Entries Tagged 'Life Getting in The Way' ↓

I really like where I live. I’m in London, but everyone knows that London is just a network of villages, and you can change your village to suit your current lifestyle. In five minutes from my front door I can be on my local high street, where I can pop to the deli, a proper butcher’s,a greengrocer, the fishmonger, the bakery (with cafe attached), two proper wine shops, and several pubs that will serve me lunch and are happy to welcome little people. There’s a White Stuff and a Co-Op supermarket, and a GBK and a caffe Nero, two toyshops and two banks, and lots of estate agents. There’s the best independent bookstore, which looks crumbly on the outside, but has the most interesting selection of books. There’s a locksmith, a health shop,  a post office, a cookware shop, little gift shops, diy shops, homewares shops and a bathroom shop.

But the shop I love the most is the funny little everything shop. It doesn’t have a sign outside but we all know its name. Out on the pavement when it’s dry there’ll be buckets of dishcloths and cleaning products, and stepladders and sweeping brushes to buy. Inside you make a circuit of the shop, regardless or your purpose in going there. Up one aisle you can get clothing dye, cleaning things, muffin cases, silicon teddy bear molds, enamel pie tins, cookie cutters, baking trays, sieves of many sizes. Down the other aisle you can get kilner jars, foil trays, party hats, party bags, bath plugs, doorstops, toiletries, colouring pencils, toy cars. They have much more than that, but there’s no way one person could remember it all.

Last week one of our fuses went. We have an old fuseboard that we should have had replaced, but never quite got round to, so instead of flipping a trip switch we have to take out the fuse, thread a new length of fuse wire through it and pop it back in. Only this time we’d run out of fuse wire. Which shop would have such a thing?

It’s amazing considering the power of the shop and its things that I only came away with this small haul, but while I was there it was indeed an imperative that I add a gingerbread man to my collection of cookie cutters, and get foil trays for freezing single portions of food. And of course they had the fuse wire, so we can toast without fear.

I try to shop there as often as I can, because I truly think we would be lost without it. Do support your local shops whenever you can. They are unique, and you would miss them if they went.

Which, when you think about it, is logically the next step after reidentification.

Yesterday I met up with Florence, Helen and Lisa, for a long awaited afternoon of tea and chatter. It’s been almost two years since the first time we all met up, and so much has changed for all of us. Little shops have been opened, babies have been/are about to be born, and there’s a whole book on its way. (Speaking of which, we had a sneak peek of Lisa’s bag making book, and oh boy, you are just going to love it. It looks lovely, but even better than that it will be so useful you’ll wonder how you ever sewed without it. Really. Pre-orders in now, I insist…)

As you know, the changes for me have been vast, and though my life feels as though it has always been this way I do have a lingering memory that it once wasn’t. Having tried hard to accept the change, I was finding it harder to reconnect with the other bits of myself, and make them part of my everyday again. I think anything is hard if you are trying to do it through an effort of will, rather than with excitement and enthusiasm.

What helps, of course, is some jolly conversation, to be reminded and told of things you’d be interested in if only you knew about them. (How I missed this Joel Dewberry new line is beyond me, but sometimes I have difficulty breaking out of my old bookmarks. But if you look here I think that dogwood bloom lake would make a very pretty dress. Perhaps this colette dress. I may be punching above my weight with that one, but it looks so lovely.) Then you need a trip to a nice shop, where through gentle persuasion you may end up going home with a new cardigan (I got the light grey, figuring it would go with pretty much anything, and therefore was highly justifiable instead of shopping folly).

And what happened the day after is that I woke up and was filled with energy and decided that today was the day I was finally going to get in those cupboards. We’ve lived here for five years, and since the first days of unpacking, the kitchen cupboards have never been meddled with, so that one thing was being piled on top of another, and getting a pan out to cook dinner was becoming a precarious event. For a few months every time I’ve opened a door to one of my scary cupboards I have muttered the same phrase: ‘I’ve got to get in these cupboards’. It’s become a bit of a joke, but it’s also become a bit of a quagmire too – I could move neither forwards or backwards, because I never seemed to have the will and the energy together to get into the cupboards, and yet the idea of them being so rooted in the past and clutter was, I realise, powerful enough to create inertia where everything else was concerned.

But now the cupboards have been got in, and there is a pile of stuff ready for the recycling centre (well, if you haven’t used a thing in five years the chances are you don’t really need it), and I cleared the sewing desk of things that had been piled onto that, ordered some things for the boy’s quilt, and began to think that I will need a summer skirt. Skirts are good. Quick. Easy. Wearable.

I hope this little burst of energy and enthusiasm continues, but while we wait and see, thanks are obviously due to my dear crafty companions, who proved to be the best tonic. Onwards, to August.

It’s been a busy month at Joleo Towers, some of it good and some of it not so good (another bout of the winter sickness bug anyone? Sheesh.) There have been hundreds of photos taken, but I refrain from posting them because who needs to see billions of pictures of Fitz chomping on pear or broccolli or pasta or peach or yoghurt? Aside from proud grandparents and obsessed parents naturally – look! he has a mouth! look! he puts things in it!

(Although his ability to eat a peach is quite spectacular…)

We did make another simnel cake this year. Instead of moulding eleven balls of marzipan to represent the apostles (minus Judas of course), myself and Mr J, godless people that we are, take the opportunity to mould animals and bottles of wine. We also added a baby in a moses basket, in honour of our Easter guests, who are expecting a baby in the summer.

As for A Make a Month, you can also see that in this picture. Yes, the table cloth is a piece of oilcloth that has been sitting in my stash for almost two years, so even though I technically didn’t make anything, I did unfold it and put it on the table for Fitz to smear with fromage frais. I’m staying within the rules (just), since the aim of the game is stash busting, and this piece is now well and truly busted. February’s make is also almost complete (oh a long sleeved knit just in time for the warm weather), and I have turned my attention to April’s project. You should expect that sometime in June I think…

In the week leading up to the big weekend I spent a good deal of it worrying. Would I have enough to put on the table? Would there be enough for Fitz to eat in my absence? Would he manage ok with just his dad for company? Would I be be ok without him? Of course, it was all unnecessary worry, but no one ever knows when worry is unnecessary beforehand so I don’t really regret it.

I absolutely didn’t need to worry about the first question – this is the beauty of sharing a table with your chums. We had more than enough to fill the table, and in just one hour of frantic unpacking we had a full fabulous display. Since things were quite bonkers in the run up to the fair I was thrilling myself with the idea of catching up with Helen and Florence while we manned the stall, rather than the idea of selling oodles of things. As it was I sold enough to cover my costs, and was given cake for us to share by the caterers so had an almost free day out, with the added bonus of meeting lots of new faces, including Mary and her lovely girl. To top it off Lisa came too, and it was so good to have all four of us in the same place again after such a long time, giggling like loons. (There are photos but not on my camera…)

As for Fitz and Mr J, they had a very nice morning together and then came to join us in the afternoon. Fitz had lots of smiles for everyone, and enjoyed his day out so much that he rewarded us by sleeping through the night for the first time. It would have been blissful for me too, if I wasn’t well trained to wake up at 4am…

I am finally feeling Christmassy now the event is over, and have pulled the decorations out so that they’ll be up by the weekend. It all seems to be rushing up so fast that I’m simply not prepared at all. Today I took a walk through the park at dusk, pushing Fitz home in his pushchair. As the light faded the birds began their evening song, nestled safe somewhere in the silhouetted branches of the stripped trees. How much the park has changed since we began taking walks together, him and I, and how fast this life changing year has gone. Thank you for sharing it with me.

We went out of London for the holiday weekend, all the way to the Lake District. Despite growing up on the other side of the Pennines I’d never been before, which is due to a combination of my mum not being able to drive, and my Grandparents having a pub, which meant that the whole familly worked weekends and holidays. (Note to self: never work in a pub again.) Turns out that this ommission is a cracking shame, because the Lakes are beautiful.

Mr J’s Grandmother grew up in the Nothern part of the lakes, close to Bassenthwaite, and every year she rents a cottage round the corner (literally) from the house she used to live in. We went up to join her and Mr J’s dad, who also spent a good deal of his childhood running wild in the hills. They both knew so much about the landscape and the nature in it that I felt quite humbled by my inability to identify more than an oak tree.

We had a tour around the Western Lakes, Crummock and Buttermere, ending up in Keswick by Derwent Water, where me and Mr J joined the launch for a gentle if windswept trip around the lake. (I should point out that he had talked of rowing me around, but I declined. He’s a good rower, but my centre of balance isn’t what it was and I really didn’t fancy stepping in and out of a wee rowing boat.)

By some miracle, the weather was glorious, even though the forecast was for rainy and cold, and we spent the whole weekend bathed in sunshine, save for one evening when I had to get my rain jacket out, but since that resulted in the most beautiful double rainbow we really didn’t care. We spent most of the days outside, and then slept like logs in the almost complete darkness of the middle of nowhere. Utterly and completely restful.

(we loved this sign – what makes them fearless?)

And now we are home. The cats are pleased about that, as are we, because although it is lovely going away, it is always even lovelier to come back home, especially when you have yourself a new mug for your tea.

You know I have that category called ‘life getting in the way’? Well sometimes it truly does, but in the best of ways.
 
 On May 1st my oldest friend, who I’ve known for half my life, became a father for the first time. His heroic wife gave birth to their son at 1am, and I felt so priviledged to hold him only 16 hours later. In the hours inbetween I made fish pies for the hungry parents to have in their first few weeks.

I also went on a trip down the river on a boat, with a friend who has lived here for years, many more years than me, but has never experienced the delights of the Thames Clipper out to Greenwich – when they get out of the speed restricted part of the river it’s terrific fun, especially on the open decks at the back (just don’t bother doing your hair). When we arrived we were both oddly disconcerted by the huge aircraft carrier moored just along from the pier. We walked across Greenwich Park and Blackheath to get some lunch and then back again, only to find the aircraft carrier shedding its load of helicopters…

There was also another bout of stash shopping, with Florence, Helen and Lisa, although I’m refusing to feel guilty about this one. It was a grand day out, though I had to bow out slightly early due to tiredness – there was still time for three hours of laughing over one cup of tea, and I came home with new shoes. Lisa wonders how you get your purchases into the house – I confess I walk in with them boldly and proceed to tell Mr J exactly how much everything cost, while he tells me he doesn’t care. Last week I went home with an Orla Kiely flannel from Heal’s and kept brandishing it at him while I said ‘three pounds!’ repeatedly.

We’ve also been doing a spot of Ikea hacking. I bought the shoe rack when it was on offer for £35 (see - now I’m doing it to you) but what it really needs before I can let it live in the hall is a good coating of Farrow & Ball. I don’t know if it counts as true ikea hacking but it’s enough for me, because it’s more than just getting it out of the box and putting it together. This is all part of Operation Holy F*ck, where we have to somehow rearrange the house to fit a baby in it.

And of the baby, all is well according to my lovely midwife. In fact it’s better than that – the wee one really started to squirm around at the weekend, which I am finding incredible and incredibly funny. I hope this baby likes laughing, because that’s all it must be hearing. It quite makes the heartburn and insomnia worthwhile.

Busy busy Easter is over and we seem to have emerged into a sunny patch. It turned up just in time for a jaunt around the zoo with our niece at the weekend, where we all agreed that our favourite animal was the otter. They’re such show offs for the camera, lining up for a group shot…

or juggling with a pebble…

This little fella had me and my sister-in-law in stitches – he threw the pebble in the air and caught it several times, swam through the water holding it in his paws, and played with it on the plexiglass in front of a crowd of spectators. Mr J was spending most of his time transfixed by the baby meerkat, but assures me that we could be heard for quite some distance.

The good weather continued over the weekend and into today, so yesterday became ‘trip to the garden centre’ day, and today I did a spot of  ‘container rescue’. This is where I dig out the stuff I killed last year and plant the pots anew with fresh victims specimens. I’m more hopeful this year: we spent time reading the labels, looking for words like ‘hardy’, ‘good for containers’ and ‘wind-resistant’, whereas before I’ve always been attracted to the pretty things which seem to need a sheltered wall of partial sun, and wonder why they fail to flourish on my exposed-on-three-sides roof.

So today was this sort of day, pottering about on the roof, teasing the cats with the watering can, and enjoying the peace and sunshine. If only there was some guarantee the weather would stay this good until October…

All’s well at Joleo Towers, but I thought I’d stick my head in to say so. My other job is cat sitting, which has been keeping me terribly busy – while everyone else is lying about eating eggs, I’ve been flying about from one house to the next cuddling cats. It’s a satisfying job, but at times like Easter and Christmas it does mean that I’ve got very little free time.

We’ve also got the postponed family Easter visit this weekend, so I’m turning my craft room back into the spare room so they have somewhere to sleep. No crafting for me then, though it means I can work on my lists of things I want to do, which only ever seem to get longer.

A by-product of spending so much time in the car the last couple of weeks has been an over exposure to Radio 1. I can’t retune the car radio so it’s that or Radio 4, and much as I love Radio 4 sometimes it’s just not very cheery. It’s given me the opportunity to decide that I really do love Lady GaGa – mad as a box of frogs, just the way I like my pop starlets. Here’s Poker Face, which has had me bopping in my driver’s seat all week. Turn it up and have a little dance!

Perhaps you know, perhaps you don’t, but London is having its heaviest snowfall for 18 years. The buses and trains have stopped running and everyone is having a gleeful snow day at home. I know that Scandanavia and Canada and such places will scoff at our inability to move in 10 inches of snow, but if it only happens like this once in every 18 years the investment in snow chains, and tires, and gritters and heated rails for trains seems like a waste of resources, when we should be just out enjoying the stuff, or at the very least, letting our pets out to enjoy the stuff…

At the top of our stairs we have french windows out onto a flat roof. Our cats are indoor cats mostly, since we live on a busy junction which is prone to buses, fire engines and young men driving their pimped bmws very fast, but the cats do go out onto the roof, to chew grass and bask in the sun, and keep an eye on the pesky magpies. This is Charlie, a very independent tortoiseshell. She is also very smart and very communicative, and not shy of asking me to open the door. This was taken this morning, after an hour of pleading with me to open the door, because having been out the night before she really had to go out and complete her investigations – the world was different and she had to see exactly how. Our other cat, Bert, hasn’t noticed anything beyond his breakfast.

The night before, Charlie was happily sitting on the step outside the door, sniffing and patting the snow. She is cautious, not curious, so bounding out into the white stuff is not her style.

This morning it was too deep to put her paws into so she propped herself up on the gate to get a better look at things. No point jumping in without looking…

Unless you are Bert, who is all curiosity and no caution. He shot out through the bars of the gate and made his way across the roof, plonking his paws down anywhere, not even considering that the snow might have covered up any hazards. This is why we know that as a proper outdoor cat he would have a very short life indeed.

Just to prove a point he did exactly the same thing this morning, despite the obvious increase in snowfall.

But how deep is the snow? Let’s compare photos:

As you can see, Charlie waited until Bert had thoroughly tested the roof before following in his footsteps, and then deciding it was safe enough to move around on her own. Judging by the fact that Bert can sit down and Charlie is cautiously putting one white socked paw in front of the other, I’d say about 1-2 inches deep.

Hmm. Bert’s legs are about 7 inches long, and who knows if he’s actually touching the roof, so maybe 7-8 inches at this point. Poor Charlie is a little bit smaller, and to be honest, a little bit vain, so no amount of cajoling could get her to explore, despite her eagerness to get the door open.

It’s still snowing now, and heavier snowfalls are predicted for this afternoon, so we are going to curl up in front of the fire, and enjoy the gift of a snow holiday. Enjoy!