potted exhibition

This vessel was the most eye catching I thought. Certainly was a deal straighter than my Arches, which when viewed from a distance are shamefully still wonky.

Sadly the pink lady lost her pot when some idiot reversed into the plinth, I have put the shards back up so now she looks a Sad Weed.

This lady had already melded with her pot to ensure total security

My quieter containers sold almost immediately, should have charged more.

city women

When we went up to London this week we took a peek at the Live Statues on the plinth in Trafalgar Square.
I think this was a man, it seems to be an English male habit to dress as women at the first opportunity. Each volunteer [chosen from a lottery] gets an hour on the plinth to do as they like. The previous art work was a young woman, she spent most of her time on her mobile phone, which seemed fairly representative.

In the national Portrait gallery I was very taken with this collection of 300 Fabiolas. The artist, Francis Alys, has allegedly spent his time collecting portraits of her from flea markets and where ever. They covered the walls of two rooms, on the beautifully coloured walls of two rooms. Strange and weird and somehow fascinating.

Fabiola belonged to the patrician Roman family of the gens Fabia. She had been married to a man who led so vicious a life that to live with him was impossible. She obtained a divorce from him according to Roman law and, contrary to the ordinances of the Church, she entered upon a second union before the death of her first husband.

Upon the death of her second consort, she decided to enter upon a life of renunciation and labour for others. On the day before Easter, following the death of her second consort, she appeared before the gates of the Lateran basilica, dressed in penitential garb, and did public penance for her sin, which made a great impression upon the Christian population of Rome. The pope received her formally again into full communion with the Church.

Fabiola now renounced all that the world had to offer her, and devoted her immense wealth to the needs of the poor and the sick. She erected a fine hospital at Rome, and waited on the inmates herself, not even shunning those afflicted with repulsive wounds and sores. Besides this she gave large sums to the churches and religious communities at Rome and other places in Italy. All her interests were centered on the needs of the Church and the care of the poor and suffering.
Maybe she could be the patron saint also of second wives...........

vessels launched

These are my "vessels". We decided to make sure everyone did some 3D work for the exhibition this time, on the same theme of "Bridging the Gap" at the maltings. I used my rust dyed calico and odd bits of wire and fencing.
Actually i think they came out quite well, better than my poor bloody arches which died the creative death weeks before I finally finished them [sadly on the wall it is clear that they are less well made than the originals], definitely not straight. I know I can't make things straight, why do I keep trying.
Anyway the vessels look quite serene, were well received and displayed in a good position so all hope is not extinguished
. Disco dancers are up yet again. They have entered many a show and then bopped along home again.
Angry lady is also going cheap, her sisters [calmer] of the trilogy achieved new owners, but apparently no-one wants an angry woman, same old story

Finally finished Arches.

When we went to the maltings for lunch yesterday I took a real fancy to this ivy covered house. It is the RSPB centre, so I guess over growth is a lovely blanket for nesting birds.
I would love to let the ivy enclose this house but I worry about the brickwork and the gutters. If the ivy joins forces with the weeds and grasses flourishing in the gutters it could get very dark in here.

We met some old friends there - after nearly an hour sitting separated by the cafe. We probably walked by in the middle distance without clocking each other. Fortunately A came for a look around and saw us discussing how much longer we should wait.
Timing is everything.
I only see A&D about once a decade so it is always a shock to see how I must have aged. D had a nasty cancer recently - there is no other kind, but one can be polite about this one, as he seems to have shaken it off.
It is weird linking up with old friends again, especially those made in the formative years [20s?] we chatted on as if we saw each other regularly, not just in occasional emails. I suspect we are actually talking to those people we were in our 20s and a shudder of disjoint derails a conversation now and again when opinions and attitudes no longer fit. Or maybe the way we saw it each other wasn't too accurate to start with.
In the main we were all the woolly liberals we always were.
The marshes were gorgeous in the sunshine, ducks and ducklings shovelling their beaks through the glistening mud. Seagulls yelling and cursing at each other. Older persons perambulating around in an eternal slow waltz.
Lunch at the Snail and Sail or whatever it was called, was very nice, I tried to be good and had fish, but was led astray into a huge, ginormous meringue topped with cream and strawberries.
A was warning me against processed meat consumption, she reckoned ham sandwiches were D's downfall, but i think huge mounds of sugar and cream can't do too much good either. But it was delicious.
RP's birthday today - fortunately we couldn't find room for dessert.

good morning

There are hollyhocks outside the window, old and straggley but stubborn geraniums on the window sill, and cape violets on the table. With the sun pouring in, it is a cheering sight first thing in the morning.
It is also my daughter's birthday.

essex girls

Today we went over to Essex to put my Rosie Ladies in an exhibition there. I did wonder what kind of reception they would get, but the organiser seemed quite cheery about them, so I hope they will enjoy their stay.
Spent several hours in the afternoon fighting bureaucracy trying to find out how to get grandson a British passport to add to his American one, finally it seems the wheels may have started turning, but slowly, very slowly.

words not pics

It is pleasing to finally get some comments, I was struggling so much with the dreaded dongle when we were away, everything was so s-lo-w, but no-one was taking any notice anyway, a lonely voice on the moors crying Cathy..............
I don't really have the oomph to summon up more words now we are home about the holiday, so it was apposite that the videos downloaded easily and said it all much better than i could.
Not my technical expertise I confess, just RP's little tiny digital camera, push the video button and it all happens.
Ma is rarely excited by what i shove under her nose to admire, but when I sent her the videos she was entranced, and wants the Strid on a cassette loop so she can listen to it while going to sleep.
I could have done with it last night as yet again i couldn't sleep till about 4am. I don't know if it is a side effect of the statins, or just my pattern migraine trying to shove thru but it is intensely irritating. I used to find the radio sent me to sleep, but no more. So i tried the new Peter James book "Dead Tomorrow that M exchanged with me yesterday. In the end I had to get up and remove it from the bedroom, it is So Miserable, I didn't want to be infected any more. It was like he had chosen his Issues and then written the most negative, most distressing version he could, [organ transplants], it's a murder story, you can work out the plot as it was cliched from beginning to end,- which I didn't bother to reach.
I don't think he likes women either, do you ever get that feeling about an author? I also started Fay Weldon's Decameron [modern interpretation] so far I don't think she likes women much these days either.

Puffa train

The Strid

winning cups

Maybe this Spring should be remembered as Buttercup Spring, as they are so fine and so golden but most of all so prolific.
I have just taken Hattie the dog for her evening walk, and as we are a few hundred miles further North, the buttercups are still shining in great carpets across the fields.
We motored up into the Yorkshire Dales today, a fairly peaceful drive as most people are back at work. In an unexpected bolt of spontaneity [plans tend to get sticked to when RP is behind the wheel] we stopped off at the Strid. He remembered the name from a boy scout trip when he was about 11, so we turned round and explored.
It was the River Wharf where it crashes thru the limestone rocks, creating "white water" amongst the gorgeous golden brown tumbling peaty waters.
RP remembers it as much deeper and wilder, either he was more impressionable, or it was a different time of year, but it was still beautiful. Notices claimed it was 30' deep as it crashed through narrow gaps that one would think would be fun to jump. However the notices were in blood red and warned the Strid had taken lives before now, so we desisted.
We stopped for lunch at a pub that had a Crock barn [impressive beams] and a basket of little terry towelling flannels instead of paper towels, so it was very posh. However Yorkshire folk, well the ones on public show anyway, don't do posh, so it was friendly and welcoming.
As opposed to the last lunch where they wouldn't let Hatters in and had Victorian naked ladies in the loo. Creepy somehow.
The Crock barn had photos of female role models, and altho they included one shot of the naked calendar ladies, who live near by apparently, it somehow had a much more celebratory feel.
We drove back on the back roads, presumably mostly used by thin rabbits, a bit scary when meeting Landrovers head on.
I am making my rusty dyed calico vessels [with nails] and despairing of ever completing the Arches, and listening to success in the cricket and the tennis, so buttercups all round.

many pies - no pics

It is mind bendingly frustrating trying to up or is it download pics of the moors via this dongle thing. it just refuses to pick up enough revs whether I am within the metre thick walls of this cottage. or sitting in the sunshine outside in the little back yard. Fresh air means nothing to radio? waves it seems.
So you will have to take my word for it that it is sunny and gorgeous and the moors are glowing so brightly the grass is almost fluorescent.
Couple of nights ago Sheffield almost sunk to meet Atlantis in the down pour [that is definitely a down load] but we seem to be in some kind of "water shed" which i can remember Mr Davies my geography teacher rattling on about. being welsh he knew about rain, I think it rains first on Wales then takes deep breath, skids over what ever is in between and dumps the next lot on.......Sheffield.
We have all three walked, climbed and clambered to the top of the fells, and yesterday we drove over to lancashire, crossing Keighly Moor on a lovely twisty road defended from the sheep and cattle by rickety old dry stone walls. i did ask for pate for lunch, but the pub had none so I opted for black pudding fritters. Oh my lord, thank goodness for statins. I hope. they were delicious. Yorkshire food does come on the hearty side, very comforting after scrabbling down to refuel with clicking knee and aching back.
Not to exaggerate tho as I have also caught young Andy Murray winning thru during my afternoon recuperation on the big green couch.
I have just finished Wolf Hall by by Hilary Mantel, 650 pages of sheer pleasure about Thomas Cromwell. Started the Decameron by Fay Weldon, not as much bottom I suspect.
Stitching is fitting in the corners, and not happily as I am stuck and have to have them ready to show in3 weeks.
I have given up on Big Brother, a sad loss but I can't summon up any interest in the young things this year.

Stratford

Here is the stadium, hope for the future. I feel like I am building it myself this dongle thing is so slow.

o

Went up to the right Royal Academy to see the Summer Show last week. These ladles are the courtyard contribution, not even very good for sliding or climbing. Inside lots of pedestrian pompous pics by RAs [entitled to a hanging] and then a pile of people's art [grudgingly displayed by the same RAs] piled up the walls of the two smallest rooms. Piles of people too, hot, sweaty and triumphant even if their offering is 15' up the wall, Pims abounds.
It was quite stimulating in some ways, so many versions of the artist's visions, made me feel - well why not just do it, just make all the dreams, see what happens...............no-one else can do it for you. What is the point of not trying. Nothing will be perfect, who dares wins, all that kind of stuff.
Went looking for Tracey Emin's new show but because we are too English to risk asking directions, we got lost and tired and irritable and just made the train home.
From the train you can see the Olympic Stadium, rising from the rubble of Stratford.
Doesn't look very big, but i guess it is when up close.

Goodness knows how big the Olympics will be, vision seems in small supply at the mo.

Haworth

It seems this fandangle dongle thingy will let me write words but draws the line at pictures, or doesn't draw the line................
I am sitting a cough and a spit from where young Charlotte wrote her words and she didn't complain. The cottage here has the obligatory three pictures of her, all neatly framed, available from the Bronte museum up the hill.
The cottage was built in the 1850s - thick walls and surprisingly large rooms so I guess she was scribbling away at about the same time when one of the mill workers moved his family and range in to here.
Being as it has a double, stone framed window at the front, I would think he was a supervisor or some such. I don't know if Jane Eyre was available in the village, I suppose there would have been a Board School but maybe young governesses falling in love with their employers would not have been deemed appropriate for young minds. One or some of the sisters may have helped out at the school, but adolescent females would already be working in the mill, having babies, finding out about real life in some ways that perhaps Charlotte could not.
Walking Hattie the dog up past the church onto the moor is one kind of sensation, the churchyard is dark and forbidding, crammed with tall gravestones that look like a funeral is permanently attended by stony mourners, blackened with age and disapproval.
Being here in the cottage is different. It has been gutted and refurbished in a very New Labour manner. All stripped and mahogany stained wood floors and fake beams, the kitchen walls artexed but painted dark red. A great big dark green leather couch and a fake fireplace under the granite lintel. Very comfortable tho!

home and away

Meetings are strange events. Even the most united families can sometimes find it difficult to sit down round a table and agree ..............on where to go on holiday, what to have for dinner, how much pocket money should be received................... people who grew up together, know each others likes and dislikes, can fall into argument when each individual strives to achieve their aim and more importantly, persuade others to agree.
So it is not surprising when a meeting of twenty plus mature, independent minded women, gathering together once a month with the aim of exhibiting their individual genius can fall into disruption and disarray.
Maybe it is the size of a group that is influential. I sat next to L at the textile group this week, [24 of us] wranglers were in short supply to hog tie the egos clashing on the floor, in the midst of our democratic circle.
Cliques have inevitably formed, and agendas clash. It is not surprising that British politics is in such a mess, if this is an example of co-operation to the greater good. I must admit if women claim they would make a better job of it than the men, this microcosm of agreeing a way forward does not bode well.
Obviously I don't keep my mouth shut either.
L sighed and said when half a dozen of this large group met away from this arena they were so cheering and supportive that she always returned home feeling more positive.
I had to agree. I also am part of a small group, six of us meet fortnightly. Often I wake and grumble, wondering do I want to trundle over and exchange pleasantries with my compatriot stitchers, nothing we say, or do, will change the world, much less each others understandings.
but invariably i drive home again smiling and comforted.
We are off to Yorkshire tomorrow to walk Hattie the dog on the moors [maybe one last time]. The British Summer collapsed two days ago so I am packing wellies and jumpers and a pile of books and stitching. Just like home really.

roots

Being very pleased to get camera back finally, complete with new replaced lens I took this instant view of the road ahead; this is where I have lived [well nearby] for the last couple of decades.

Strange where we end up, settle down, even when we don't intend to.

I think in the recent past women tended to move following their partners employment. That can be difficult, the man has his job to provide structure and links, quite often the women had to look around and start all over again, difficult with small children.

There was an poll or something that said women are unhappier now than they used to be, in spite of the advances made in equality. Men were happier. Whether there was rigour in obtaining these answers, how the questions were posed, whether women are more likely to admit to being fed up these days - I don't know.

I do wonder if the moving about has something to do with it. The loss of the close contact of the extended family may at times be a release but probably leaves women with kids much less supported than I imagine they used to be, in say - the fifties. I know I didn't feel unequal or vulnerable until I became a mother of small children, relying only on my husband for all kinds of support.

My parents didn't move much until I had left home, both worked, but my grandmother, although not particularly maternal, was keen to take me and my cousin out to interesting places and provide a place to stay even when I was on holiday from college and my parents were far away.

My grandparents hadn't strayed far from East London and their forbears [as mothers delving in the family tree showed] moved around a lot amongst rented houses but all within the same area.

When my kids were small we made some dramatic [long distance] moves and each time I was set down on a new island. Now my off spring lives on a different continent which seems a bit strong.

When we moved to this area I was back at work and RP was commuting back to London. The kids were upended [again] but I thought the ambiance of a small rural market town would be safer than N London, who can tell what would have happened.

Most of my school friends have hardly moved at all, they are a small minded lot IMO so maybe that has it's drawbacks, Thinking of some of them that did move and travel they are still a small minded lot. I wonder if their offspring benefited from the security, I wonder if they moved away.

When one travels one it is presumed to broaden the mind, but one always takes oneself on the journey, maybe some minds are always closed.

Yesterday I decided to B off to London, or miss the Picasso exhibition at the National. This is the slow train I did not get on, partly because I had some unauthenticated theory that the fast train would overtake it.

Partly because it was a short train already full of grey haired women.

In spite of the undeniable fact that I was also making use of the senior citizen cheap day return I did not want to emphasise the fact.

I rarely make use of concessions at the flics etc. why should i when it only saves a paltry quid or whatever, but i live in trepidation that some day some uncouth youth will assume I am entitled and dish one out, unrequested. Some people are proud of their age, it is indeed an achievement of sorts, but I'm not yet ready to take up the mantle.

The National Gallery happily charged me full price, but punished my ?vanity by making 4 of us wait until the exact second of the timed ticket had begun. So "jobs worth" If I were younger i might have started a discussion as to whether the previous allocation was totally taken up, [which obviously being the penultimate week it wasn't - I could see the spaces! however I merely slouched like a teenager and then scowled at the attendant as we were eventually enabled to pass into the inner sanctum.

Actually my lower back is not good with shopping and exhibitions these days, maybe i should take crutches and go for the sympathy vote, but i fear it would not help as a woman in a wheel chair was also barred till the correct tick of the tock.

It would be good to have one of the chariots that the elderly whizz round town with, can't wait, but then again, probably can.

The exhibition was very exciting. His canvases were curated to show how P would work with paintings like Velasquez, Caravaggio, Matisse to develop his own versions of their work, as an homage and because he was so darn prolific i suppose. ideas just poured out of him.

I was so stimulated by some monumental canvases of Reclining Nudes that I have not seen before. they are largely monochrome, the size of a wall, and FILLED frame to frame with the figure . Amazing.

I was busting to buy some reproductions to take home, but I should have known that as usual the piece that delights one in an exhibition will totally ignored by the postcard/poster makers.

What i should have done was gone back in and do some sketching, but would the steely faced woman bend her uniform and let me back in. Doubtful.

Exit muttering.

This is the plinth in Trafalgar square where each day selected people will stand as an Anthony Gormley inspired " live statue", next month I think.

I suspect there will be protective plastic, and not just from the rain.

new and old

This is the first piece of work I did from the archived fabric. I just did a silk painting of some of the roses in the original sample and added some Gaiety Gals.It was meant as a try out, but time passed and I decided with a bit of stitching it would do, which it did, but it didn't win a prize, so serves me right.

Given that it failed I am a bit concerned about my development piece, there is always the possibility that the curator doesn't have a sense of humour, or thinks i have had a taste/skill bypass. The works that won were far more traditional embroidery and carefully done. We shall see.

Today i have been fiddling with the dreaded Arches of previous renown. I found a previous bit of blues dyed silk that will do for the sky but am still stumped for the landscape between the arches, I may even have to actually stitch something from scratch.

Sadly my enthusiasm has waned and I only have 4 weeks to produce. I have now added some dark blue silk rushes which I think add a something to the mix, maybe tomorrow will be more creative.

I used to work with A, she said that I had to learn that some days things would not work out. I had to recognise that and relax and see what tomorrow would bring. She is a very organised and productive woman so i try to take her advice, when I remember it.

I would like to do something with young Ida, but am being harassed by peeps i promised to immortalise in silks, last year they claim.......hmm.

plots and plans

I am watching the final two episodes of 24 as I peck, so there may be distractions, usually noisy ones. However I feel less dumb for watching such rubbish of my own free will if I am doing something else as I watch.
Usually I stitch as I watch but today the rosy ladies are resting in their Rosy Red bed, and I feel a night apart may do us good, specially them.
They are the development of the Archive piece of furnishing fabric that had blowsy pink roses, possibly not quite what the curator of the exhibition is expecting. She'd better get used to the idea or we may fall out.
Today I went up to the medieval barn where our exhibition was finishing, 3 in 3 back sadly, or not, as I am still fond of them.
My camera is lost in the maze of the menders, RP has been politely pointing out to the local shop for the last two weeks that they need to track it down and return it, with no result. So today I got on the phone to the main office in Leicestershire and gave them the benefit of my opinion. The gent was shocked at such carelessness by his compadres down South and promised to sort it. Thus no pics of the impressive barn and maybe less impressive arts and crafts within. I could have used RP's but I guess I am sulking.
I need my big pointy lens. It's not only men who need their penis substitutes maybe.
Oh dear lots of shooting, many extras hit the floor, main stars still on their feet., that's what is so reassuring I guess.
I suppose we are all the star in our own series, of many, many episodes. Many series, we can't imagine the story can do without us. As S. said recently the strangest and most unforgivable thing is that the props survive long after we have left the scene.
Wow big car crash, that prop won't survive. Good.
Paradoxically I spend a large part of each day making things that I will perhaps stay around, that's why I don't like ceramics, I keep breaking the buggers. Only fire or flood to avoid and moths.
Now they are finally using the split screen again to rack up the tension, don't know why they don't use it more often.
Life is definitely split screen, and as one gets older it is harder to keep them all checked out, which to switch off, or more likely, which go out of focus, or something nasty happens to the pixels......................but it is kind of nice to have more power as one gets older to write ones own script for a while.
Better stop before this analogy turns and bites me on the arse or appears in pseuds corner.

not with a whimper

One of the exhibitions this summer includes putting some of our work in sponsors windows.

The fabric shop put 2 of mine on show, and some bloke bought both. I have shown these at other exhibitions so I was glad to see them earn their keep at last, tho it always feels sad at the same time. Another part of my "legacy" legged it.

I have been on a bit of a selling streak lately so am encouraged. If other people are willing to invest their hard earned cash I should at least gird my loins and get on with it with less whining.

I am still not in the best of moods, having lost a grandson and daughter [for now]and [re]gained a ma who has just returned from a trip to Welsh gardens, demanding to know what time is Sunday dinner.

Even in Wales it has been sunny [very unusual], daughter reports it is cooking in Reno. Son in San Francisco is conspicuous by his absence of communication, so presumably is sulking.

I guess I am sulking too, Everything feels slightly annoying which doesn't make me the best company. I am a small unexploded bomb.

The narrative unfolding of our Honourable members of Parliament has provided some light relief, if undercut by a low level drone of despair. I am the most cynical of persons but even I have been surprised by the seemingly unstoppable disintegration of belief in institutions one considered at least sturdy, if not perfect - education, banks, police, parliament.

But somehow we still plod on, our personal lives basically unchanged, so far..............as long as the creek don't rise. Maybe it has always been like this, but we didn't know so much.....assumed it was other cultures that were corrupt and inefficient.

Auntie Cinders and Uncle Ron drove up from London to visit BB. They are both 90 and still enthusiastic.

Somehow that is reassuring.

So is this!!

Shoved some rudbekia and toad lily plants into the garden this afternoon, it is a beautiful day but I am suffering badly from deprivation of daughter and BB who flew home yesterday. [Just looked up the toad lily as it sounds a bit nasty, but it looks quite nice, spotty obviously.]

Mother raised the rudbekia from seeds and like me she can't bear to throw any away, and the lilies came from the village plant fair.

Ah ha now I can hear a starling/blackbird smashing the shell of some poor snail on the garden path prior to feeding it to it's chicks, that fits my mood too.

It was very hard to say goodbye. I had to open the windows in my room so I didn't smell the sweet baby aroma as I walked in, and take their picture off the screen saver, or I would have been in continuous tears.

All I have left are the photographs [that seems to remind me of a song, but I am too irritable to pin it down]. Daughter took loads of pics and RP put them on a memory stick thing as back-up, plus put them on my machine. It is touching looking thru what she has decided to commemorate, sometimes surprising. I guess she had an affinity with this mum.

tripping

This is a piece I am inflicting of the public tomorrow, It is old Adam n Eve fighting that snake.
I have to come up with an Original piece for the Cambridge exhibition [i.e. not shown before] and I am not confident of finishing something in time [September], so the Three Graces will have to grace that show, if they get accepted.
If not, they will be renamed the Three Witches and curses will ensue.
So step up this unlikely pair.


The BB is sleeping at the mo, [my strangled lullaby worked much to my surprise] and Daughter is out shopping in the rain. I have been putting a tenner in her account each month for some years and she is determined to show her appreciation by buying as much as possible from our cheapo shops. It is hot in Nevada soon and the cotton tops will come in useful. She reckons we are couple of years behind American fashion, I disagree as I cynically surmise that the clothes are all made by the same poor people, in the hopes of one day being able to afford such glorious but rather flimsy vestments themselves.






Yesterday we trained up to London to meet with a college friend of mine, who trained up from Wiltshire with her daughter and baby [2 months older]..














We met up for lunch on the South Bank and had walks in the sunshine by the river. I always feel so at home around there, but Daughter felt a little anxious to be aroaming in the Big City. I guess big cities always have this effect till you know them well. We became very fond of Reno when we were wandering around, tho I guess once again we were in the centre pottering by the refurbished river. I liked San Francisco when I lived there briefly, but I find it a bit unsettling now. When i lived in New york in the late 60s I used to mosey around quite happily, went to the flics on my own etc. Why do I seem to marry men who don't like going to the movies, maybe better keep that in mind if there is a third time.

We had thought to go for a ride on the London Eye, but it is £17 a trip now, and the others had already tried it, so daughter will wait to experience it with Mountain Man [son-in-law] maybe next winter, as he is expecting to get laid off for a few weeks then.
Adapt to circumstances that's the way to do it.

full set

Arrivals

So here they are -at Heathrow. Daughter staggered down the Arrivals yellowbrick road, covered in suitcases, back packs and bags and pushing Beautiful Babe in a battered stroller. No help at all from Glamorous Virgins as they paraded past in their sprauncey scarlet uniforms and high heels.

We arrived about 20 mins before she did, after an easy drive for the first 2 hours then slow, or worse no-mo traffic for the last 20mins, and heightened BP from us.

We were so excited and relieved on leaving airport we got instantly lost in the Big City and had to plug in the SatNav to find our way to the M25 and all parts E.

We visited great grandma yesterday who was fairly pleased to see us, but declined a visit to Mothercare because " there is nothing I there want !" i pointed out the idea was to buy things for her g'son, but she wasn't tempted.

We bought this cradle thingy from ToysrUs which is also up on the OutofTown complex, unbeknownst to me, who until now has not needed to know such things.

It is excellent with a little foot action to jiggle it when wanted, it also has an arch of toys [bit like the new Wembley Stadium, which we could see on our wide travels on the return journey from Heathrow]

It sings and jiggles, on batteries of course but that doesn't seem necessary with a besotted g'ma to hand [or foot]Daughter and BB sleeping now, RP upstairs computering and West Indies 81 for 2 on the gog. So far so good.

moving on

I have spent all day, so far, dredging across my work room to make it habitable for daughter and Beautiful Babe, who are due tomorrow. Now she has a bed and so does BB, there is a changing table and nappies...............nowhere to put clothes, oh dear.
I will no longer have a Room of My Own, but I do have a Room with a View as i can see from one side to the other without wincing [well depending on your level of cleanliness etc].
Fortunately BB is already bought up in the style to which I am accustomed, dogs and cats and general mulch.
We will have to leave early for Heathrow tomorrow to make sure we don't get stuck on the M25 or some such. There was a 25 miles queue first day of the holiday weekend.
We have our local exhibition up and running down at the Marina. Marcus the Farmer delivered the display boards on his tractor with lifting attachment, so he could raise them to the top of the balcony staircase and the Men could slide them off without having to puff up the steps with them. Magic, such skill, he did it in a twinkling, no false moves, amazing hidden skills people have.
I stewarded yesterday, which was OK as I could sit and stitch, hand out info sheets and make wisecracks with my elderly Lacemaker friend. She is extremely opinionated, and woe betide [?} anyone who tries to tell her what to do. But she has a great dry sense of humour that keeps me entertained.
There was a unknown woman seated nearby patchworking; unhappily she didn't sew one over her mouth, as she spent all her time, endlessly and loudly, telling people her medical stories, her opinion on "so called Progress" and started on how she thought she must have gone "abroad" when she went into town these days. She must have heard the snap of my neck muscles as I took aim, as she gave up that topic immediately.
Fortunately I sold 2 or 3 pieces it seems, after I left apparently, and some cards I had made to endeavour to pay for my annual membership so I will have even more room in my room. The pic is of "Disco" a non seller, only £20 too. I bought a wooden carved rattle for the BB and am still in profit,which is pleasing.

sunny days

We had a lovely walk among the bluebells, in the woods, beside the river. And we heard our first cuckoo, may be previous inattention, but it was a thrill none the less.

Every time I take a picture of Hatters it meanders through my mind that it might be the last, but I think I am just a morbid old biddy trying to control nastiness by pre-empting it.

Ah ha can't surprise me.................

I guess I should add in these troubled times that I worry about this not because of the "pig flu " pandemic seeing us all off before we can actually destroy civilisation as we know it by our own idiocy, but because young Hattie is twelve and a half and covered in so many lumps she resembles a bag of sprouts.

The bluebells are wonderful and will hopefully survive us all, but is a bluebell beautiful if no-one is there to make the judgement?

A few days ago we took our retired old bones down into Essex and had lunch by the River Blackwater.

In years gone by I used to holiday there with my parents and Lucky the First Dog. We stayed in the paternal grandma's holiday home made from an old railway carriage. It was unusual I guess even then, the rest of the farmer's field was lined with the dreaded caravans so derided by all car drivers. But this "home" never moved again so had high self esteem.

Step-granddad ............ nana had [unusually in the 1920s?] divorced my father's father as she took exception to being dragged around by her hair as a punishment for having an opinion.. She kept it short after that. Father was fostered out for several years till things settled down and thereby had an excuse/reason to act the goat ever after]

Anyway granddad was a grainer by trade, i.e. he could use paint and varnish to make cheap wood look like walnut and oak etc. so the carriage looked like a small palace previosly used by a pre-revolution Czar on his journeys to the hinterlands to wave to the grateful serfs

The Blackwater is a tidal river and the Thames barges used to carry cargo into Essex, as they used to here too. They are very fine ships/boats and still carry rich couples or poorer tourists around the coast and over to Europe.

A canal also links to the river, it was pleasing to see the lovingly maintained narrow boats; and that Mary Seacole had found such a peaceful berth.

We used to take narrow boat holidays when the kids were younger. Unfortunately as i can't do things in reverse[the tiller goes the other way to that which you wish to achieve] I had the job of winding the wheel that opens the gigantic lock gates.

After the kids [bored as only teenagers can be] had a fist fight on the tow path we waited till they had left home before attempting another canal. It is so wonderful [if you are not a teenager] waking up in the morning mist with a heron on the bank and bacon frying in the galley. However those gates are heavy so we haven't been recently.

Maybe the BB will appreciate it one day.

beginnings

The piggy flu seems to be flying around the globe. Bit worrying, haven't stock piled food and water for the plague siege, yet, however.

I am wondering if daughter and Beautiful Babe will risk the plane journey next week from California, and the one back, two weeks later.

Breathing recycled air for 10 hours x2 is not to be recommended at the best of times.

I went shopping in the baby section today, first time for 30 odd years. Some things have changed, no sign of terry towelling nappies, but lots of gizmos and "wipes" which didn't exist in the dark ages.

BB is now 5+ months it seems, I can't keep up, and is starting on single grain rice with expressed breast milk for supper. Oh Cor Blimey, it put my own boobs all of a twitter at the thought. I never used a breast pump either and somehow daughter's news made my nipples quiver. As long as I don't start dripping.

Bought some towels for BB which I guess I have to wash in Comfort or some such to keep them nice and soft. I prefer a nice rough towel job myself, but i believe I have a large Comfort somewhere at the back of the cupboard that came free with something.

BB, I am told, can't be doing with anything perfumed, but happily Sainsbury's is across all that and we could get unperfumed wipes [oh my lord].

Had to go to the SuperMarket as i don't think we have a baby shop in town, Mothercare curled up and left years ago. Unlike the huge warehouses of choice they have in the States. So where do I get the changing mat, baby's bath, does he still need a baby's bath, I dunno.

Fortunately I can borrow [I hope] a child's car seat from a friend's daughter, maybe she can lend the bath too. Again no car seats when mine were tiny, the nurse just handed them over, blanket wrapped, at the hospital steps and after that you were on your own.

The district nurse person visited for the first few days. Unfortunately I outraged the first one by not being able to conjure up the polite word for baby son's poop from my exhausted brain.

The second babe [daughter] was bought back to a caravan on the archaeological dig [bronze age pit dwellers] by taxi and tractor [it was in the midst of farmland]. The visiting nurse took one look at the camp site, heaving with hairy diggers, no running water or electricity and refused to return.

Worse thing was the diggers had overdug the garbage pit - so son [21months] was happily toddling to the edge and peering down into the 20' depths to see where the wasps were buzzing to.

Archaeologists are infamous for their nonchalant disregard of comfort [personal, not softener] so I just carried on. Being in a caravan with a hissing Tilley lamp at night, all sleeping in the same "room" was somehow very comforting. We moved on in a couple of months so that First Husband could do his degree at Durham University, but it was never as cosy and safe as in the middle of that field again. The kids have remained close, if fighting on occasion, so maybe it was a good beginning.