The Beautiful Walks

If you've ever read Roald Dahl's autobiography you might remember that his father had some rather wonderful and unusual ideas.  Forget playing the baby Mozart or whatever else it is that's supposed to make your precious bain super-smart, Mr Dahl senior believed that by exposing his wife to beautiful sights and sounds late on in her pregnancies, her children would all be born with an inherent sense of natural beauty. 

In this spirit, and to celebrate today being the first day of my actual maternity leave (I've been on holiday until now), the bump and I went to visit the second on my list of 'National Trust Properties I would move into in a heartbeat' (the first is in Devon, it's a bit too far to go).

Upton, on the other hand, is about half an hour away, and, well, I don't even have to show you a picture of the wonderfully huge cream and green kitchen with two Agas to make my case.


The back garden has this lovely great lawn, perfect for tennis, or badminton, or a really long game of roly-poly, and you might think that was it:

But there are surprises in store all around in the form of a wonderful terraced garden, full of late summer flowers:

That's the lawn at the top of the wall!

And these next few are for Mum (and to prove that I was neither still in bed, nor having a baby when you called earlier)





I love agapanthas (and so do the bees) but despite their apparent reputation as virtually unkillable, I have the dubious honour of having been the owner of several ex-agapanthas.  Ah well, by sheer neglect I manage to grow a mean pink Clematis - you win some, loose some.

It's been so damp and dreek here until this last week that I think in my brain I'm still waiting for summer to happen; the last properly hot day I remember was Knit Nation, and that was more to do with the humidity than the sunshine, given that it kept raining.  The garden seemed similarly confused, on the one hand we had pure summer daisies peeking through the balustrades:

But then the vegetable garden was in full on autumn mode, with runner beans getting ready to bean

and the cutest little inverse ladybird

To say nothing of the berries

and the apples in the orchard.



I spent a little time walking around with the camera (and trying to stalk a pair of cabbage white butterflies), and then adjourned to a comfy bench under a tree with yarn and needles.

The house is 'paused' as a 1930s house party, and as the gardeners are working hard to keep up, restoring the swimming pool, and even the original planting colour schemes, it seemed only appropriate to be listening to Nancy Mitford's The Pursuit of Love on the Ipod.


And as the coachloads of grockles started pouring through the gates towards the house after a late lunch, and I trundled homeward in the opposite direction it struck me that Mr Dahl may have had a point.

I've just got one question for you - which way up should this picture be?

Art for art's sake

We interrupt our regular schedule of "fluff which I have turned into yarn whilst completely failing to actually watch any of the Tour de France except for half an hour the other weekend", because this weekend, the boy and I went on an expedition (or two) that we'd been looking forward to for a while.

Our destination? The Art In Action festival at Waterperry House near Oxford that ran from Thursday through until yesterday.  I'm not really too sure what the house looks like when the festival isn't there because every spare inch of grass appeared to be taken up with tents; tents for displays, tents filled with demonstrating artists, a massive craft marketplace and smaller materials tent, and best of all, a huge range of taster sample classes.

Given that my metier is fabric and yarn and a bit of jewellery making, and H paints and draws we decided from the get-go that we had only two rules:

(a) the class had to have two spaces left; and

(b) neither of us could have tried it before.

And this is how, on a sunny Saturday afternoon I found myself sat at a table in the corner of a marquee facing a glass tumbler, and what looked (and sounded) very like one of my dentist's drills.

We had two tumblers to work on in our glass engraving class, one to practice and one for the real thing.  The practice was all about making neat lines and shapes, although it is true that my practice veered away from the strictly geometric:

And my practice shaded circle started to look so like something rather familiar, that it acquired a set of needles to go with it:

For the 'real' glass I'd love to claim I just pulled a butterfly out of thin air, but my drawing just isn't on that level, so I copied a pattern with glass carbon and traced carefully round it, tip of my tongue in my teeth.

H's glass has an owl (with wonderful eyes) and two storks, just the thing to have staring back at you from your breakfast orange juice!

Sunday was another day and another tent.

And probably as close as we ever got to an existing hobby - a class with the Prince's School of Traditional Arts on Traditional Painting Techniques.  We learnt all about pigments and alchemical history and which rocks to grind up to make which colours, how to make an egg tempura paint, and how to make pigments into oils or watercolours.

To put it all into practice we painted a Tudor rose with egg tempura onto gesso board, carefully layering up the different paints to give the richness and depth that you see in old paintings.

Considering it was essentially a 'trace and paint by numbers' exercise it was amazing how different every rose turned out.  My rose became a little more floral, copying the style from an unfinished manuscript found at Hampton Court, and H (overcoming resistance at the idea of painting what to him seems a purely lancastrian rose) went all out on the red and filled in his white lines over and over again until they almost seem silver.

From something that tilted very much to H's side of the craft spectrum, we counterbalanced the other way, with what was probably our joint favourite class of both days, and something that if I had the space I'd take up in an instant - glass enamelling.

This was my inner colour magpie's idea of heaven; take a copper disk, choose your base colour and fire it and then play with all the colours of the rainbow to make either a pendant or a key ring:

(H's efforts are on the left, mine on the right).

This was my 'proper' piece, a lime green base that perfectly matches my sandals and the leaf pattern was rubber stamped on and then the powdered terracotta glass added  to stick to the wet ink (a bit like embossing in card making but with a kiln).  I thought about building it up with different colours but in the end decided that I liked it just the way it was so I moved on to another two colour design:

Autumn leaves onto copper.

As I said, seriously addictive - imagine making your own enamelled buttons to match your latest knitting .... OK must be sensible: "We do not have room for a kiln, We do not have room for a kiln, We do not have room for a kiln ..."

And speaking of kilns ....

There was pottery.  I'm afraid to admit we nearly skipped out on this class - the tents were getting muggy and unpleasant and the entrance to the pottery workshop was filled with barging children and parents who seem to have forgotten that pregnant girls can't 'just squeeze in a bit'.  I wouldn't want the job of the guy trying to regulate the traffic!  Our pottery teacher was wonderful and if I detected a bit of a sigh of relief that she finally had two adults to talk to, who can blame her - we all exchanged a silent glance of camaraderie when Telephoto-lens Dad all but fell into our wheel leaning over to take a picture of his super special snowflake on our other side.

For a first bash we're surprisingly pleased with our results - my bowl is the one with the dots, H's is the 'man bowl' at the back and the 'useful pot to put things in' (also an H creation) suffers from inner wobbliness only because my beloved accidentally put his finger through it.  Pottery is wonderfully messy and splatty and really it's the grown up version of making mud pies or sandcastles and I could see myself trying a full on evening course - I've just got to wait until I can bend enough to get nearer the wheel!

In one of those wonderful moments of serendipity, a friend of my parents is a very talented potter and has his own kiln, and he has very kindly agreed to fire the pots for us - H is going to keep his paintbrushes in the useful pot if it survives a journey to the westcountry and a trip through the kiln!

And last but not least - I know I said that enamelling was my favourite class, but it may not have been my absolute favourite part of the weekend.  There is just a tiny possibility that my heart was stolen (via my stomach) by this:

There was a Belgian waffle stand. And they were perfect.  We shared a strawberry waffle each day for the perfect touch of summer - dee-lish

When I grow up I want to be...

It's Ascot season and as a select number of partners disappeared out of the office today to take clients to Ladies' Day, those of us that were left engaged in a little bit of 'giddy', and checked out all of the photos of the hats and a horse named StrawberryDaquiri.

There's one lady who crops up in all of the photos and seems to be as much an Ascot fixture as the Queen herself; a certain Mrs Edward Claridge about whom I know nothing save for the fact that I love her hats.

I'm just a smidgen too much of a good girl to shamelessly hoick photos off the Internet but by the powers of linky-dink may I please direct you to

Day 1 - a stunning towering confection of lilac silk hollyhocks and what look to be peonies

and then
Day 2 - a nest of pink frothy butterfly bows.

She's so completely all out there and looks like she's having a wonderful time with it.  So here's my plan: when I grow up I'm going to learn how to make extravagant hats just like these that suit me and persuade H to dress up to the nines and take me to Ladies' Day where I will sport my creation with serene confidence and have a wonderful day.

You'll know I've done it the year they report an overly high number of gentlemen seeking first aid for eye injuries after encountering my hat!

PS - in news from the International Food Market I can now also recommend the Hog Roast, the Tartiflette (potatoes and bacon in a cream and cheese sauce) and the Cherry Strudel.  I have the steak batch in my sights for tomorrow!

Yummy!

I've been working down in London today which involved both a horribly early start and a long nap when I got home so it seems a little strange to be telling you all about something that's happenning in Birmingham but this is time sensitive information; at least it is if you live in the area and have half a chance of ending up in Brum sometime this week because this is the week of the Birmingham International Food Fair.  It's a bit like the German Christmas market except that it isn't Christmas and it isn't German (see, just like it), but there is lots of lovely food and when H had a meeting in Brum last week on the first day of the fair, we did manage to find the German sausage stand:



and the Ostrich burger stand, although that disappeared too quickly for photographic evidence to be procured.


There's a big beer tent which I don't get to go to, and a Pimms stand (alas! alas!) and a wonderful Barbeque at the top of Victoria square:

They'll cook you just about anything barbeque and pop it in a baguette for you - including the very tempting but temporarily off-limits surf and turf baguette (steak and king prawns).

Although we've been sorry not to find the homemade ice-cream stand again this year, I can personally recommend the Kangaroo burgers, just about every variety of little Italian almond paste cakes, the cheese topped bagels and the vegatable noodles



and I'm reliably informed that the cheese and bacon topped bagels are also very good. 

The only thing I'd steer clear of is something described as Prawnies, and that look a bit like giant prawns; a friend sampled them last year and reports that they are basically hot Ocean sticks in prawn shapes - not the thing to have when there's so much wonderful food to try.

The fair lasts until Sunday so I've got three more lunches to choose (and maybe a bit of shopping for the weekend) and the current front runners are the hog roast and the paella and definitely another bagel!

Chasing time

I'm playing catch up from the weekend, both physically and pictorially. It was busy but wonderful but apparently my wee passenger feels that this requires lots of sitting on the sofa under a quilt and snoozing of an evening, so that's what I've been doing - that and soaking in a bath in an effort to turn off my brain which with the neuroses only found in that classic combination of pregnant woman and slightly stressed lawyer will happily take something minor and tiny that happens at the end of a working day and fret over it non-stop until the following morning.

So, the weekend. Well on Sunday the boy ran a running race. He got a much better time that he was expecting and was generally very happy although tired and sore. I played official photographer to him and a number of our friends, none of whom are particularly keen on the way they look while running, but all of whom like the victory poze.

Saturday was a very special day, as the little bear got to show Granny how big he or she has become while I tagged along. Mum and I met up roughly in the middle; the magical land of turquiose pigs:


OK, so it was Bath, with the added treat of a little mosaic pig outside the abbey.


I've never been before but it is a beautiful town with lots of wonderfully photogenic bits that made me long for the proper camera - I think the little point and shoot has done a decent job though.

Our main aim was of course to be ladies who lunch and to catch up on all the news, both baby and otherwise but we cunningly disguised this plan with maternity clothes shopping. I am now an unreserved fan of Blooming Marvellous - they have pretty things that fit me and don't make me look weird or just not like myself. Also they fit. Did I mention how they fit? When you're already shopping in that little section of the shop marked "how lanky are you? we're amazed you got through the door", and you then want to combine that with the section marked "you're going to get HOW big?", let just say choice is rather restricted.

In the eyes of shop buyers to be both tall and pregnant is an abomination that should be prevented by making sure that the only way you will grow a baby whilst remaining decently covered in clothing is by co-opting the spare duvet cover. Happily Mum got to play dress up Barbie dolls with a 6 foot pregnant real life model for a whole morning (in which we had the shop largely to ourselves which made it even more wonderful), and I now have a beautiful set of maternity clothes that I love - and they fit - I mentioned the fitting part, right!



We had a lovely long lunch followed by a stroll along the river bank, and just enough time to sit at a cafe by the abbey and eat ice-cream (me) and drink tea/eat delicious fresh chocolate (Mum) before heading for the north/south divide once again.

I also took the chance to have Mum take a picture of the increasingly bumpy me. I've taken a couple of pictures a while ago but I didn't look very pregnant, just rather fat and that's just not very morale boosting when you're already contending with having spent a couple of months feeling permenantly nauseous.

So here we are (both of us) at just under 19 weeks:

Yep, a lovely, if slightly self-conscious picture of me - not really sure if you can tell if I'm pregnant or not - I'm clearly going to have to work on my angles, also my expression is reading a little bit of concern that if Mum takes just one more step backwards she'll be in the road in front of a horse and carriage tour (very Austen).

All in all it was a lovely day out - thanks Mum xxx

Edge Hill

On Sunday 23 October 1642, the English Civil War kicked off in style with the first major battle, the Battle of Edge Hill, not too far away from our now quiet corner of Warwickshire. As battles go no-one really knows who won this one, there were lots of skirmishes and both Parliamentarians and Royalists claimed victory.

The local old wives tale is that a month after the battle, local farmers and townsfolk heard noises coming from Edgehill and saw and heard what they thought was another battle being fought on the hill. However, as they edged closer to investigate, both armies completely vanished. If you believe what you read, officials were sent to the site to interview witnesses and they also saw the ghostly visions, including colleagues and friends who had died.

It is said that sightings of two phantom armies fighting it our with each other are more visible and occur more often toward Halloween; the clinking of armour, volleys of musket fire and the galloping of hooves can still be heard at Edgehill.

Myth and legend? Or ..... the truth? We went to Edgehill last weekend and look what we found:

Parliamentarians approaching the Royalist camp through the trees.

The first volleys were fired (that flash is the gunpowder firing)

Roused from their unearthly slumber, the Royalists came out to defend their camp and their King:


But the Parliamentarians were not to be defeated, and left forth another salvo.


And steadily started to advance in formation

Towards the intrepid defenders

Who lined up all hands ready for the fight

The battle waged on, with casualties on both sides in the fierce hand to hand fighting



Until finally, as it seemed that all might be lost, and the Roundheads neared the camp boundary..

They were successfully put to flight by the ladies of the camp wielding a jug of water and the cooking spoon


Girl power, 17th century style.

So was it all a dream, was it really the ghostly re-incarnation of long dead foot soldiers, or were the Sealed Knot doing a civil war re-enactment at Upton House - who knows?

Another day, another show

This one was just a leeeeeetle bit big than the village extravaganza, though no more important to its participants than those earnestly preparing vegetables into triangles on Saturday morning; on Sunday we went to the International Quilt Show at the NEC.

I say we, with good reason. H, despite having experienced last year showed a willingness to attend a gathering of fabricy goodness filled with women that belies his protestations and makes me suspect that actually he might enjoy it. That or the wool and fabric fumes are warping his mind. Poor boy.

The exhibition had the same wonderful mix of quilts that you desperately wanted to snuggle up under, and quilts that were definitely art, and some that you just can't categorise,



Quilted sunflowers and lilies - it's a verdant imagination that comes up with that and then puts it into practice!

So, in the spirit of a picture being worth a thousand words, is a little essence of the show.


You may need to click on this one to see it bigger in Flickr, it's a 2D quilter's dream of a dolls house with classes, lectures, a quilt show and a fabric shop, and my favourite touch, in the bottom right hand corner is a lady chasing a guy with a pair of scissors.

Do we need to explain why I like this one? It is properly knitted fabric as far as I could make out. It's cream in real life but the lighting at the NEC is decidedly orange, even on a bright sunny day.

Silhouettes are in vogue in quilts:


My favourite is the people in the beach in the top one, I like the diver, and the bottom one makes me feel a little uncomfortable, I think it's their body language, it's almost a scene from The Children of Men

Then we had the 3d quilts:

Most of these owls pop out from the background including the very cute fluffy chicks on the branch.


And this fuzzy bee (together with the bunny's eyes). That quilt is all little squares and the rigorous planning needed to put it all in order and keep it in order is staggering.

The red arrows in quilt form.

Shirt sleeves, laid onto squares of suit material - the backing was squares from the shirts pieced together.

Black and white was another theme.

This next quilt was made by laying white over black and cutting away the white to answer the age old question -

Are they white with black stripes, or black with white?


And then my favourite theme of all - the beach


This quilt used photo blocks and then carried the shapes on into the next block by applique; the top right is instantly recognisable as the Bass Rock by Edinburgh.



We did just perhaps also make a tiny wee trip around the market and I may just have come home with a jelly roll or two for my next quilts. Whilst recognising that this way lies fabric stashing to the same extent of the yarn I can partially defend my position in that I have used almost all of the fabric and kits that I bought last year, so I have high hopes of being able to do the same again this year. (Feel free to laugh hollowly).

It was a fantastic trip out and the day was iced with a cherry when we got home in time to see the last Australian wickets fall and the Ashes come back home again - yippee!