Lumpen mass

We've had a busy few weeks here. Despite neither of us working full-time any more, we seem to have less free time now than we did when we were both oppressed drones in the giant capitalist machine.

I won't bore you all with details of the summer heat (the HEAT, oh lordy, it was terrifying, over 35 degrees for several days in a row etcetera etcetera etcetera) but suffice to say that when I bought the dog a cool mat for her bed I seriously considered buying a few more for the human bed too. 

When we weren't panting in darkened rooms, fanning ourselves and praying for a breeze, we had some jolly nice garden parties, some walks by the river, a village fete, and the Queen's Jubilee celebrations.

More recently, of course, it was the much more sombre Royal Funeral, which I watched with fascination. The proceedings were enlivened by the addition of Ma-in-Law, over from France, and youngest sister and her partner who called in and watched it with us. It felt a bit like Christmas, as we had a toast to Her Maj over lunch.

I tried to think of an appropriate commemorative dish, along the same lines as Coronation Chicken, but was not able to come up with anything which didn't sound both hilarious AND disrespectful, so we had a cold collation instead.

There's been a bit of anxiety just lately over the dog. She's 10 now, which means she's becoming an old lady, and has developed one or two "fatty lumps" under the skin. These are very common in Labradors;  the vet reassured us that they were not a problem, so we left them alone. However, recently, I found another lump in one of her mammary glands, so took her in to the vet for a checkup. The vet's opinion was that it was probably another harmless lipoma (or "fatty lump" - stop me if I get a bit technical) but due to the location it could be something more serious.

Anyhoo, we decided that the safest course of action was for the vet to remove the lump, so if it did turn out to be cancerous we'd have done the right thing as quickly as possible. Biopsy results are due in a week or two.

The dog is now a few days post-op, and has been lying quietly in her bed, occasionally emerging with a big stretch to eat poached chicken, have a cuddle, and go for a short slow walk. Basically, she has the life I've always dreamed of. 

In contrast, I have been going to the gym several times a week, and having a damn sight less delicious chicken than the dog.

It's been an expensive month so far. The vet (thankfully) is mostly covered by pet insurance, but we've also had to pay the balance on the new wooden shutters in the sitting room (very smart, despite a minor irritating difference in size/fitting/alignment on one of them) two lots of car tax, new front tyres on my car, and some unexpected dental work for Mr WithaY. 

We are fortunate to have some reserves to allow us to pay the bills. And, a delightful unexpected bonus, when the bloke was replacing my tyres he showed me that the brake pads are worn down, so I need new brakes on all four wheels. Yay. Still, I've had that car almost 3 years and it hasn't needed anything doing to it really, other than wiper blades and oil changes, so I don't begrudge it.

Also, I understand that properly-functioning brakes are quite important. 

We went to a friend's funeral a week or two ago - he had a terrible fall from which he wasn't able to recover, so it was a dreadful shock to everyone. Due to a technical hitch, the carefully-curated music couldn't be played, so the vicar said "We'll sing without music," and led the charge, belting out the hymns in a splendid full voice. I have NEVER heard such singing from a congregation - it was a marvellous thing.

I mentioned that Ma-in-Law was here. She has travelled over from France, via family in Dorset, to us, then on to family in Cambridge, and is due back to us in a few days, from whence she will travel back to France. She's 87, and is indomitable. I just hope she avoids catching Covid on the many planes, buses, coaches and trains she has been using. 

You'll be delighted to know that the Civil Service came through and I now receive my pension. Yay me being a pensioner. 

I have been idly reviewing local job websites, but haven't seen anything yet which I fancy, other than one job which I applied for and never heard back from. Bastards.

I did very much enjoy these two adverts. 

We have BOTH kinds of jobs here in Wiltshire!

There has been some discussion amongst our friendship group that Mr WithaY is qualified to do both jobs, possibly at the same time, which would be a sight to see,

It reminds me of the Futurama episodes with the terrifying robot Santa.

Oh! We've been going to the cinema a bit too - I can highly recommend Three Thousand Years of Longing. Idris Elba as a magical genie, what's not to love? 

See How They Run was less entertaining, but it was intriguing that two other groups of people in the audience (an older couple and three little white-haired ladies) giggled and at times guffawed throughout. Almost every line of dialogue elicited an audible "hee hee hee" from them all, and left Mr WithaY and I looking at each other in bewilderment. What were we missing?

We decided that they were all pissed.

One of the very real joys of not working traditional hours is that we can take ourselves off to the pictures on a Monday afternoon if we feel like it. Or go out for lunch on a school day. Or stay up late on a Sunday night. Mr WithaY has started his Autumn calendar of work commitments, so most of his weekends will be taken up with that, but we can still go out and about in the week, and I love it. 

My creative mojo has made a welcome return, and I have been dressmaking. I made a jacket: 

I used an existing edge-to-edge jacket as the pattern, and added the 1950s-ish collar. I like it, and have worn it over my many, many plain linen summer dresses. 

Currently working on a tunic top with grown-on sleeves, which I think will look nice when it's finished. The pattern has no pockets, so I am considering adding some, but can't decide if I'll just add simple patch pockets, or some slightly more complicated inseam pockets.

So, keeping busy. Hoping for good news about the dog's biopsy. Enjoying life. Trying to ignore the terrifying massive bin fire going on *gestures* everywhere.

Lady of Leisure

I've bitten the bullet and put in the paperwork to claim my Civil Service pension a few years early. This means that:

(a) I have a regular monthly income, albeit a smaller one than if I'd waited, and

(b) the pressure is off me to find another job, until I either get bored, or spot something I really fancy.

I've had a job since I was a teenager (part-time), throughout studying for my degree (part-time, and full-time on the summer holidays) and then after graduation for over 20 years until I left the Civil Service (full-time) so I feel like a bit of a hiatus now is not anything to get stressed about. 

And how am I filling my days, without the endless drudgery of earning my living?

Well. 

I have joined the gym, and am going along 3 times a week to try and sort out the annoying wheezing/coughing which has become much more pronounced since I had Covid. Also, it will get me fitter and hopefully give me more energy. My fitness instructor/lard wrangler was most helpful, and so far it's been very enjoyable. Let's see what I have to say in 6 months.

A holiday has been booked. We are off to France in a few weeks, to visit the gorgeous city of Lyon. I've never been there before and am very much looking forward to seeing the sights, visiting the ruins, eating the food and mangling the language.  We're going on the train, so will hopefully see a fair bit of the countryside as we travel down there. 

Dressmaking. Yes, I am once more grappling with my creative demons. We're off to a Regency picnic at the end of May (no, I don't really know what that entails) so I am making myself an early C19 outfit. I've made loads of re-enactment kit for myself, Mr WithaY and various mates over the years, but that was all either English Civil War or Medieval, so a more tailored dress in very different - and much less forgiving - fabric is proving challenging. 

So far in this project I have:

• Acquired a lovely Egyptian cotton duvet cover in a charity shop (£3!) to make a toile;
• Made a toile from a commercial pattern, then redrafted it to include more authentic C19 tailoring and construction;
• Cut out the new pattern in gorgeous embroidered fine cotton lawn for the overdress;
• Tried on the toile-and-overdress combo;
• Discovered that they are at least three sizes too big for me, and deconstructed them;
• Re-drafted the toile pattern to (hopefully) fit me properly.

I have also found some passable-looking footwear, some gloves and a straw bonnet which I can gussy up to match the dress once it's finished. I shall make a small bag to match either the dress or the jacket, depending on which fabric I have the most remnants left to play with.

Oh, and I have to make a jacket, but I think I can use the dress pattern as the basis for that, if I amend the neckline and add long sleeves. Plenty to do.

The dog is loving having both of around more during the day, and has lost weight due to the higher activity level this generates. We've also had family down (up?) to visit at weekends a couple of times, which has meant sitting in the garden and having drinks and barbecues. Lovely. 

So far, so good. 

JFDI

It's January, and it is currently pissing down with rain. Ah, England, and your endless weather. We're getting off lightly down here though. The North of England seems to have been almost entirely submerged by floods, rivers bursting banks, lakes overspilling, drains backing up and exploding thousands of gallons of filthy water into the streets, and of course "localised flooding."

Localised flooding is a concept which scares the bejeezus out of me, It basically tells us that regardless of any and all flood precautions you might take, the water WILL GET YOU.  It might come up through your toilets and sinks, (see backed-up drains above) or through an air-brick, after you carefully sandbagged the front door, or, most alarmingly, via a re-invigorated underground spring, deciding to emerge through your kitchen floor.

That happened to a neighbour in our village a few years ago.

We live within sight of one river and several smaller streams, all of which are currently in spate. Thankfully we also have water meadows a little way downstream, onto which, as is intended, the rivers spill when they get too full, thus preventing all the houses being submerged. This is why it's a bad idea to build houses on flood plains.

Mr WithaY was sent a photo by a mate Up North which shows her in an inflatable dinghy IN HER KITCHEN, bobbing about on water which is almost as high as her worktops.  Gah.

We have had (I think) three frosts so far this winter. There are daffodils already in flower, wasps and bees are still flying about outside, and the roses in my garden are still flowering. I have to take the decision to cut them back, but it seems such a shame when they are flowering.  It's almost certain that there will be a month of icy Siberian weather in March or somewhen, when we least expect it to make up for this unseasonal mildness now.

I have a new Thing for 2016. I decided that the single biggest obstacle to me doing fun stuff is my own procrastination. I used to be creative in a big way, making re-enactment kit and so on, and I realised that the reason I was highly productive was that there was always a deadline to be met.

"I must get these shirts finished for May Bank Holiday."
"I promised to get this singlet to them in time for the banquet."
"I need to make fourteen fancy dress costumes by the end of August."

Once Mr WithaY and I stopped doing re-enactment, both the reason for making so much kit vanished, as did the timetable I worked to.  Last year I bought half a dozen silk saris from eBay, washed and ironed them, and they have been neatly rolled up in my fabric basket ever since. I was full of vague plans to turn them into summer dresses, or shirts or something.  So far, all I have managed is a pair of curtains and a cushion cover for my study.  Not good enough.

The new Thing, then, is a sort-of mantra in my head. It is JFDI, which as you may already know, stands for Just Fucking DO It.  Crude but effective, it means when I think about doing something, and go a bit wishy-washy, I just think "Oh JFDI" and then get on with it.  So far it works beautifully.

It means that we no longer have a three-month-old heap of ironing looming balefully at me, my clothes have been sorted and thinned out and taken to charity shops, and I am working my way through my study in preparation for a big reshuffle at the weekend.  I am going to move my sewing table to where my desk is at the moment, under the window, and thus have more light and a view for when I want to sew. My PC can sit on the other side of the room where there is less natural light, but now that I am not poring over lengthy Serious And Important Documents for work, I don;t need the desk under the window.

Small but important changes.

It's also an opportunity to chuck out a ton of old junk which has drifted into corners and onto shelves over the last few years.  Oh, and properly clean the floor.

Onwards and upwards, people. JFDI.

Cadfail

I was going to get loads done today, but instead I am crouching over my PC with a hangover, feebly flicking between Twitter, Amazon and Facebook, the unholy trinity of time-wasting.

The plan was to get up early(ish), drive over to Salisbury and get a car-full from the Cash & Carry, then perhaps saunter into town for a bite of lunch and a look at the Sunday Christmas market.  That's not happening.

What actually happened was rather less festive.  I woke up at 6am and  stumbled out to the bathroom, where I encountered Mr WithaY, pale and shuddering, red-eyed and hollow-voiced, possibly drinking water from the cold tap, I'm not too sure.  My eyes seemed to be somewhat defective. He announced that he had a hangover.  I said something vaguely sympathetic and went back to bed.  He then crashed out in the spare room, where I found him several hours later, supine and inarticulate.

I made us both cups of tea and bacon sandwiches, and made him drink a very large glass of water before he had anything to eat. He is now asleep on the sofa downstairs, the dog asleep on his feet.  This sudden malady might be explained by the excellent dinner party we were invited to last night, but I suspect Mr WithaY was already dehydrated.

Yesterday morning he decided to go over to the Ancient Technology Centre for their Medieval Day.  This entailed him scampering up into the loft (in his dressing gown, in high excitement) to retrieve the Medieval kit I made for him a while ago, and various other bits and pieces required to turn him into a fashionable Medieval crossbowman-about-town.

Off he went, clutching his boar spear*, his crossbow and a packed lunch, to spend the day wandering around in the rain, delighting visitors with his well-made jacket.

As usually happens when he is off doing this kind of thing - and yes, he does this kind of thing a fair bit - he failed to keep himself hydrated throughout the day, so when we went out for dinner last night, the finest wines known to humanity had a devastating effect on his delicate physiology.

As a result, this morning he is stretched out on the sofa like a Romantic poet on an opium binge, a glass of water at his elbow and cruddy daytime TV in the background.

I'd like to be smug about it, but I am not much better myself. We're supposed to be taking part in the pub quiz later this evening, but I'm not entirely sure we'd be up to our usual brilliant standard.

In other news: I have the date for my surgery. January 2nd, with the pre-op on Dec 23rd, neatly bookending the festive season.  The good thing about having it done so soon is that hopefully I will have recuperated fully by the time things start to get busy in the Spring, and before Mr WithaY has to be away a lot for work.

Before then, though, we've got a couple of large-ish catering events to deliver, as well as the Christmas stuff.  Lots going on.







*Not a euphemism

Cheep and nasty

Activities in my life since my last post can be summarised thus:

Sewing, fitfully and without enthusiasm, with a growing sense of panic about deadlines.  Self-imposed deadlines, mind, not anything that I have been ordered to make.  There's a cake sale and sort-of craft sale in a couple of weeks in the village, and in a fit of enthusiasm I agreed to have a stall there.  So of course, I need some stuff to sell.  It's very strange making things that other people will  look at and then decide if they want them enough to give me money in exchange. Previously when I have made things for people it has either been as a gift, when they respond politely, or on commission, when I know that what I am making is what they want.

Knitting, whilst watching TV and complaining about the programme I happen to be watching.  I'm about halfway through Mrs Jones' scarf, and I am pleased with how it looks so far.  I've never tried making anything that involved short rows before, and I shall definitely be using them again.  Perhaps for a charming hat.

Watching TV, usually criticising whatever is on loudly, whilst looking stuff up on IMDB to validate my assertions.  Unless it's MasterChef, in which case I just shout at Gregg Wallace and his odd shiny head.   Oh, and make monstrous "gnnaaaaaaaaarghkkkk!" noises whenever he opens his cavernous maw to devour a huge forkful of whatever the sweating terrified contestants have produced.

Cleaning the house.  The place looks like some sort of bizarre show-home, one occupied by wild animals and someone with a baking fetish.  And Davy Crockett. And a Medieval robber baron.  And a Victorian seamstress who likes cushions.

Grocery shopping.  The high spot of that particular achievement was getting a discount on diesel because I spent more than £60.  Which meant when I filled my car up, I saved almost £7.  It all adds up.  I did go to the Frome Farmers Market yesterday, though.  I bought mild goat's cheese from a tousled and attractive young man, and a horseshoe-shaped load of olive bread which is delicious

Dicking about on the Internet.  Obviously.  I've been trying to get my head round Twitter again, giving it a rather longer period to win me over than I did last time. I think I gave it about 48 hours last time, and then gave up on it, deciding it was a sack of arse.  Oh, and playing World of Warcraft with a friend in America, which has been terrific fun. Yes, I know.  I can't get my head round Skyrim, I find the look of the game rather depressing, and that limits my desire to play it.

So yes, I've been reacquainting myself with Twitter.  It's a process of trial and error.  It's been great for finding some interesting new blogs to read but I get very bored with my feed when it's full of the same two or three people saying much the same thing over and over again.  There are a few very funny people out there, and I am enjoying their input, but I'm afraid anyone who just constantly pushes their website, or re-tweets stuff I'm not interested in gets removed from my feed.

One gem I found, and which has been making me cry with laughter, is the Star Trek - The Next Generation Series 8 feed - @TNG_S8 if you're inclined to take a look.   It runs as-yet unfilmed plots for the 8th series of TNG, and whoever is writing it is inspired.

Examples:

A transporter error quickly fills the ship with hundreds of excited dogs. Worf calls them "fools" and "disgusting". 


A world with a terminal plague tries to attract the Borg as a cure. Geordi's visor falls off into the toilet for the millionth time.


Alien minstrels trap Riker in a 90's dreamscape, only Picard can swashbuckle him free. Data and Geordie tie the hula hoop competition again.


If you're not a Star Trek nerd, I daresay you will merely sigh and move on, but if you are (like me) you will love it. Take a look.  

Cooking.  Actually, the last entry on the list of non-achievement reminds me that we had some friends over for dinner last weekend. More or less on a whim, which is something that I like very much, and I spent much of Saturday making a variety of Indian dishes.  Nom nom nom.  I even made coriander flatbread - from scratch - which worked reasonably well.  I made (brace yourselves):

• Lamb and aubergine curry, with a home-made spice mix, which was fab, though I say so myself
• Tandoori chicken, basically chicken pieces marinaded in yoghurt and spices, then baked till tender
• A red lentil daal, with loads of ginger and black pepper.  It tasted lovely but looked like workhouse gruel.
• Sag aloo, with potato, spinach and spices, very nice
• Plus the afore-mentioned flatbread and rice, and some little samosas which I bought from the supermarket and which we had as an appetiser.

My excellent mate* brought a pudding.  I love living in a village.

There were a couple of pieces of sad news, unfortunately.  One of them involves our mates with the mad spaniels.  They had to have one of them taken to the vet for the last time as she was - in addition to being a venerable old spaniel lady - quite poorly.  I remember when she was a teeny tiny puppy, I spent an evening in the pub with her flopped bonelessly over my shoulder like a rag doll, completely comfortable, sleeping.  She was a sweet-natured character and will be missed.  On the plus side, she probably had about the best life a dog could ever wish for, and it was a long one too.   And she got to be a bridesmaid a few months ago.

*Hello Jo!

Paint it ...cream

Today, I ache.  My arms, my tummy, my back, and most especially, my knees.

Mr WithaY and I spent yesterday decorating at my lovely Mum's house.  We painted the bedroom - a small-ish room, to be fair - in a day.  Ceiling, walls, woodwork.  We work fast when we get going.  Plus it was really nice emulsion and satinwood paint which went on easy and dried fast.  And, though I say so myself, it looked really smart when we'd finished.  And, the most important thing, my lovely Mum was pleased.

On the way home, me driving, Mr WithaY in the passenger seat, we were discussing how much lighter the evenings are now.

Me:  Wow, it's half past five and not dark.  Excellent.

Mr WithaY:  And the mornings are lighter, which is great.

Me:  I woke up really early and although the sun wasn't up, it was light.  I guess it stays light for a bit after the sun sets too?

Mr WithaY:  Yes, that's why you're legally allowed to shoot for an hour after sunset and before sunrise, as it's still light.

Me:  So this would be "dusk" about now?

Mr WithaY:  Yep, the sun has gone down but it's not dark.

Me:  And there's the morning version of dusk as well.

Mr WithaY: (After a short, incredulous pause).  Yes. You mean "dawn."

We had stopped at some traffic lights, which was just as well, because we both laughed until we cried.

Easily amused, we are.

What else is new?  Well, in big procurement news, I have bought a staple gun.  I make these pretty padded memo boards, and they require quite a lot of stapling to keep everything in place.  Previously, I have borrowed Mr WithaY's heavy duty staple gun, but I thought I should get one of my own, dedicated for girlie craft stuff rather than stapling animal skins to trees or whatever it is he does all day.

I picked one up in Homebase - almost £25, thank you very much - a few months ago, and it sat on my shelf, waiting to be useful.  It has a handy little plastic tool case, so I felt like a real professional when I unpacked it for the first time at the weekend.

Readers, it was SHITE.

Really.  Almost everything about it was awful.  The staples have to be dropped down a tube to load it, and then a separate spring-loaded stick thingy gets pushed down the hole to hold them in place.  Unless you get the angle of pitch EXACTLY right, the staples break apart and jam the stapler.  I assumed I was being too oafish and heavy-handed, and persevered until I had a cartridge of staples inserted properly.  I tried it out on a thick wad of newspaper.  There was a satisfying THUNK noise.

When I looked at the newspaper, though, the staple was only partially embedded, with a clear air gap between the cross piece and the paper.  I dicked about with the adjustment wheel thingy that alters the force of the staple, and tried several more times.  No discernible difference.  Still a big air gap.

Isn't it interesting that there are so many technicalities to stapling?  No?

Anyway.  I decided to carry on, as I had already started 4 memo boards.  I continued with the lame-ass half-stapling for a while, until I had finished the first stage of the memo board making process, and then I went and found a small hammer from Mr WithaY's study.  I like creative projects which require hammers.

I went round all of the work I'd already done and hammered all these stupid not-even-making-an-effort staples so that they were properly embedded, and then gave up in disgust.

After that, I went on Amazon and ordered a new stapler, advertised as being suitable for DIYand upholstery.  It arrived this morning, I have high hopes.

In the meanwhile, the Homebase stapler will be taken to a charity shop and left there to make some other poor sod's DIY/crafting a misery.  And I won't bother buying any of Homebase's own brand tools or equipment again.

Gah.

Other news:  Progress on the big long-term business plan is being made.  I might be able to actually tell people about it on here without feeling like I am jinxing it.

In related news, I took (and passed) an online food hygiene training course last week.  I now know not to lick raw chicken blood up off the floor.

Fit for purpose

Blimey, here we are in October already.  It's warmer than it was in July, which is just WRONG.  One of the most peculiar things about unseasonable heat in the Autumn is that it gets dark early, and we have to choose between sitting in the garden in the pitch black, or inside the house at 7.30 at night, sweltering.  And, it being Autumn, many, many spiders are migrating indoors, so if we have the windows open to cool the house down, they come swarming in with little cries of glee.

Sitting outside in the dark isn't as much fun as you might imagine, either.

Anyway, today it's raining, but still really warm, which is even odder.  It feels like being in the tropics, but with all the leaves falling off the trees, and everything in the garden looking tired and brown.  Including me.

I've been busy of late, trying to get myself motivated and prepared for the oncoming winter.  I am behaving like the proverbial ant in the fable, storing up for the cold days ahead.  Unfortunately, I am not storing up anything very useful, or solid, like chopped logs and salted beef.  

I spent a constructive few days making crab apple jelly, using the apples from the little tree in our front garden.  The first batch I made turned out well, crystal clear and a beautiful pink colour, so I was encouraged to make some more. Mr WithaY brought home a helpful suggestion from a colleague that I add chilli, which I did, and it made the most delicious sweet hot jelly.  It's perfect with roast chicken, and cold meat. 

Inspired, I bought a dozen small "presentation" jars and have made a load more.  Expect to receive it for Christmas, non-virtual mates!

Why yes, I did spend some time stacking them in a variety of ways, just to photograph them.

I don't have a job any more.

I also started on a commission for a friend.  She asked if I could make her a noticeboard, which I was delighted to agree to.

It all went well at first.  The fabric she gave me to make it with is gorgeous, I found ribbon to match it, and then some satin to self-cover some buttons to finish it off.  I was mighty pleased with myself, I can tell you. 

In an effort to bring my fabric noticeboard-making process into the post-Industrial age, I bought a hot glue gun recently.  They're not particularly cheap - about £25 if I remember right - and I had high hopes for it.  I envisaged a perfect series of satisfying gluey blobs being produced as required, aimed and controlled by my craftswoman-like skills to allow simple button placement and a professional finish to my work.

I was mistaken in that assumption.

Reader, it took me well over an hour to stick on 25 buttons.  You have to plug the glue gun in and wait for it to heat up - at least 10 minutes - and then slooooowly and carefully squeeze the trigger until a blob of glue is extruded.  That's the theory.  In reality, you slooooowly and carefully squeeze the trigger, and nothing happens.  You put the glue gun back on the stand, and curse quietly. waiting another minute or two, as the instructions tell you.  You pick up the glue gun and you try again, squeezing the trigger slooooowly and carefully.  Nothing happens, so you squeeze the trigger more rapidly, in a gunslinger trigger-happy pumping motion.  A blob of glue drips out, and you cheer inwardly.

You stick a few buttons in place using this technique.  You pause and make a cup of tea, smug that you have mastered the technology, and are a genius.  A glue-based genius.

You pick up the glue gun to continue your creative endeavours.  The glue gun refuses to extrude any more glue.  It is sulking.  You leave it for a minute or two and then try again.  The rapid-fire technique no longer works. You revert back to the long slow squeeze.  Nothing happens. 

You swear, louder and more fluently.  You keep trying different squeeze techniques, which makes your hand hurt.  Eventually, you coax enough glue out of the gun to stick each button down.

You are not entirely confident that they will remain in place, but by now your hand is cramping and you hate the sight of your stupid crappy not-working-properly glue gun. 

So.  I took the completed noticeboard round to my friend, and gave it to her with the caveat that the buttons might not stay put, and that she should let me know if they fell off. 

The next day she rang me.  The buttons had fallen off.  Arse.

I went and collected it, and now it is sitting on my kitchen table, looking reproachful as I try to think of a way to sort it out. 

Other news:  I have rejoined the gym.  I am hilariously unfit.  This situation will change, or I might die in the attempt.

Basket cases

Last week Mr WithaY and I went on a one-day willow basket-making course.  You can't become a basket-maker in one day, but you can make a basket.  Here's how:

You start with 6 sticks, all approximately the same thickness and straightness.  You have to find the natural curve of the wood and follow it to get the proper basket base shape.  My sticks all looked to be either completely straight or wavy as anything, not the gentle curve talked about by the instructor.

Once you have aligned your sticks properly, you stab them with a deadly steel bodkin, pointy, sharp and scary.  Oh, before you do any stabbing, you grease the bodkin point with tallow.  It's positively medieval. 

Our instructor told us how she once had to rescue her can of tallow from a greedy dog which had its face in it.  She didn't mention it to the dog's owners;  I expect they found out later that day.

This is how the sticks look once you've STABBED them with the greased-up bodkin.  It's interesting how unnerving it is, having to stab something when usually you are all English and repressed and un-stabby. 

Once you've finished stabbing, you slide one set of sticks through the other, thus:

This is the basis for your basket.  I had to stop and have a cup of tea at this point, all the craftsmanship was exhausting.

After you've had tea and braced yourself, you start doing the next step.  It has a technical name which I have completely forgotten, but it involves weaving small willow stems to make the basket base.

See the two different colour willows?  One sort has bark on and is slippery, the other sort doesn't and isn't.  They're both bloody awkward to weave properly.  You have to hold the spokes pressed hard into your tummy as you do this.  Painful. 

Once you've got the base woven, and it is properly convex, you add long sticks to make the sides of the basket.  If it's not convex enough, you have to help it along using your knee and brute force.

Adding the long sticks was fiddly and hilarious, with all of us wrestling with our baskets on the floor.  We got there in the end.

Once we'd got to that stage it was lunchtime.  Lunch was excellent. Home-made and delicious. I recommend it. 

After lunch it was time to start building the basket up.  Da da daaaaaaaaa.

You have to STAB it once again with the bodkin to hold it in place while you weave the willow sticks.  That's harder than it looks.  Getting everything nice and even and tidy is even harder.

Once you've built up the base, you change both style and material to make the sides.  I was using a weaving technique that involved using two lengths of willow in pairs at once, in a traditional English style.  It's strangely hypnotic. 

Then, when your basket is tall enough, you do another set of the stronger weave that you used for the base, to make the top nice and sturdy.  If your basket is less than perfectly circular, you assist it with your knee and brute force.

Willow is very forgiving. 

Once you've done that, you make the top edge, using the long sticks you stuck into the base to form the sides.  Remember them?  Yeah you do. 

If you're a bit forgetful and have failed to keep your willow sticks wet, they will snap at this point.  The instructor will then rescue you and fix it so it will not show.  She was very good at rescuing people.

And at the end of the afternoon, you will have a lovely basket.

There were as many different baskets made as there were people on the course.  Mr WithaY made one with a French weave in the middle, and conveniently it stacks neatly inside mine.  There's tidy.

That's his on the left with the fancy French weave thing.  Sacre bleu.

One lady made an up-and-over handle.  Very pretty.  Those round things in the background are big bundles of willow sticks.  The barn we were working in smelled lovely. 

One chap made these rather fetching finger holes.  I shall try that next time I make a basket. 

If at any point you got bored or frustrated, and went outside to look around, you could see where the willows grow:

They had information boards up to let people know all the kinds of animals and birds you might see if you looked for long enough.  I saw bugger all.

I liked these gigantic sculptures, left over from a Glastonbury Festival, apparently. 

And the maze was fun, despite being very low.  I reckon I could have stepped over the partitions in an emergency.

So, after a long and full day, a splendid vegetable lasagna and fruit crumble for lunch, a lovely drive through the Somerset Levels, and weird bruises where I hadn't expected any, I now own a basket that I made.  And it works.

Did I mention  how much nicer this is than being stuck in the office?

Show and tell

I've been living in a creative maelstrom this week. It all started with a cake I made.

We've had success with the vegetable garden this summer, and have a lot - a LOT - of courgettes coming to fruition now.  Zucchini, for our American readers.  We're eating them with supper most nights, cooked in a variety of interesting ways, often sliced into long thin strips and pan-fried with mixed herbs and a little butter.  Nom nom nom.

Anyway.  I was flicking through a free magazine that came through the door, and lo! it contained a recipe for chocolate courgette cake.  I had to try it.

Readers, it was excellent.  Really.  Plenty of sugar, cocoa, eggs, flour, vanilla.  All the usual malarky, but you also add loads of finely grated courgette.  The cake was dark, moist and delicious, and I shall definitely make it again.  I tore the recipe out of the magazine and put it in the new noticeboard.

In fact, here's a link to the recipe. Try it, you'll thank me.  Plus, it's a great way to make children eat vegetables, apparently. 

Mwahahahahahaaaaaaa.

What's that you say?  Why, yes, I have made another fabulous notice board, thanks for asking.

Here it is, look:

Hanging in the kitchen, adding a much-needed point of interest to the otherwise dull sad corner where the bin lives.  None of the cool appliances ever go there.  It's like the Woking of the kitchen world. 

Inspired by my soaraway success in the noticeboard arena, I made some cushion covers to replace a couple that had got tatty and spotted*, utilising some of the fabric liberated from father-in-law WithaY's antique-restoring stash. 

Unfortunately, this gold one looks a bit sad and flat. I think it needs a new feather cushion thingy.  We all get a bit squashed by life, I reckon, but this poor cushion shows it more than most.

However, this one I am delighted with:

I spent bloody ages making sure the pattern was central to the front of the cushion, as I knew that otherwise, every time I looked at it I'd get all anal** and grumpy about it being off-centre.

There is a new set of bathroom curtains almost finished, too, I plan to get them up tomorrow.

Other news:  Went into town today thinking that the rain had stopped for the afternoon.  Fool that I was.  Mr T would have pitied me, no doubt about it.   

As soon as I parked the car and got the heavy box of crockery and assorted ephemera from the boot, the heavens opened.  Actually, I think the heavens opened, and hell was raining upwards, there was so much sodding water everywhere. 

I had to walk (slowly because of the heavy box) to the charity shop in torrential rain, blinded by the wet stringy hair that was in my eyes (mine, not someone else's with no concept of personal space) and my raincoat hood blinkering me like some sort of piteous Victorian cab-horse. 

Gah.

By the time I got to Oxfam and handed the box to the nice lady behind the counter, I was soaked.  My trousers were absolutely drenched, but my feet stayed dry - hurrah for Converse shoes! - so I thought I might as well walk around town as it wasn't physically possible to get any wetter.

A man from Wessex Water was stood on the pavement beside his van, watching the rain flooding down onto the main road from a narrow driveway, muddy water cascading into the drains.

"You out collecting?" I asked him.

He laughed and said  "Don't need to, we've got plenty thanks."

It's rained almost every day this month, or that's how it feels.  Hopefully we'll have a nice Indian summer next month.

My roses are looking splendid though.  All this rain has brought out a second crop of flowers, so I am dashing out and cutting a few in between downpours so we can enjoy them in the house. 

Mr WithaY bought me a proper woven willow shopping basket the other week when he was at the Wilderness Gathering.  It's a three day event where Men*** gather to do Manly Things.  However, he didn't stay there this time, he commuted from home daily.  Last time he went he slept in his little tent and spent the weekend making a fish spear, casually whittling and lashing as all the other manly men wandered past enviously.

I imagine he'll get a stern letter from Ray Mears, telling him off.

It was very impressive, though.



*Spotted with bits of food, mostly, from where we use them to rest trays on when we scarf down dinner in front of the telly.  Shame, shame, we are chavs and slatterns.  But, hey, Star Trek and all, right at dinnertime. 

**Welcome, dodgy word googlers!

***And women.