... or as Mike would have me put 'blogging' as it is more akin to the original 'nothing' of the title.
This is the sort of conversation we were having at 5am. I couldn't get back to sleep and I was wondering how I could write about our lovely bloggy meet up that we had on Saturday in Stratford upon Avon - home of the great Bard himself. Amy and Jo have already written about it very eloquently so I was trying to think of a different angle. I thought about using the magic of song - but being a blog of the written word this proved tricky. So the Shakespeare link was broached. By 5.10am I was chuckling so hard I had tears rolling down my cheeks. Looking back it must have been pure hysteria as the suggestions were at best mildly amusing, and at worst - not amusing at all. When Mike realised there had been ten of us he suggested The Tenpests. Whilst I sunk the lowest with Macblog.
So.
We met and drank tea and visited Sew Me Something and nattered ten to the dozen and wandered through the park where there was wonderful music then travelled back to the 1940s and I ate some comical eggs and carried on nattering and took lots of photographs and received some wonderful gifts and had lots of hugs and then had to go home.
It was the best!
Sadly my camera decided to play up and wouldn't allow me to take more than a few pics but I hope they will give you a flavour.
Not sure what happened to his hands but he's one of the first Christmas ornaments I remember. As you wheeled him along the little reindeer in his sack would pop up and down in excitement.
Then there's sleighing Santa.
I remember being amazed by the detail on this one. To me this was a true representation of what would be flying through the sky on Christmas Eve. Mum remembers it being displayed on her grandmas dresser alongside toddling Santa (more on him later).
Each year it was my job to check that all of the presents and snowmen were tucked safely into the holly on the back.
But there's one missing.
A small plastic Santa with moving feet. You would put him on a slight slope and he would merrily walk along. When I asked mum about him she rifled through her Christmas box and found him skulking at the bottom.
He's not the prettiest Santa Claus, and his paintwork has certainly seen better days, but he still reliably toddles down any given slope with his sack of goodies.
I realise that I may have given the impression that for two weeks of the year I did nothing else but push tiny Santa down tea trays and watch reindeers bob up and down. Not true. But these were the Christmas staples. I could rely on the fact that once these were out of the box Christmas had officially 'started' (and not some time back in October!)
So for some not very expensive plastic ornaments they represent a lot. Forty years on they are still going strong. And forty years on mum and dad still put them in pride of place.
(Apart from toddling Santa - he's come home with me!)
Have you got any ornaments that remind you of your childhood?
I remember when Mr K and I got our first flat. It was on the ground floor which afforded us the most fantastic gift - a back yard. Now when I say 'yard' I don't mean the glorious American translation of a large well tended garden. Nope. This was a few paving slabs and very little natural light. So what did I do? I took up a row of slabs and planted some bulbs. We stayed in that flat for a couple of years and the sight of those red and yellow tulips each Spring lifted my heart. I COULD GROW THINGS!
Nothing as prolific as this - sadly way before the age of digital photography
Our next flat had a slightly bigger yard - a nice 'square'one. For what seemed like forever we would visit the neighbouring waste ground and return with old bricks and buckets of soil to make raised beds. This time I had more space, more chance to experiment, and so began my love for anything 'herb'.
A nearby allotment came up and together we made it our own, complete with a little rose garden. I remember our most prolific crop was 'mouli' - a white Japanese radish that we neither knew what to do with or could give away. Another move said goodbye to that one and by now we were cultivating a different type of crop - our gorgeous girls!
We tried and failed to keep another allotment going, sharing with other families to try and make it more manageable - but the girls being so young and the busy nature of family life prevented us from any long term commitment.
Our small back garden became packed to the rafters with all kinds of everything. I've absolutely loved every minute of the last eighteen years seeing it develop into my own little oasis. But both of us knew it wasn't quite enough. We had been bitten by the growing bug many years before and never quite shaken it off. So when a nice lady from the council rang a couple of weeks ago to ask if we were still interested in taking on an allotment I almost cried!
We had almost forgotten that seven years before we had put our names on the council waiting list. There had been an opportunity to join a site on the other side of town some time ago, but we knew that if we had to make a special journey by car to get there that the novelty would soon wear off.
We hung on.
And it paid off.
The allotment is about five minutes walk away, maybe ten if we take the 'scenic' route along the canal. Unlike our previous plots the soil is a dream to behold - it's been cared for over the last eighteen years and is packed with worms (at this point I realise I might be starting to sound a little delirious). All the ideas that I have nurtured are now becoming possibilities and I'm doing no end of little scribbles and list making.
Not that it's going to be easy.
My idea of a dream shed is this sort of thing.
A quiet spot surrounded by herbs with the scent of sweet peas wafting toward me as I recline on my Cath Kidston cushions to survey the land.
What I've got so far is this.
Perhaps a greenhouse dripping with vines and bursting with the possibility of exotic fruits.
Once we've got it on it's base and it actually has some glass in it.
I imagine serenely wandering through the bug free, organic produce - Alys Fowler style.
You can see we have a way to go.
But it's here.
And it's ours.
For now.
And this time instead of taking slabs up I'm putting them down.
Oh for the joy of a path ...
So that's what's been keeping me preoccupied of late. At a time when there has been a fair amount of uncertainty and upheaval it's been good to feel that some things haven't changed. And the future is looking a little brighter.
Much love to all of you out there - and a huge welcome to my new followers.
It's been another funny old week. Not straightforward. Ups and downs. It culminated with the realisation that our theatre visit on Friday night was to be scuppered.
Several months ago Mr K and I booked to see a variety of performances at different theatres. Now classical performances are not usually at the top of our list, but when we found out that Nicola Benedetti would be performing Vivaldi we had to book. It was only the night before that Mr K reminded me that he would be in London that day and wouldn't be back until late. Stony silence. What to do? Little Sis was to be out for the evening. I face booked friends. No replies. So with a deep breath and a little trepidation I decided to go it alone. Radio Four have reported on solo diners recently, and also those who have gone to the cinema unaccompanied. I've listened with interest at both the positive and negatives sides of their experiences. It seems it is becoming more common and the stigma of being the pitiful loner is diminishing.
So off I went.
Stafford Gatehouse Theatre
At the box office I collected my tickets. I informed them that my husband could not attend so if anyone needed a free seat they would be very welcome to it. The foyer of the theatre steadily filled up. Friends met, smiled, embraced. I was on the edge looking in. But instead of feeling nervous or lonely I felt quite liberated. Instead of being socially involved I was now in the role of observer. I chatted to a couple of strangers who were waiting nearby and gradually relaxed into the bustling anticipation that precedes a performance.
Once seated I took solace in the fact that I had a free chair next to me. The auditorium was packed but at least I didn't have to sit with my coat and bag on my knee.
The lady to the my left offered me a mint and told me about her chest condition. We got into a discussion about Question Time and how she had heard that both the presenter and two of the panel were delayed on a train - chuckling as to what might happen with a studio full of people but no presenter. As we settled I was aware of a man hovering at the edge of the row. He was quite elderly but scrupulously smart in a navy blazer with brass buttons.
He had my husbands ticket.
As we moved aside to allow him to his seat it occurred to me that he too was on his own. A few niceties elapsed. He asked if I had seen Benedetti before. It turned out he was a regular visitor to the theatre and had enjoyed their classical seasons for many years. We began talking about our musical preferences. Did I play an instrument? What about my family? He had four daughters who had all gone different ways in the world. A banker, a brand designer, a photographer and a ballet dancer. One had recently recovered from cancer and was celebrating a year in remission with a trip on a private yacht. In turn I told him about my girls. Chalk and cheese I said. Wonderful in their own ways but still to find their own direction. He told me about his childhood at a boarding school in Dorset. About the time he saved some bantams from a fox.
Benedetti played and I was transported. Each of the Four Seasons was introduced by the relevant sonnet that Vivaldi had penned to accompany them. The conductor was Gabor Takacs-Nagy and his enthusiasm and spirit added an extra dimension. There was a sense of awe. The bond of a group of people experiencing the same emotive flow.
At the interval I went to stretch my legs. I no longer felt alone. I was part of a shared understanding.
On return to my seat I continued conversing with my new found friend. Why was it that more children wanted to play guitar than violin nowadays? And about the terrible local tragedy of a teenager recently killed at a level crossing.
The concert continued with Mozart.
After much applause it was over. The lady on my left wished me well and said goodnight. I turned to the man on my right and did the same. I also wished his daughter well and hoped that her remission would continue. He thanked me kindly. And then we parted.
On leaving the theatre I had a wonderful surprise. Mr K had managed to get an earlier train and had hot footed it over to try and catch the end of the concert. The steward had kindly allowed him in but as there was no seat he had watched the last movement at the entrance to the auditorium.
He was full of apologies, hoped it hadn't been too bad, had bought some wine and chocolates and so forth.
He was surprised to find me so buoyant. I hadn't been lonely at all. Not only had I enjoyed the concert immensely but I had also been at liberty to enjoy a whole new experience - the company of strangers.
I'll probably never meet that elderly man again. I'm sure our paths would veer in very different directions and on a daily level we would probably have highly opposing views. But for those three hours I was allowed an insight into his life, and he mine. An insight that would never have occurred had I been swept up in conversation with someone more familiar.
...and milked the cow I decided it was time for a break.
The cottage beckoned so I drifted through the tangle of cosmos and sweet william toward the old wooden door.
Inside the embers of the fire were still glowing - and the kettle hung obediently above. There was still some lardy cake left from the vicars visit on Sunday, so with a generous slice and a fresh cup of char I took my seat at the fireside. The chair rocked gently as I sat and the rug at my feet reminded me of the darker months, when I had sat and painstakingly used every last scrap of outfits gone by.
Or at least that's what Mum and I were talking about as we visited the show gardens at Bridgemere on Friday. Mr K can never understand it. Why is it that every time we go somewhere do I have to wonder about 'what it would have been like when...' or 'can you imagine...?' But this cottage calls for it. Really it's just a facade - I think (although my memory may not serve me too well here) it was an entry for the Chelsea Flower Show many years ago and was returned to Bridgemere bit by bit.
Following several months of visiting mum in either the hospital or at home we decided that we'd go for a very gentle stroll. Each time we left a bench we'd be eyeing up the next although to be honest Mum managed really well - albeit at the rate of a very slow snail on a slow day!
The weather was cloudy but warm which allowed us to take our time to stop and look, admiring the richness of colours still out there.
The main stars were the dahlias - a plant I've never yet grown successfully - but this was followed up with the last flushes of roses, cosmos and asters.
We sat by the pond
And smiled at the children's garden
Imagine being small enough to live in that house (sorry - I'll stop right there!)
The coffee shop was next where we devoured an apple and blackberry scone piled high with clotted cream (sorry - no pictures here - it wasn't around for long enough)!
Afterwards we strolled out through the shopping area. I was lulled into buying a thing that means I can cut crinkly chips (I know - I don't think I would have had one of them in my olde worlde cottage!) And Mum's pacemaker managed to set off several alarms in the jumper shop. I would say we made a dash for it but it was more of a dignified amble.
All in all a lovely afternoon. To top it off by the time I'd returned Mum home safely Dad had managed to fix my camera. The problem? Rubbish batteries! Brand new out of the packet but obviously not strong enough. Oh how I've missed my camera ...
Still - I must go now - I've got butter to pat!
Hope you've been able to get out and smell the roses.
Jane
xxx
P.S. Quite a few of us meeting at Yarndale now - do let me know if you'd like to join us!
Since Big and Little Sis were wee we've been bringing them to the Roaches. On a spectacularly scenic road between Leek and Buxton they provide great scrambling opportunities for both young and old goats alike and reward with far reaching views. (I wrote about Leek here - a perfect place for a spot of charity shopping and some pre walk sustenance.) So yesterday Big Sis and I had some lovely mother and daughter time together and decided to take off! Of course Big Sis being Big Sis her suitcase hadn't allowed any packing of what you and I might call 'necessities'. The resulting outfit of a faux fur coat and her sister's slightly too small trainers was one that isn't often seen in the hiking community - but it did the trick! The section that we usually walk is right next to a narrow road and in the time it took to lock the car door Big Sis was already up and off.
Spot the Yeti!
The rocky path is by no means straightforward but is worth stopping along the way just to watch the light change. Within seconds it can turn from this
to this
The other thing that struck me was the absolute silence. There was a fair old breeze and the occasional word or two from a passing walker but apart from that you only heard the bees on the heather and the strange 'sweeee' sound of an unknown bird (any guesses?)
Carrying on up
Past some fantastic rock formations
We thought this one looked like a tortoise!
Noticing the old heather
and the new
Nearly there
Until we got to the top
Queen of all she surveys
I must admit I didn't quite make it to the top of the rock a la Big Sis - my knees were starting to wobble by now and the fact that these rocks have been there forever didn't allay this one bit - today might just have been the day they all decided to give way!
A wonderful day though. My cobwebs were properly blown away and I felt no guilt at all at indulging in the rather large chocolate flapjack I'd stashed in my bag for the summit!
Now for the invitation bit. I was wondering...if maybe...oh I don't know...just a thought...perhaps it would be nice if us bloggy folk could have a little get together? Hmmmm? I was thinking maybe sometime in the last week of May. Not sure where but I thought perhaps a National Trust type of place where we could have a picnic and lovely walk if the weather was nice, or go in the tea rooms and visit a lovely big house if it's not. What do you think? Shugborough? Tatton Park? Calke Abbey? I'm completely open to suggestions so if you think you've got any good ones do let me know - it would be so nice to actually meet some of you!
Meanwhile here's a by no means flattering picture of windswept me atop a rock!
