What'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.

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.

I've taken up patchwork again, slowly. I'm sure I'll decide eventually what to use it for.

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.

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.

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.
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.

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.

The much worn 1960s dress having a day out in Dordogne, last September

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.

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.

Thank you so much Lynn, it was the kindest thought. I love it. x

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?

I loved hearing about what's happening in your towns and villages, thank you.

Country roads take me home

I'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.

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.

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.
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.

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.

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

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.

Pronounced 'Tamill' by the locals, just down this lane is the mill which produced the sailcloth for The Victory

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.

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

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.

The old lock-up, where drunks would get put in for the night by the local constabulary after drinking too much cider

At one point the village was owned by the family of the ill-fated Lady Jane Grey, 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?

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.

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 aren't best pleased.

So, do tell, what's it like where you come from? What's great or interesting about it?

Now is the Wetherspoons of our discontent

Well, that's what Vix and I thought when Curtise 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.

Must have been someone with higher standards than us.

I love this picture of these two giggling away

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

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.

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.

When we saw this road sign, we knew we were in exactly the right place. Cheap: our motto and our byword.


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.'

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.

One foot in the grave? No, we've got plenty of days out left in us.

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.


Our favourite was Dolly Mix Vintage. 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.

I absolutely loved this little corner which was set up as an artist's studio with a poster of a Thai Prince above it

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.

In case you were in any doubt.






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.

We paid our respects, and all agreed we love the smell of a church. That mix of history, wood polish and incense.

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.

In a nod to my Irish roots, I wore green and a shamrock for St Patrick's day

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?

Square eyed and lazy

After 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.

If for any reason, this isn't possible, I've come up with a pretty good Plan B.


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 Tracy Emin installation piece, it has generally been very enjoyable. We had a bed picnic last week with a double episode of Trapped. Felt rather decadent.

Frida Kahlo's wonderfully colourful house in the film 'Frida'

So, what films have I watched?

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.

Image from the film 'Frida'

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.

Image from the film 'Frida'

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.

A vaguely Frida outfit worn last week. Cotton 1970s gypsy style skirt from the wonderfully generous Curtise.
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.

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.

Have you seen any good films lately? Please tell me I'm not the only square eyes out there?

Also, what's your favourite season and why?

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?