A country walk to blow the cobwebs away

I 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.

Well.

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.

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.

At first glance, it's pretty, with red brick cottages, several dovecotes and a church dating back to the 13th century.

These quasi-medieval carved heads on the church porch, are of an unnamed king and queen.

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.

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.

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.

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'!
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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.
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.

Lagos, Nigeria 1973. A moment in time, captured on film

I'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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 clubhouse, where there were surfboards, refreshments and sun loungers. 

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.

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.

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 :)

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.

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?

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.

pps: I'll be round to see what you've all been up to soon.

It's grim (weather) up north

I'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.

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. 

I like to paraphrase Holly Golightly, 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.

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 long scene from Atonement 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.

The grade II listed art deco clock tower at Seaton Carew, with ladies and gents' lavatories conveniently located at the base

So this year I suggested Hartlepool via Seaton Carew, based on a recommendation from my friend Gina.

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.

Toilet chic. If that hasn't been submitted for the Turner prize, someone's missed a trick

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.

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.

I know what you're thinking. Uncanny, huh?

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.

Have you heard the story which gives Hartlepudlians their nickname?

Other than that it's mainly been eating, drinking and watching films.

The Butler: oh my goodness, what an amazing film. Forest Whittaker and Oprah Winfrey put in mesmerising performances.
The Sapphires: really enjoyed the costumes and the singing and was rooting for those girls from the word go.
The Hundred Foot Journey: France, food, romance, comedy. A lovely way to spend an afternoon. At the end I got up and cooked pasta with panache.
Italian for Beginners: sweet, sweet Danish film, with happy endings.
I've still got the Grand Budapest Hotel to look forward to.

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?

'Tis the season to be sociable, fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la

The 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.

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.

They can run, but they can't hide.

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. :)

The boys, being cheeky.
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.

After all that talk of blogging, I decided the least I could do was feature them all.

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.

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.

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.

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. 

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!

Spencer's with lovely chandeliers and plush velour upholstery where my favourite Christmas Elf very kindly treated me to lunch.

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.

I've got the key to the door, never been 49 before!

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.

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.

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.

Here's where we went, Charingworth Manor, 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.

After our cream tea, Q settled in with his Jo Nesbo while I went for a swim and sauna.

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.

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.

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.
The tartan Hogmanay dress is by Cornell, and there's a very handy label saying 1976. No Miss Marple detective work required.

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.

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 £175. 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.

I came away wondering, how do people who don't shop in charity shops actually afford anything?

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 Curtise and Vix.

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). 

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.

Blimey! 

Thanks so much for your kindness and generosity. x

A cheeky day out

Went out, didn't we?

Photo 'borrowed' from Vix, oops, sorry, thank you.

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.  Del Boy  :D

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:

Too many days spent at work

Too many things getting on our nerves

Not enough boozy lunches

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 look for vintage as divine 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.

If you suffer from these ailments, what you need is a girly day out.

Sparkling beauty!

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.

The perfect Jean Varon wedding dress, empire line, maribou trimmed and with a train fit for a Queen

I promise, you will feel much better.

Two exciting looking parcels for later in the month and look! A sequined boob tube disco dress from Curtise. Are you all crazily jealous?

Trust me. I'm a blogger.

Treasure Tuesday

Two exciting things happened this week.

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.

What a lovely surprise! Thank you so much lovely Gina! X

Wendy Wales is behaving herself in company, but Claudia Capri is giving a bit of side eye. She'll need to pack that in.

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!

I've already worn the shift dress, but forgot to take a photo, and the cardigan hasn't been off my back

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.

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.

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?'

Well, why not?

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.

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.

A disco. We're going to a disco. That's going to need an outfit. Can't wait.