Apologies for the absence
I didn’t mean to be away for so long but sometimes life has a sneaky way of happening away from computers. Last weekend was all in Wales, where Isaac grew up, up as far north and west as you can go, on the isle of Anglesey. It has a special kind of beauty all of its own:
There was some of this..
And some of this…
Plus a dose of this…
And then we capped it all off with this:
Yes, we brought a new kitten home with us. We’re such suckers for cute face, and a willingness to chase things and then get belly rubs. Miss Charlie was not best pleased at first, but she’s coming round, mostly by the method of staying up late at night to box his ears and growl at him when he gets too excited.
Consequently we haven’t been sleeping well this week and the days have been full of intensive kitten management activities so crafting has been off the menu. I’m hopeful about tomorrow – things are feeling a little more normal. Whatever that is.
A Weekend of Three Halves
The weekend started with this, a beautiful handmade scarf, given to me by my friend the poet. It is so delicately done that it squishes up into the tiniest possible ball, and then it expands to something like seven feet in length. I can wind it and wind it round my neck, but it never feels constricting because it’s so light (which is good because I was squeezed into too many polo-necks as a child and now I can’t bear having things on my neck). But my favourite part is that the ends flare out so that when it’s all done up I feel a bit like a fop wearing a dandyish cravat.
Of course I want to learn how to crochet, but perhaps this is one of those times where I should just admire the skill and not try to gobble it up for myself.
Yesterday was one of those fantastic London Sundays. We hadn’t planned anything at all – in fact I was thinking of sewing – but we decided to head out to Greenwich, to noodle around the markets, before meeting up with friends to see Charlie Wilson’s War at the Picturehouse. This cinema has amazing seats – roomy, with lots of leg room, and, best of all, they recline. I wasn’t entirely sure about the film – the end message is very confused – but Philip Seymour Hoffman was excellent, so that was worth the entrance fee.
Afterwards we popped next door to The Rivington Grill for supper. I personally find their tagline of ‘domestic cooking for those who don’t make or get it at home’ a little bit insulting, since I can cook very nicely thank you very much – but screw it: the food was really good. Really good. And it became even more palatable with my friends’ taste london card (£20 cheaper from here), which halved our food bill. (Might have to get me one of those…)
In between I read lots of a book, which I am absolutely loving, despite the fact that it took me a hundred pages to get into it. Luckily there are over 800 in total… It’s called Darkmans by Nicola Barker, and it was on the Booker shortlist last year. I was compelled to buy it when I was in New York and I’m so glad I did – not least because I love US editions. It’s not an easy book, it’s not a conventional narrative, there are at least eight main characters who’ve all had their spot in the limelight, it’s confusing and it’s set in Ashford. But it’s very funny indeed – so funny that I have laughed out loud on buses, trains and in the foyer of the Festival Hall, laughing so much people were looking at me. It’s one of those polarising books, I suspect, but I’m so glad I found it – new favourite writer!
(Amazon.co.uk / Amazon.com)
I feel so ready for the week.
Elephant's Breath
No more progress on the bag today as it’s been all post holiday paperwork, filing, VAT and tax returns. Gosh – imagine what it will be like next year when I have to submit my own return as well?
I did take a small break to do something nice and cheering and ordered paint for our bedroom, which is called, yes, you’ve guessed it, Elephant’s Breath. I love Farrow & Ball colour names, and their descriptions are just lovely. Sadly I’ve lost my colour card but I could spend hours looking at it.
Have you picked a favourite colour name yet?
Things you don't want to hear guests say #1
‘Gosh, your toilet really is sinking into the floor, isn’t it?’
And do you know, it is. I decided this week to use my flurry of go-getty new year-ness to finally do something about our hideous bathroom. After all, it’s been three years since we moved in and we’ve hated the room for all of that time.
Perhaps the room has felt that hate and decided to get its own back, because it’s leaking. The bathscreen, which periodically falls off into the bath, sometimes onto bathing occupants (ie me) has decided that it no longer wants to keep the water inside the bath when we shower, so the floor is littered with old towels.
But we suspect worse. The floor moves. The floor tiles are all cracked and no longer level. But the previous muppet encased so much of the pipework and cistern in botched up wooden contraptions covered in tiles, that we can’t actually see what else might be leaking.
So I got a man in to quote for it. I’ve also been to the bathroom shop down the road and I’ve chosen a bath, tiles and fancy pants taps. We know what kind of light fitting we want and that we want a slate floor. We need to find a basin, and a towel heater, and a door, and a cupboard, and a toilet roll holder. There are probably other things too.
On the plus side this flurry of activity leaves me with nothing pressing to do this weekend except whatever I feel like doing although so far that’s been ‘sleeping late’. I’m sure I’ll think of something else.
Detritus
Inspired by Monkee Maker I figured it was okay to share with you the scale of my task for tomorrow. Of course I’m not clearing up today – that would be far too energetic, and as you can see I have already made a roast chicken dinner, not to mention snacks of smoked salmon, croissants for breakfast and many many pots of tea for my lovely guests. Quite enough for one day.
We did have a good night out, finally seeing in the new year rather bizarrely next to HMS Belfast and a group of drunk Belgians. One of our better ones, and largely responsible for the huuuge amount of lying about we’ve all done today.
Speaking of which, I only have a few hours more to lie about before I become a completely different, more efficient and energetic person tomorrow (obviously) so I’ll get on with that now and I’ll see you in the morning for that fresh start…
Happy New Year
So we’re into the last day of the year, and perhaps like me you’re doing a spot of therapeutic cleaning, washing off the dust of the old year ready to welcome the new.
I realised today that although I hate the strained joviality of being out on New Year’s Eve, I actually love the turn of the year. The prospect of another whole twelve months of doing, being, discovering, laughing, crying, making, trying, failing and trying again feels like a gift.
And it seems like the perfect opportunity to say thank you to all of you, for your comments and encouragements, for your lurkings and returnings. I hope we’ll get to know each other more next year.
Handmade is Always Best
Husbands are great. I can say that with confidence, despite only having had one for all of three weeks.
Before Christmas he insisted I leave the house for a few hours so that he could prepare my presents. That’s the sort of request I have no problem with. What I didn’t understand was that he was making my present, with his own hands. Not only that, but he was making something I’d shown him six months earlier and then forgotten about: a thread holder for the wall.
I love it.
It has forty nails in it, each one carefully placed, hammered in and bent to the right angle. It’s edged with some left over batten from when we repaired all of our sash windows. And best of all, he backed it with a terrible shirt he owns that I’ve always hated. Two gifts in one ;)
I was reading Manda’s post about giving handmade this morning and realised that Isaac had the same anxiety as he gave it to me. But there was really no need – I can feel every ounce of thought and love that went into it. I feel very lucky indeed.
The airport of time
Well hello to all of you. I hope you had a lovely Christmas, full of as much love and fun as mine. I didn’t mean to disappear from the blog for so long but sometimes life is just far too compelling.
And now it’s over.
Not my life. The Christmas part.
I’m not one of those people who is overtaken by glumness once the Boxing Day chocolates have been forcibly removed from my paws. Partly because there’s nowhere they can be taken that I won’t know where to find them. But really it’s because I adore this little stretch of time between Christmas and New Year.
It’s the airport of time.
I love airports. They’re full of people going somewhere; maybe going on holiday for the first time with a new lover, moving to a new life, or finally going to confront their mother about their awful childhood. The place is charged with anticipation. What will it be like when I get there? Will the hotel be nice? What if I hate the town I’m moving to? Will we fight? Will we make friends? Will I say what I mean to say?
And what is there to do in airports? You can shop certainly. You can eat too. But if you look around, you see a lot of people sitting. And maybe it’s been a long time since they were forced to simply stop, sit down and let their thoughts in. Perhaps they take the chance to sit and think, or to quietly talk to their loved ones in a way that can’t happen while they’re surrounded by the swirling detritus of normal life.
It’s a time of transit. Mental transit from here to there, which is a whole new year. There’s time for thinking over what you might or might not have accomplished in the last year, what surprised you, what pained you. Package it up, assess the lessons you learned, and figure out what you want to take with you into the next twelve months.
I don’t really do resolutions. Not in the traditional way of laying down a law for myself that I will surely break in three weeks, and then fall into a state of self-flagellation that will last until April. (Although it’s been three years since I drank coca cola, which is the only abstinence based resolution I’ve ever stuck to, but that’s because one day I realised I had no idea what was in it.)
But I have done some sitting and thinking, about how I hope my life will be, and what kind of things I want to make room for. I’m lucky enough to have a room of my own for the moment (though if we ever did manage to have any children I’d be turfed out of it :) and over the past year it’s been polarised: several months as a study, desk covered in books and papers while I dissertated, and then several months as a sewing nook, threads and pins everywhere.
But I do both writing and sewing. Or I want to do both. And sometimes I think the best way of signaling that a change is coming to your brain is to change your surroundings, so yesterday I dismantled my room and then put it back together again slightly differently. And cleaner. Much cleaner.
Quite literally, a new outlook.
I’m still in transit though, and still figuring things out, but feeling very content. How’s your transit going?
Really Excellent Swearing
Would you believe I’m ill again? I know – it’s so unfair. I spent yesterday in bed mostly, sleeping fitfully and doing what my mother calls ‘sweating it out’, which is as horrendous as it sounds. My throat is swollen to the point of not being able to swallow so I can’t even medicate with cake. That’s really unfair.
<room left here …
…for your own favourite swearing>
Consequently I didn’t get any cutting out done, let alone any sewing. And Christmas advances. Is it time for mad panicked laughter? I think so.
hahahaHAHAHAHA
haha
ha
hooo.
In the meantime why not amuse yourself, as I have been, with other people’s photos on Square America. I especially enjoyed some of the very sinister St Nicks, and this lady’s fabulous hair, which is almost taller than her dainty tree.
It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas
As you can see, today I finally bought a tree. Normally I’m desperate come December 1st, with the decs down from the loft ready and waiting. This year has been a little different. For a start, I did not get the biggest tree they had. Or rather I did, but only because they had sold out of big ones, which was okay, because I’d decided that I only wanted a small one this year. This is so out of character.
My favourite ever tree didn’t even fit into our old flat with the twelve foot high ceilings, so poor Isaac had to chop the top off it. That was a great tree. It was also a great flat, if you ignored how completely freezing it was all year round except for two weeks in August.
I was going to post pictures of the fabric but after doing several rounds in the washing machine (and I didn’t think you’d like pictures of that) and drying it and then me finally getting the iron out, it was completely dark. Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. Cutting out and cutting out and oh I do hate cutting out.
My friend did choose the fabric I thought she would (grrrr), and then she chose the second choice in my list for one for herself. My other friend also picked the fabric I thought she would this week. It does give me a little glow to think that I know my friends like that – don’t you just love it when you see a fabric and know it belongs to someone?
With the fabric all prepared it means I can get up and get straight to it tomorrow, so if all goes well there’ll be wip photies. And if it doesn’t, there’ll be some really excellent swearing instead. Stay tuned!
