Very sophisticated in person, but left me with a terrible virus the next day. Serves me right for messing with glamorous foreigners, eh?

In the morning we had to get up at the crack of dawn to sort out our finances. After such a virtuous enterprise, a girl deserves brunch, so off we pootled to this rather amazing little place, Kiosk just a mile up the road.

It's a shipping container, 8ft x 20ft which has been transformed into a little cafe. They serve food through the day and on certain nights. I heard someone ask their friend what kind of fare it was, and she replied, 'think Ottolenghi'. That sounds about right. I had the most delicious portobello mushroom marinated in garlic lemon and cinammon, singed with herbs and spices served on toast with a middle eastern egg (cooked with turmeric and ras el hanout in case you were wondering). It was heavenly.

I took home a Portuguese tart for later. ;) Because I never learn.

Anyway, all this talk of food and glamorous foreigners has reminded me. Have you seen this blog? Swoon. Which part to covet most, the food, the lifestyle or the amazing beauty of the lady herself? You tell me.

Let them eat fresh vegetables!

I know what you're thinking. Anyone with rainbow fingernails must lead a VERY glamorous life.

And you'd be right. Mais oui. I wouldn't lie to you, would I?

A pair of Pinnochios lurking in the undergrowth. There's a clue there.

So, instead of thinking that these little jobs I do are menial, I prefer to daydream, a la Marie Antoinette. She frolicked at Le Petit Hameau, I plant seeds in the greenhouse.

This is the top of the garden, the working part where we have the shed, the compost heap, the greenhouse and the vegetable beds.

Of course, I don't want her fate. I read her biography years ago and it seems she was dealt rather a sorry hand. From being sent by an ambitious mother to a foreign court with no friends, to marrying a husband who wasn't interested in her for a long time, to being the victim of fraud and eventually a hate figure for an entire nation before finally losing her head. Forget the fancy frocks, that's no dream existence.

Qu'ils mangent de la brioche! Let them eat cake! Although widely attributed to her, she didn't actually say it.

Purple sprouting broccoli, our first crop. It melts in the mouth

Looks like we're going to be eating sweetcorn and courgettes

No fancy frocks for me today, it's a pair of vintage overalls and a wool cardi, 50p each at the jumble on Saturday. I'm no Madame Deficit!

What is life, if full of care, we have no time to stand and stare?

The first quarter of the year has had a new, slower pace, with a more domestic feel to it. I really like it, just being at home, doing the small things.

I made another dress. A 70s sheet, and a modified 70s pattern (McCalls 4535), yet somehow I've ended up with a 50s style dress. I felt a dirndl style skirt would suit the fabric better. Plus it hides my tummy. I have no core muscles, and am allergic to any exercises which would give me some, so after a nice meal I have a tummy like a teddy bear.

These two patterns represent 66% of my success at the charity shops this year.  I've been doing the stats for the annual report at work. Everything is percentages at the moment.

The bedroom is coming together, but still no doors for the wardrobe. I don't mind because I actually love to see all my colourful clothes on display.  

You see that neon pink mirror? I pimped that op! Op to the max. I got it at a flea market when I very first came to Nottingham in 1989. It was gilt with plasterwork, albeit somewhat damaged. 25 years in the same outfit? It was well overdue a facelift.

I spray painted it pink, added some pompom braid from Walsall market and then, for good measure a couple of plastic roses.

Good taste and subtlety? Sorry, I don't understand. Please afford me an interpreter, my good man.

I seem to have been inundated with book loans recently. I need to take to my bed with some salty snacks and a glass of wine and get reading. I have almost the entire back catalogue of Montalbano to get through!
That bedside table is a little dolly washer I bought at the same flea market and the covering is a beautifully hand stiched embroidery which I got for £1 at Newark Antique's Fair donkey's years ago.

We've been going to the park lots, watching the earth come awake. We've seen the waves of snowdrops, crocus, daffodils, and, slowly unfurling now, hyacinths.

For us, there's going to be dahlias this year. Big, blowsy, look-at-me ones.

Tonight it's homemade carrot and coriander soup with cheddar cheese and jalapeno bread. And plenty of wine. Tomorrow I have to be up at the crack of dawn (OK, 8am) to go and run a mile for Sports Relief. Wish me luck!

In case you were wondering, this little Romanian jug constitutes the remaining 33% of my success at chazzas in the first quarter of 2014. Bet you'd love to read the reports I do for work, wouldn't you?

Psychedelic patchwork and other nesting nonsense

I've checked in the diary and it is as I suspected, I haven't been away for the weekend at all this year yet. Yes, I've been out and about, and I've had visitors to stay, but the luxury of being in my own home, and not having to travel in the utterly dismal weather has been fantastic. I did seven years of travelling up and down the motorways very, very regularly and I now feel almost phobic about driving long distances.

So, what have I spent all this home time doing? Well, we've made progress on that bedroom! It's only been a year. It's not entirely finished, but we have varnished floors, freshly painted gloss work, undercoated wardrobes, and new curtains. Ta dah!

1940s barkcloth showing Spanish scenes, Senors and Senoritas! I had to have it. I lined the curtains with some recycled bright pink heavy duty cotton, which cuts out all the light. The only problem is, I don't seem to want to get up in the mornings.

I've also turned my hand to patchwork for the first time in over 30 years. I did it old school, you know, squares of paper, tacked in then sewn by hand. You probably think I'm mad, but I did it watching the box and found it rather addictive.

There's a couple of jumpsuits in there, one entirely handmade, the other altered, a dress which was handmade and one which I never finished. I haven't decided what to do with it yet.

Talking of patchwork, here's the next thing on the sewing pile. A pair of the most fantastic 1970s psychedelic trousers which need a little bit of reining in. There's too much fabric in the legs, which I keep tripping over in a most indelicate fashion. If I keep them like that, my obituary could read 'Death by voluminous loons' and there's just no call for that kind of trouser tragedy, is there?

I had a rather lovely week off work during which I finally started putting some pictures up on the walls. This little black and white photo with the boy and the donkey has found its resting place above our bed.

Pocahontas is in the spare bedroom. That frame needs painting, but the picture is just so romantic, with the moon reflecting on the water. I wanted hair like that when I was a kid. Whenever my mum cut our hair, I would try to stick it back on with sellotape. It never ended well.

They say we all turn into our mothers in the end. Well, this weekend I hacked my own hair off. The cycle is complete.