tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-47763802174620704632024-03-13T18:19:49.738+00:00Hestia's LarderBurnt offerings at the altar of domestic goddessnessUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger456125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4776380217462070463.post-56480346324434381572023-12-19T14:37:00.003+00:002023-12-19T15:07:12.460+00:00Knitting Effin' Socks <p>Many, MANY years ago, my late auntie Chrissie taught me to knit. It was quite an ordeal for her because as a left-handed knitter, I SEEMED to do the right things, but my stitches were not quite kosher. She also ended up smoking about 60 cigarettes a day. But I don't think that teaching me to knit was the reason. Not the whole reason at any rate.</p><p>My late auntie Betty taught me to crochet and we used to sit up until late on a Friday night, our hooks flashing as we watched Don't Watch Alone. Which should really have been renamed Don't Watch With Your 12 Year Old Niece. It was me that ended up with the twitch after that.</p><p>Fast forward many decades are another dear now-departed friend, Fifi, decided to teach me how to knit socks. Reader, after she died, I had that half sock on my needles for over TEN years. I couldn't bring myself to go on. I couldn't bring myself to rip it out.</p><p>During lockdown I forced myself to get the sock back out and back knitting it. I had already done the tricky bit - the turning of the heel. I ploughed on for a few more rows before Nero decided that he loved the feel of real wool in his mouth and half my sock became an unravelled ball, the other half became salivary felt.</p><p>More recently, I became determined ONCE AGAIN to actually complete one or two of my craft projects and the sock needles glinted at me accusingly.</p><p>'I can't knit socks,' I moaned to the lovely <a href="https://www.youtube.com/@WeediflowerCreations" target="_blank">Karen Wiederhold</a>. Karen took up knitting socks during lockdown. She can churn out a pair of hand-knitted merino gents socks quicker than I can cast on 68 stitches. She has also designed patterns for all sorts of things for magazines.</p><p>'Try again,' she urged.</p><p>'I can't. I knit left-handed and it always ends up a dog's breakfast.'</p><p>Then, in a moment of supreme self-sacrifice she uttered the words that she has probably regretted most days subsequently 'I'll help you. There aren't many things that I haven't had to deal with when I was setting patterns.'</p><p>Now, reader, at this point you probably think that I got the (now ancient) denim blue sock yarn out and got started. Not a bit of it. Neither did I use any of the mysterious yarn stash that I have accumulated in a box beneath the spare room's bed. No. I did, of course buy NEW YARN.<br /><br />It was lovely yarn in from one of the OPAL 4-ply ranges at the Wool Warehouse, but sadly, I don't seem to have kept the yarn band and nor can I find the receipt.<br /><br />Anyway, we began. Oh reader, I wish I could tell you that it was all plain sailing this time around. Karen pulled on her Big Girl pants and led me through the long-tail cast on. Tick. No problems. Then 20 rows of ribbing (2 plain, two purl) Tick. No problem. It was around this point that I realised that something funky was happening: I was knitting my sock from the inside out. <br /><br />There then followed several frantic and increasingly abstract concept video calls with Karen who was pretty baffled. But she kept on gently explaining to me where I was going wrong. But it was like trying to explain Quantum Physics to a budgie. <br /><br />Several decades ago, I once pulled into a garage forecourt to fill my wee mini up with fuel. But then I realised that my fuel cap was on the other side to the pump, so I drove round the fuel pump and could NOT understand why my fuel pump was STILL on the wrong side. After a few minutes of sitting feeling baffled, the penny dropped and I tried reversing back into the pump. I was so spectacularly bad that I ended up just driving away in SHAME.<br /><br />This was exactly where I was with my knitting.<br /><br />No matter how many videos I watched and how many times I turned it all upside down or knitted back across a row, the bit of sock that I knitted was standing UP like a chimney, not hanging down like a ... sock.<br /><br />There were tears. But I would NOT be beaten by a SOCK. Karen persisted. She may have developed an alcohol dependency, IDK. I wouldn't be surprised ... it took a long while to sink in.</p><p>And so the months dragged on - Prime Ministers came and went, the economy plunged deeper than a Victoria's Secret bra ... but I made progress. Sure, there were so many errors in Sock 1 that I thought I would never wear them, but, dear reader, I did get them finished!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0TfonP4uiCjOPcZcUyYWkl6WrnqCpdwhV8chQLJz0HCnhX41zMGhVOLX7D6dRIao5QK1x9MuV7x1LJTgWQmN0qj1MBZHILMTF_aLb18v_JsyPab9jvAkOivAELTPggo11U1F16XPU07fOrUO1VSXD6TtX6UQxYAEOKHO7YyPwGLzxmz2csToKXlmZHRX6/s206/socks%201.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="206" data-original-width="206" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0TfonP4uiCjOPcZcUyYWkl6WrnqCpdwhV8chQLJz0HCnhX41zMGhVOLX7D6dRIao5QK1x9MuV7x1LJTgWQmN0qj1MBZHILMTF_aLb18v_JsyPab9jvAkOivAELTPggo11U1F16XPU07fOrUO1VSXD6TtX6UQxYAEOKHO7YyPwGLzxmz2csToKXlmZHRX6/s1600/socks%201.jpeg" width="206" /></a></div><p>TADAAAAH!!!!! My first ever pair of socks!</p><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; text-size-adjust: auto; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaHqm6WyuEFsMg9vmxrdLNIQwdrxL-S_xXWgmG-NT2Uc_rE_pT5ZOICtMdzrFQEpwB_zuRUfIg3xZCtjuRQugAMuoE1ROpcAVBNXohV-2xhLz52E60mD1ztEfs9uO67R7udwm105jNMgTrotzVd6-_GOOEBtGJb_vageaR97QXiwR-WRRpsILDVa7vjKxC/s206/socks%202.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="206" data-original-width="206" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaHqm6WyuEFsMg9vmxrdLNIQwdrxL-S_xXWgmG-NT2Uc_rE_pT5ZOICtMdzrFQEpwB_zuRUfIg3xZCtjuRQugAMuoE1ROpcAVBNXohV-2xhLz52E60mD1ztEfs9uO67R7udwm105jNMgTrotzVd6-_GOOEBtGJb_vageaR97QXiwR-WRRpsILDVa7vjKxC/s1600/socks%202.jpeg" width="206" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Kitchener toe! Woah - what has happened to my font?! </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUkwIRIFQkkaCGq-Lvgc3b6YQJLmDlCGlTLsqvKvoqbIb9z5ZSSU2D3wlDA5Ywe2Py2pXzuY4J-1vcJt4CucxivvZBjXsgV_D0dpO8p8curHT_QXshrzM4ksLL21qF-WOFB2NPyKyYmg3e_UMeK0Yuriylq2pcf4TB76ZGuMkZuG-gfMPNjMv1zKs9Jeap/s206/socks%203.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="206" data-original-width="206" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUkwIRIFQkkaCGq-Lvgc3b6YQJLmDlCGlTLsqvKvoqbIb9z5ZSSU2D3wlDA5Ywe2Py2pXzuY4J-1vcJt4CucxivvZBjXsgV_D0dpO8p8curHT_QXshrzM4ksLL21qF-WOFB2NPyKyYmg3e_UMeK0Yuriylq2pcf4TB76ZGuMkZuG-gfMPNjMv1zKs9Jeap/s1600/socks%203.jpeg" width="206" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">TADAAAAH - second pair of socks (with the original ancient wool!)</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUlP1YamTVsVRf_sF8qaeQsxaQ1GXXq_FakV7mz8gGDWUjiPJ4lqZZQU42c1RBD3QupdVk2RI9ej8wGP3s0v4feBL3CvZOD3zhgecDzMDXok0QuxGsdAvW9hpdtYkzszFw3AGz9u4CuzKByeKjtLXEmYcceKMlzHIYZ-TCnIqG89C7jzaQ1vUXO6h6LQjp/s206/socks%204.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="206" data-original-width="206" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUlP1YamTVsVRf_sF8qaeQsxaQ1GXXq_FakV7mz8gGDWUjiPJ4lqZZQU42c1RBD3QupdVk2RI9ej8wGP3s0v4feBL3CvZOD3zhgecDzMDXok0QuxGsdAvW9hpdtYkzszFw3AGz9u4CuzKByeKjtLXEmYcceKMlzHIYZ-TCnIqG89C7jzaQ1vUXO6h6LQjp/s1600/socks%204.jpeg" width="206" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">TADAAAAAAH - current pair of socks with yarn gifted to me by the patient and lovely Karen. You should check out her stuff!
Pardon the pun, but I'm HOOKED! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">THANK YOU KAREN!!!! </div><br />
</div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4776380217462070463.post-13462101156922263422023-07-13T12:22:00.000+01:002023-07-13T12:22:13.706+01:00Possibly the worst tabloid in the world<p>This post started out as a different animal altogether, but between typing the title (originally - my midlife crisis is here!) and getting to the end of the first paragraph, Huw Edwards was revealed (on his behalf, by his wife) to be The BBC Presenter at the centre of The S*n's story about photographs of a sexual nature being paid for.</p><p>And I just felt so sad.</p><p>Edwards is in hospital where his mental health is buckling - as you might expect after being outed by The S*n. The statement confirming that he is the much-speculated presenter was made by his wife.</p><p>I am glad that his wife was the one to make the statement (he clearly isn't in a position to do so) and it gives his family some element of control over the narrative - his wife isn't sitting at home keeping dutifully silent and one would hope that after nearly a week his five children have now got their heads wrapped around what is going down.</p><p>I am not here to troll or gloat over what has happened. There but for the grace of god go I. We are all entitled to a private life - so long as we don't break the law while we're living it. At the moment it seems that he hasn't broken the law (maybe breaching covid lockdown rules). We don't know everything and I hope people won't be too quick to judge anybody in this scenario other than the ghastly S*n newspaper.</p><p>Remember - those paragons of virtue at The S*n used to count down the days until their favourite boobilicious page 3 girls hit 16 years of age.</p><p>My reaction also depends what kind of creature we've got here: It wasn't too long ago that we had Philip Schofield coming out as gay to nationwide sympathy and then a few breaths later, looking for all the world like a child-abuser at worst or someone who was prepared to collude with a child-abuser at best.</p><p>But if what we've got is simply a closeted gay man who likes younger guys? That's not exactly news, is it? The world is full of older people who prefer younger people's bodies - it's not the end of the world. It's horrendous for his wife and children - but should be PRIVATE to them. <br /><br />And it would seem that the first young man was not responsible for outing Huw, but his mother. And for a mother to take her story to the press instead of the police, well, I have my doubts about the intentions behind that - but maybe I'm being too unkind. <br /><br />Another young man has come forward and produced emails where Edwards is splenetic at the thought of this young man outing him on Twitter. To be honest, I'd be fucking livid as well.</p><p>But what possesses a man who is in the public eye to take such risks? You cannot be telly-famous in the UK and put yourself onto 'dating' sites (I don't know whether they all met on a dating site, a paid content site or on a gay forum etc) and not expect there to be a high risk of something going catastrophically wrong.</p><p>Perhaps we can assume that he was listed there under a username or handle that was not his real name and did not load up photos that would identify him to casual viewers. Perhaps he only revealed who he was to those he had struck up private correspondence with and grew to trust ... slipping into the DMs as they say. Oh Huw - it seems that you misjudged your security with at least one of them.<br /><br />I feel so sorry for his wife and family in all this, blind-sided by their loved one having (we assume) a completely closeted Other Life. The shock, the betrayal, it will pile in on them for months as each of them replays a million different events and conversations as they look for signs and the realisation that when dad said/did this, it was really THAT. None of that is anybody's business but theirs.</p><p>Huw Edwards is not squeaky clean. Truth is, nobody is.We all have our private worlds and foibles and mostly they harm nobody. More stuff might come out and I might change my mind - but as it stands today - consenting adults did something sexual. The world is FULL of that. Meanwhile, our former PM can't share his Whatsapp messages because he's 'forgotten' the log-in details. HE'S a criminal. But hey ho, let's fire up the torches and grab the pitch forks and go for somebody different instead. It's a mess. </p><p>I just hope Edwards and his family get the help and support they need. </p><p>And I hope The S*n finally sets in the west and Liverpool gets the last long and hollow laugh. </p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4776380217462070463.post-47386894501054861932023-07-10T15:03:00.002+01:002023-07-10T15:03:42.932+01:00Botanical Art at Bute Yard<div class="separator"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="3088" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJNp5kpRz36P70BTtJpXyObX26hQLbKngiCwK5QAZt2YJgJ8EgUCIDYBbW8Apc3GPAWTLoluCHv2PBnCannq-M_T4SMXM2v13kGqE6KasFPL20Wpd1KtCBNVszBBIl9aW825zHxpOxjH7la_U3A9gMQpNaYB0CamBv1FN3JVaQheUHzqj11i-HJowXK40/s320/20230705_191547.jpg" style="color: #0000ee; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;" width="320" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My sketches<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> </p></div><div> I will be 60 next month and while it simultaneously makes me feel panicky AF and also grateful that I've had 60 years above the soil, I'm now throwing myself into Doing Stuff That Makes Me Happy Before It's Too Late.</div><p>One of these events took place last Wednesday at a new venue here on the island, Bute Yard. It's a big cool hanger of a space with professional kitchens, oodles of space (for your wedding or crime fiction festival lol!) and a small piece of it was hived off behind a couple of dividers for 12 of us to do this Botanical Art workshop event.</p><p>It was my lovely friend Ruth Slater who was running the event - excellent professional artist who lives locally - and she had laid out the two long tables with absolutely everything that we would need to master painting a sprig of Lavender and a sprig of Rosemary - nib pens, Indian ink, paint, brushes, paper - the full nine yards.</p><p>Isle of Bute Gin were also involved in the event and we were each greeted with a very lovely French Martini on arrival - which helped the creative juices flow no end! And half way through we were given a lovely Gin & Tonic which kept us feeling boho and arty until 9pm and home time. </p><p style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6ZdYVgVjagsJKadMcEOZ3GEXmbo9V0Ejcc8aWrxNMMkIinLJI580xbiDFV53s-CYTIkLjPU7a0VyN5K1qP6EaMB9waj1NnV0XDMYvWlADk9RMCxRJJNNJB7eC1xmcJy5aYIVlRONAXKNRlsniXIudJxIV1obxNiGDEdMlw4uK9aiEphxYN9nJbCT1wsM/s3088/20230705_195722.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="3088" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6ZdYVgVjagsJKadMcEOZ3GEXmbo9V0Ejcc8aWrxNMMkIinLJI580xbiDFV53s-CYTIkLjPU7a0VyN5K1qP6EaMB9waj1NnV0XDMYvWlADk9RMCxRJJNNJB7eC1xmcJy5aYIVlRONAXKNRlsniXIudJxIV1obxNiGDEdMlw4uK9aiEphxYN9nJbCT1wsM/s320/20230705_195722.jpg" width="320" /></a></p><p style="text-align: left;">Bute Yard - it's BIG, isn't it? We were at a couple of tables up at the top. Close to the bar. Of course. </p><p style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRG3tRWULXRLQU2ZtvnpWFZpVvZdBusF52Fgv80EWhvFpW4ockGr2blBsj6IC7csAlLSEyopcuVDi8fVr0cEbkCjBKCmLO0VPQNyrPDHSisGCWZgQFwS_MKEq3GAw3ktholKwybWPSxFztaZdq0gn7_8eJNDrquYRBb1mSvHso4zj6_TTXMqDCoZHBZnw/s3088/20230705_191606.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="3088" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRG3tRWULXRLQU2ZtvnpWFZpVvZdBusF52Fgv80EWhvFpW4ockGr2blBsj6IC7csAlLSEyopcuVDi8fVr0cEbkCjBKCmLO0VPQNyrPDHSisGCWZgQFwS_MKEq3GAw3ktholKwybWPSxFztaZdq0gn7_8eJNDrquYRBb1mSvHso4zj6_TTXMqDCoZHBZnw/w320-h320/20230705_191606.jpg" width="320" /></a></p><p style="text-align: left;">Here we are, nursing our French Martinis and practicing our penwomanship!</p><p style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzPbRF-L9tXWjQ8-0Iq0DyrtmCyLKXt392wReSPWhytInHe9BDY_dAySW4G5X17FbeVR6U8OPQvnRNvfw3XYnRvdGPz3GqtxliKx3S3I1PPrZIztQBx0VdkIEIpoand2pMWrfCzrgwjHp7EFre9PYjSIay9-VcXxbHki5sc0Dxk23yF5tCMUt5NcJA7I4/s3088/20230705_190409.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="3088" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzPbRF-L9tXWjQ8-0Iq0DyrtmCyLKXt392wReSPWhytInHe9BDY_dAySW4G5X17FbeVR6U8OPQvnRNvfw3XYnRvdGPz3GqtxliKx3S3I1PPrZIztQBx0VdkIEIpoand2pMWrfCzrgwjHp7EFre9PYjSIay9-VcXxbHki5sc0Dxk23yF5tCMUt5NcJA7I4/s320/20230705_190409.jpg" width="320" /></a></p><p style="text-align: left;">Fancy Indian Ink fun and my little bit of Rosemary.</p><p style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQWH9KYqpyfzNGfAArJKp0BceLvj4iNdl8znR5a0JZ2XuuMXeEL-JkN_5bwBIB3rpDAXSE-rMQOjKb_pUkmadK-cXzU03bSXoyCvB3koih_EU7ZOfjSRztOZ8wm90JH5hn8f7U3IGDm-X1qFAiTopwZe5_lVtJ1aMz8Ydem4pDbAxtDTk9j8z_hDjVzY0/s3088/20230705_193827.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="3088" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQWH9KYqpyfzNGfAArJKp0BceLvj4iNdl8znR5a0JZ2XuuMXeEL-JkN_5bwBIB3rpDAXSE-rMQOjKb_pUkmadK-cXzU03bSXoyCvB3koih_EU7ZOfjSRztOZ8wm90JH5hn8f7U3IGDm-X1qFAiTopwZe5_lVtJ1aMz8Ydem4pDbAxtDTk9j8z_hDjVzY0/s320/20230705_193827.jpg" width="320" /></a></p><p style="text-align: left;">Our half-time G&Ts being set up on the bar - hooray! </p><p style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD29qhVqOxcwIhsri8k5HdhiWnaqa9ZIyQfWJ7myCU518w6n3TAgNRVuHkQhAy-S5disM7uok_AMLOvInjkTnR-SlO4v9qdELqPRLHSGM1dmL-QhaRYuf4duh_h4cYjXngvcp_G0JXW3CiCXmxz_F8m17C2zGD--xPJ6xbgE4pf6nZzZOaP0PcB-INbzs/s3088/20230705_192531.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="3088" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD29qhVqOxcwIhsri8k5HdhiWnaqa9ZIyQfWJ7myCU518w6n3TAgNRVuHkQhAy-S5disM7uok_AMLOvInjkTnR-SlO4v9qdELqPRLHSGM1dmL-QhaRYuf4duh_h4cYjXngvcp_G0JXW3CiCXmxz_F8m17C2zGD--xPJ6xbgE4pf6nZzZOaP0PcB-INbzs/s320/20230705_192531.jpg" width="320" /></a></p><p style="text-align: left;">Look at this beautiful work from Ruth with her memories of Spring - isn't it gorgeous? </p><p style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGfsA5i98DgHBdF7xmHSjjH8kYFhFX-72isofkRN5_j6lWHQOJFsRmkPwbsQG1IawXSaBe8NML_abs8nQ_PCggtGkphIZ3bBM5N_0_T3xn7Jn3sdpgNWPV2cQGeUKWEFUwGG9uwtBqvoB0iSRtCxnykmns4SFpddybJX55KhWBokPvpLUvfKYZ7Fm5utQ/s3088/20230705_192554.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="3088" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGfsA5i98DgHBdF7xmHSjjH8kYFhFX-72isofkRN5_j6lWHQOJFsRmkPwbsQG1IawXSaBe8NML_abs8nQ_PCggtGkphIZ3bBM5N_0_T3xn7Jn3sdpgNWPV2cQGeUKWEFUwGG9uwtBqvoB0iSRtCxnykmns4SFpddybJX55KhWBokPvpLUvfKYZ7Fm5utQ/s320/20230705_192554.jpg" width="320" /></a></p><p style="text-align: left;">And this is also by Ruth - her Autumn study work. </p><p style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdBI-cmMS2MnuFc2ize85jYJs4EaGY5GJ3fYB3a4hnTn2NBAugE-gWPRVAN8GofxKH3K8SX5AB-zH-efoj0jsClqyHvN3s_L17pwHybLmuImWkzpCsSxTLDS5p-hc6dixh9M8oBhY8kd-mrT5qY3LlgyJ2hSxGd31gFRyYqdw3tlfQJaMfMEEPFdbwv24/s3088/20230705_191559.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="3088" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdBI-cmMS2MnuFc2ize85jYJs4EaGY5GJ3fYB3a4hnTn2NBAugE-gWPRVAN8GofxKH3K8SX5AB-zH-efoj0jsClqyHvN3s_L17pwHybLmuImWkzpCsSxTLDS5p-hc6dixh9M8oBhY8kd-mrT5qY3LlgyJ2hSxGd31gFRyYqdw3tlfQJaMfMEEPFdbwv24/s320/20230705_191559.jpg" width="320" /></a></p><p style="text-align: left;">Getting the sketching done and preparing to mix some colours and bring it all to life!</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEips2gQ52Q14MtjPohZe0yCzQcrranK7R77PN1_7bUT0elCsGs1b4RKulow8QZwaQu7DO6KOu1-xBLUe6vgRbioehOKVhCKtEb5verxaONuEdtDduNDHICKx2hZ3G8W07ag6UT6HrO28SGQB6dPxhhVA7AIxCKeJgV9WKSxYq4328VsPcCR7tID6q1SV3k/s3088/20230705_202140.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="3088" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEips2gQ52Q14MtjPohZe0yCzQcrranK7R77PN1_7bUT0elCsGs1b4RKulow8QZwaQu7DO6KOu1-xBLUe6vgRbioehOKVhCKtEb5verxaONuEdtDduNDHICKx2hZ3G8W07ag6UT6HrO28SGQB6dPxhhVA7AIxCKeJgV9WKSxYq4328VsPcCR7tID6q1SV3k/s320/20230705_202140.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">My Rosemary</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnO1frIMwjJpgTbx2L3JQESfZl2ZPY0vQKfPHcFNaaILFpyN7O-0SpjxQHMf8wIXXxFeeOkrG-LBFSOiv04tCj0LebAWe1vDhAXq-aETKOy1e7HdQ0kZqbOW_JAwe1ZksEjXxnSsWhs7k77PQCTuDgogq5W2_2N0Td7COZY1HYJqzsOLJ19Hk7twdNDgI/s3088/20230705_202136.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="3088" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnO1frIMwjJpgTbx2L3JQESfZl2ZPY0vQKfPHcFNaaILFpyN7O-0SpjxQHMf8wIXXxFeeOkrG-LBFSOiv04tCj0LebAWe1vDhAXq-aETKOy1e7HdQ0kZqbOW_JAwe1ZksEjXxnSsWhs7k77PQCTuDgogq5W2_2N0Td7COZY1HYJqzsOLJ19Hk7twdNDgI/s320/20230705_202136.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">My Lavender</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">So here are the pix of the event. It was a lot of fun and the first time that Bute Yard has done something like this. It won't be the last though - I'm also signed up for a tapestry workshop too at the end of the month.</span></div><p></p><p><br />Hoping for more gin, of course!</p><p>Also wtf is going on with the formatting here?! Anyone got any ideas?! </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4776380217462070463.post-26631769718492963962023-07-03T17:29:00.004+01:002024-01-07T12:26:49.645+00:00Life Lessons From Wordle<p style="text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk7TQdkuUeQl9yB_6Ebvx4wv7413ujZqJ85LKQ6pgBjsajoK505tQSGllVAJkWUrQWGaZC7cLGCvowLG6_aV6RJje4JxGP7pxT7TFQiDNhIcYe6_ktV6R5wv9C7pd-DxZ-7VVZInvwaDrzcsP7Ns9PjMaCnQqpvIHgzHOpNARezprJIBU7UUziIAtNtSY/s1200/wordle.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="630" data-original-width="1200" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk7TQdkuUeQl9yB_6Ebvx4wv7413ujZqJ85LKQ6pgBjsajoK505tQSGllVAJkWUrQWGaZC7cLGCvowLG6_aV6RJje4JxGP7pxT7TFQiDNhIcYe6_ktV6R5wv9C7pd-DxZ-7VVZInvwaDrzcsP7Ns9PjMaCnQqpvIHgzHOpNARezprJIBU7UUziIAtNtSY/s320/wordle.png" width="320" /></a></div><br />I don't quite know when or why I started doing Wordle, but it has become a daily obsession - along with Quordle, Octordle, Sedecordle, Waffle and new kid on the block Connections. Over the weeks (months! years!) of doing the puzzles every day, a tiny community of friends has built up where we share our scores and commiserate when it all goes tits up. It is very soothing, and I love them all.</div><p></p><p>We tend to run into the same hurdles over and over again on these Wordle-type word puzzles, so here are my Wordle-fu insights, as life lessons.</p><p>1 Get all the vowels out of the way</p><p>In Wordle it's unlikely you will hit upon all the consonants you need to create the answer word, but you can easily eliminate all the vowels in two attempts, tops. </p><p>Therefore, in life, you will never have all the answers, but there will be some things that you can easily eliminate that will help you muddle forwards.</p><p>2 Never fall down the missing first letter hole</p><p>Sometimes in Wordle you get all the letters bar the first one. How many times have I and my Wordling brethern and sistern immediately jumped into the AHA! it must be this!!! Only to discover that it is NOT that letter. And then you bang in another letter. And it is not that letter either and before you know it, you have ONE line left and THREE other words to guess that you haven't even looked at. Quordle can be a complete bastard like that. </p><p>Don't fixate upon and chase one thing at the expense of another three things that you haven't even looked at. Men, jobs, whatever. You do not want to be 80 and discover you've only got one line left and fuck all chance to look at the other three options.</p><p>3 American Spellings</p><p>Oh yes, WE on this side of the pond know how to spell COLOUR and COLOR is not it. When you adhere to a set of beliefs without examining them properly, you'll DIE of absolute blazing righteous anger in Wordle. And in life. Life is not fair. Consider all the sneaky options too. </p><p>4 Trying to second-guess the wordle-puzzler's mind set</p><p>You have three of the five letters and a myriad of options that would fit the spaces, but only three attempts left. You wonder whether the puzzle-setter will go for the obvious choice or hit something completely mad (yes, CAULK, I'm looking at you). Forget trying to get inside that weirdo's head. Just make your best guess. Same as in life - don't try to work out what makes another person happy and twist yourself out of shape trying to fit in. Just be your own weird, wonderful self. You might lose the guy, but you might get a job setting the Wordle puzzles.</p><p>5 Don't cheat</p><p>I see them, the people that solve Wordle in 2 lines, Quardle in 6 etc. And they do it just about every day. Of course sometimes people DO get it in 2 and 6, but they are so vanishingly rare that you are applauding them for DAYS when it happens. If it happens every other day? You're cheating - AND WE KNOW IT.</p><p>In life, yes, you can cheat your way to first place - but you don't really win. And we all know that you cheated. Better to fail honestly than cheat *says she who cheats at Trivial Pursuits and has NO REGRETS* </p><p>6 Didn't get it? So what?!</p><p>Some days, despite our best efforts, we end up with an X/6 but my standard reply to a woeful pal who has struck out is .... tomorrow is another day. We always get another chance at the game.</p><p>And our life lesson from Wordle for this: Don't worry, we always get another chance at the game. As St Scarlet of O'Hara (truly the patron saint of lost causes) once said 'Tomorrow is another day'. </p><p>Unless you die in your sleep or something. </p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4776380217462070463.post-36708557243101701802021-06-23T16:08:00.000+01:002021-06-23T16:08:05.330+01:00Hestia in the time of Coronavirus .... 2021<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EbJqhVkHi3c/YNNMR-bzqRI/AAAAAAAAGXw/IMCWrM7euq0qt23ISlBlsV_2r2-__QCIQCLcBGAsYHQ/s750/skipping.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="500" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EbJqhVkHi3c/YNNMR-bzqRI/AAAAAAAAGXw/IMCWrM7euq0qt23ISlBlsV_2r2-__QCIQCLcBGAsYHQ/w213-h320/skipping.jpeg" title="Actual footage of me skipping. Check out that beard" width="213" /></a></div>My last blog post here was March 2020 and looking back over the past 12 months brings back feelings of so much fear, uncertainty, helplessness, Barnard Castle, anger, hope and the sense of life just slipping past and there's not a damn thing I can do about it.<br /><br />In 2020, I grew lots of tomato plants and salad leaves and was so incredibly fortunate to have Sonshine and Tartarus at home with me and a big garden with a ladycave we could escape into.<p></p><p>Now it's June 2021 and Tartarus and I have both had our two vaccinations with Sonshine due to get his second jab in a few weeks - what kind of miracle is that?! And yet we are STILL not free of this damned situation.</p><p>What did I do with my year of being confined to barracks? Did I learn Spanish? Paint masterful watercolours? Write that book?</p><p>Nope.</p><p>Although I DID keep my Gaelic up and am sitting at 560 days of an unbroken streak. But I still don't think I could order two pints of beer in The Park Bar in Glasgow though!</p><p>I have watched a LOT of youtube, listened to gazillions of podcasts, bought lots of online courses (and then never completed the courses, of course!), watched the entire six seasons of Bosch on Amazon, the French 'Spiral' series (note to self: never ever get on the wrong side of the Parisian flics!) discovered a lot of Scandi crime ... and took up skipping.</p><p>Have also injured myself on a regular basis with the skipping too - it's not the same effortless fun at 58 as it was when I was 10!</p><p>First of all I skipped too much and developed such sore calves that I couldn't walk properly and had to waddle like a portly penguin. That lasted about 5 days and provided a lot of hilarity for hubby and son as I hopped up and down the stairs.<br /><br />The next thing that happened was knee pain that just would not go away. Fortunately a lovely crime-writing physiotherapist suggested some exercises for my IT band which did the trick, but it took WEEKS before I had the confidence to launch my body skywards without my knee singing an urgent protest.<br /><br />My most recent war wound through skipping is somehow hurting my back between my shoulder blades. At first I thought my sports bra was just too tight, but heck-almighty no. I ended up on my hands and knees on the lawn, desperately catting and cowing (proper yoga parlance - not!) so that I could stand up and hobble into the kitchen.<br /><br />I am rapidly approaching the stage of just giving up fighting the flab and sinking gracefully into a vat of cheese and crackers.<br /><br />And that's where I am just now - sore back, no skipping, unfit, eating kitkats by the packet, drinking gin and tonic by the pint. Other than that - life in the time of coronavirus is marvellous.<br /><br />How about you? Are you still out there reading this? Are you still blogging? Did YOU write that novel? Tell me everything :) </p><p><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4776380217462070463.post-42232733934691387682020-03-19T14:24:00.002+00:002020-03-19T14:24:45.703+00:00Hestia and life in the time of coronavirus One day, our diaries will be historical documents, so we might as well document what's happening.<br />
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The virus isn't in Argyll & Bute yet - or at least there are no publicly confirmed cases in the area that I've heard about at the moment. But that will change. And it might change because of the Easter holidays and the University students who have been told to go home. And maybe not to go back to uni this term. That's a lot of bodies on the move back to distant communities.<br />
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Sonshine is just finishing second year at St Andrews and lives in a house with two other Scottish lads (Dirty Harry and Fightin' Fraser). Who are lovely. <br />
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Tartarus has driven up to St Andrews today to bring home Sonshine and whatever worldly possessions he wants to keep. Because it might be the case that we go into some kind of lockdown scenario and they will not be back before the end of the lease on their property. I think we will be kissing the refundable deposit goodbye.<br />
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I wonder what the boys are doing about the gas and electric. *can feel financial panic rising* Maybe today isn't the best day to be worrying about that.<br />
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Anyway here on our sleepy island, things are not as bucolic as is usually the case.<br />
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We have one Big supermarket - the co-op - and any time I've been in in the past week, it's been full of folks milling around wondering who the feck is hoarding all the toilet roll, rice, pasta and butter. And, as of today, I'm wondering who is also hoarding the butternut squash and the chickpeas. I know - very first world problems, right?<br />
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Tartarus and I are trying to keep ourselves out and about, but, paradoxically, not being very sociable. Well, Tartarus has been at the pub for three evenings last weekend, but I have asked, all 'nagging wife' jokes aside if he could please stop doing that as you just don't blerdy know what's going on in public spaces - especially pubs.<br /><br />Juno, my mother, is on the mainland and living in her 'supported' housing. She has stocked up on gin and jigsaws. Has also got series 2 of The Crown to watch and a boxed set of The Sopranos. 'Hen, I survived being bombed by Hitler, so being stuck in the house for a month with a box set isn't much of a hardship.' <br />
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The plan is, I think, at the end of that month, when things are - god willing - starting to flatten down in the UK, that I can bring her down to the island for a month or so. Not staying with us. Oh for GAWD'S sakes, that would be madness! But my friends have a one-bed cottage that she will be able to rent. She'll be nearer, but still able to be isolated if the need arises.<br /><br />I am trying not to panic, but the truth is that the chaos that is swirling around this virus frightens me more than contracting the virus itself. Someone on the island, for example, discovered that her mother's toilet roll had been stolen by a visitor to her mother's house - carer? cleaner? I have no idea - but WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!<br /><br />There is a really thin veneer of civilisation on us (well, clearly its thinner on some folk than on others) and it won't take much for that veneer to chip right off. That scares the crap out of me.<br /><br />I am spending my time flicking between scare stories (AKA 'up-to-the-minute-updates') and weeding. Flicking through my packets of seeds and being determined that things will, as somebody famous once said, be ok in the end. <br /><br />And, if things are not ok, it's not the end. <br /><br />With lots of love from me and mine to you and yours, wherever you are <3Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4776380217462070463.post-77424236684073961072020-02-16T13:02:00.003+00:002020-02-16T13:02:53.671+00:00Hestia - what colour is your nameSometimes the internet brings us wonderful things and this is one of them. Synaesthesia is where your senses are more closely linked than the average bear - so some people see colours when they hear words, or music etc.<br />
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Can you imagine how wonderful it would be to feel colours from music?!<br />
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Anyhoo, in an article on Medium, someone wrote about the colours (or colors if you are one of my American cousins) she sees when she hears someone's name.<br />
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She has even designed a tool to let you SEE what colours your name would conjure up for her.<br />
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Here's mine:<br />
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Now that it's been rendered into an image, I can use my Tarot interpreting skills to tell you what *I* see when I look at the image.</div>
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I see an image that starts out as vital and light (on the left), but which slowly descends into sombreness on the right. There have been two breaks in my life which were life-enhancing (white) but that ended up back in the same place.</div>
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Yes, Tartarus, I'm looking at you. Or maybe it's house moves, I dunno. it's harder to read for yourself because you KNOW the backstory :D </div>
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Why not try the little <a href="https://synesthesia.me/see-your-name" target="_blank">web app thing</a> for yourself and see what your own name looks like as colours! </div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4776380217462070463.post-65488317017620482542020-02-13T12:24:00.000+00:002020-02-13T12:24:42.589+00:00Hestia's eyes and the NHS On Monday Tartarus, Nero and myself headed north to glorious Perthshire where the soil is the colour of a chestnut and gleams like a race horse's flank in the low winter sun.<br />
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We were staying in the Meikelour Estate in a wee cottage (gorgeous - single bedroom, dogs welcome, log fire kind of thing) and the world-famous Meikelour Hedge is but a scant mile's walk to the edge of the estate at the A90.<br />
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On Tuesday night, we popped to the other single bedroom cottage to visit our friends - The Mad Woman From Kilmarnock and her lovely hubby. And their two whippets.<br />
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As I stepped out into the rural darkness I became aware of a tiny glitter when I blinked. I thought nothing of it and after an hour it went away. A lovely evening was had.<br />
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I woke up on Wednesday morning with definite visual disturbance - a bar that lay across my peripheral vision of my left eye from about 10 to 12 (if my gaze was a clock face). It went away after about an hour.<br />
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But I was shitting myself. To tell Tartarus or not to tell Tartarus? I told him. Just in case anything else happened.<br />
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Thursday morning we drove home as planned and I made an appointment for Friday morning at the health centre.<br />
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Friday came and my sight felt fine, but I went all the same. The nurse shone a light into each eye. 'There is more of a halo effect on my left eye,' I admit to her.<br />
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She scoots off to ask the doctor on duty at our cottage hospital what to do next and returns with the answer - a pressure test is needed on my eyes. A puff test. I get that done every year at the opticians - no sweat. But cannot be done today on this fecking island. I need to go to the mainland.<br />
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I am left with instructions to phone Specsavers or Optical Express in Greenock and get a puff test today. Specsavers tell me to come over and they'll squeeze me in.<br />
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'Shall I come with you?' asks Tartarus. I have had the puff test before, I tell him that I will be fine.<br />
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The long and the short of it is, dear reader that I found myself at Inverclyde Hospital at 2pm on Friday with high pressure to both eyes. Drops immediately brought it down. But the doctor started talking about lazering holes in my iris to help with drainage.<br />
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<i>Fine,</i> I think to myself. <i>That will be about June or July</i>.<br />
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'Oh no, we'll do it later today' says my lovely Doctor, as if we were talking about going to Tescos for the shopping.<br />
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I text Tartarus. I ask him to come over on the next convenient ferry - I am not going to be able to drive home. It's a 10 minute taxi drive from Wemyss Bay to the hospital. He's there by 4pm.<br />
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Just in time for me to get my eyes lasered.<br />
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Reader - it was completely painless. And over in less than 10 minutes.<br />
Another quick check at my pressures confirmed that they were down from 40 and 36 to 20 and 16. The upper range of normal and normal.<br />
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The doctor asked me if I had any questions and I shook my head dumbly. Less than 12 hours ago, my eyesight was fine. Reading glasses needed, but fine. Now I am looking down the barrel of glaucoma and eyedrops for life.<br />
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I am due back next week - possibly for a bit more work in the eye that is still high pressure and definitely to let the doctor inspect my optic nerves for damage. Permanent damage.<br />
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Specsavers were magnificent. The NHS even more magnificent. This Service of ours is a wonder of the modern world and we need to protect it and cherish it and those who work within it.<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4776380217462070463.post-47753329523516458292017-07-31T17:10:00.001+01:002017-07-31T17:10:13.059+01:00Hestia visits ... a brilliant wee gardenSo, yanno the Open Gardens Scheme? Well we had a yellow sign go up in the town this weekend. An Open Garden HERE? In the middle of TOWN?! I couldn't possibly imagine it.<br />
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Tartarus was dragged away from some racing on the tv and off we trouped. We followed arrows up a lane and lo! Along to our left was a GEM. I had NO idea that this wee garden was here.<br /><br />Here it is - Marlene Hills lovely little space. This is one of two gardens. Which is the front and which is the back, no idea. Both glorious!<br />
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There are the most pristine little grass paths.<br />
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Tip 1: Trimming the grass edges neatly makes everything look fabulous.<br />
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Tip 2: If you like the look of something, just PUT IT IN YOUR GARDEN. Peas and Sweet Peas snake up the same frame. Broad beans brush shoulders with bright annuals. <br />
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I particularly liked the Ammi Majus and the other little flower here - lovely colour and delicate, isn't it. What in the hell is that other flower called?! It has gone right out of my head. ASTRANTIA!!!! </div>
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Tip 3: Frame old mirrors and add them to walls - and if you are clever with the glue and bits of wood, make it look like the window is opening AWAY from the viewer. This <i>trompe l'oeil</i> is used to great effect (and frequently) in Marlene's garden. I honestly thought that they were opening out into another space, behind walls and fences! Also, it gives you something else to train a climber around. Or Over.</div>
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Tip 4: Add height and drama with a pergola painted in a dark colour - acts as foil for flowers - and another climbing frame! Marlene's hubby made this - isn't it fab?</div>
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Tip 5: Make your lawn borders undulate - much more interesting than straight lines. See how beautifully it's clipped?! Marlene's hubby again!<br /><br />Also - she's got her fig outdoors. Our Figgy is in a pot and I'm thinking she doesn't like it! *resolves to plant her outside against a south-facing wall, like Marlene*</div>
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Tip 6: Paving stones (again REALLY neatly set!) leaving just a little pocket for some lobelia. And another nice wavery edge to add interest. </div>
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Tip 7: Let things self-seed!</div>
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Tip 8: Dead-head until you are doing it in your sleep!</div>
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I thought that I'd taken a photo of the little archway just behind that yellow flower in the last photo. Although the front garden of her little cottage is not huge, Marlene has created a little room (where the bench is) accessed by the arch or this little path. Keeps the garden an interesting shape. And arch adds height!</div>
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Isn't it a pretty garden and get this. The whole thing - front and back - was created in 18 months from nothing more than lawn.</div>
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EIGHTEEN MONTHS.</div>
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I've lived here 20 years and my garden isn't a fraction as attractive as Marlene's. Take heart everyone! EIGHTEEN MONTHS.<br /><br />Thank you so much for the lovely tea and cupcakes, Marlene! You and your garden are inspirational! I hope that you have raised hundreds of pounds for your chosen Charity!</div>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4776380217462070463.post-1161762406452532632017-07-24T09:30:00.000+01:002017-07-24T13:11:34.981+01:00Hestia suffers ... social media angst<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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So, I'm looking idly at Facebook, as I do most days. Most minutes, if I'm honest. And I notice that a Facebook friend has posted something - a poem - and attributed it to a very worthy and poignant backstory.<br />
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The attribution is made in good faith, clearly, but I feel that it's not correct. I google it and I'm right, the attribution is wrong. <br />
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Here is the God's honest truth of what happened next:<br />
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<a name='more'></a><br />
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Me (typing)<br />
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<i>Ah - that wasn't said by X, but by Y *smiley face emoji*</i><br />
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I read over the comment before I hit the 'return' key and wonder about the tone. Nobody likes to be told that they are wrong, do they? I add in the word 'sorry'<br />
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<i>Ah - sorry, that wasn't said by X, but by Y *smiley face emoji*</i><br />
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I read over the comment before I hit return, again, and wonder about saying 'sorry'. After all, WTF am I apologising for - doing the due diligence and checking that the backstory was correct?<br />
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I delete the word 'sorry' and replace the smiley face emoticon with a laughing face and a heart. Surely they won't take offence at that?<br />
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<i>Ah - that wasn't said by X, but by Y *laughing face emoji + heart emoji*</i><br />
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I read over the comment before I hit return, AGAIN, and am still not happy at the tone. I seem to be coming across as very knowitall. Who likes that?<br />
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After the smiley face and heart I add 'I thought that the story sounded a bit suspect, so I googled it' Just so that she knows I am not a knowitall but a googleitall.<br />
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I read it again:<br />
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<i>Ah - that wasn't said by X, but by Y *laughing face emoji + heart emoji* I thought that the story sounded a bit suspect, so I googled it. </i><br />
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Fuck, now I've made it sound like SHE failed to do her due diligence and check the crock of crap before she posted. Who wants to read that?<br />
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I delete the whole thing and sit looking forlornly at the flashing cursor, fingers hovering over the keyboard.<br />
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What do I say?<br />
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'<i>Brilliant backstory, but not the right one, unfortunately. This was said by X in 1934 and published in Posh Magazine Title the same year.' *laughing face, heart</i>* <br />
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It's still not right. I delete everything. I revert to my first comment, including emojis, and re-read it ...... it needs another emoji. I am rattling through screens of available emojis......<br />
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Whoa Nelly! What the hell are you doing, girl?!<br />
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I had spend 16 minutes checking facts, agonising about writing a comment that informed but not chastised, to an almost total stranger, about something that I knew not a jot about other than I'd googled the quote and alighted upon the right originator. Prior to the post being made, I had never heard of the poem or the author. I didn't even LIKE the poem when I read it.<br />
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SIXTEEN. MINUTES.<br />
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I could have walked the dog halfway through the woods in that time.<br />
I could have done one round of a Sun Salutation in that time.<br />
I could have poured (and drunk) a Perfect Serve G&T<br />
I could have made a round of pancakes.<br />
I could have jogged round the park once. Slowly.<br />
I could have texted Sonshine and emoji'd him that I loved him.<br />
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Instead, I tore myself up trying not to offend someone I would probably walk past in the street, about something I didn't give a flying fart about.<br />
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I clicked the quote and comment section closed and opened a funneh kitteh video instead. Much safer.<br />
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Is it just me that ends up like this?!<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4776380217462070463.post-64784142462781595372017-04-22T16:52:00.001+01:002017-04-22T16:52:19.145+01:00Hestia's Day In The Garden <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It's like a big massive snowdrop. No idea what it is.</div>
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Providing I can beat the blackbird this year, the red currants are going to be splendid.</div>
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Beautifully sniffy freesias in the greenhouse. Kindly ignore all the dead vine leaves. After all, I clearly do.</div>
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Strawberry plants in the poly tunnel - flowering! </div>
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pear blossom - could be a brilliant year for tiny, rock hard pears.</div>
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Star Wars </div>
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Solomon's Seal</div>
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Some kind of weedy geranium that never looks very tidy.</div>
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The big snowdroppy thing again. Latin name, of course.</div>
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Rosemary</div>
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Rosemary flowers</div>
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Wild Garlic aka ramsons </div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4776380217462070463.post-79625337802742040882017-03-11T08:16:00.001+00:002017-03-11T08:17:51.988+00:00Korean Expert Invaded | An Apology to his wife, from HestiaSo, you will have seen the viral video of the Korean expert being invaded by his children.<br />
<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/0M7679g1BEw" width="560"></iframe><br />
<br />
It's hilarious, right?<br />
<br />
And I - and many others - started joking about how the nanny/maid would be fired after that episode.<br />
<br />
Except she's not his nanny, she is his wife.<br />
<br />
His. Wife.<br />
<br />
I made an assumption about that woman - and that man - based on this little bit of film and while I still think this footage is one of the funniest things I've ever seen, I am utterly ashamed of myself for making that judgement about this lady.<br />
<br />
Jung-A-Kim is his wife.<br />
<br />
Now, while she herself is probably none the wiser for any smart comment and hopefully finds the whole thing as hilarious as the rest of us, I stereotyped this woman in under two minutes from this clip.<br />
<br />
Yet I believe myself not to be a bigot. And yet I made a hideously bigoted assumption. I can't tell you how ashamed of myself I am. <br />
<br />
Maybe you think that I'm over-reacting and there is no real harm done. At what point does unintentional bigotry tip into REAL harm done - the same moment as intentional bigotry. <br />
<br />
Ashamed enough that I have to apologise in public.<br />
<br />
I have learned my lesson, I promise you.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4776380217462070463.post-68547374853312752002016-10-28T15:01:00.002+01:002016-10-28T15:12:29.103+01:00Hestia ...does The Borders<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><a href="http://cosaigselfcatering.co.uk/" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-oh2qh4V3l7A/WBNZkCvLLQI/AAAAAAAAFWw/JyJn_4d21AQhpoiNCuMbQgsmFEgpR_CEwCLcB/s320/borders.jpg" width="213" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://cosaigselfcatering.co.uk/" target="_blank">Lovely!</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The regular reader of this column may recall that Tartarus does not like using airports and therefore Sonshine and I have not been abroad with him, as a family.<br />
<br />
Last December there was a marital upset here on Mount Olympus which included a furious demand (from me) that We Go On Holiday ABROAD to which Tartarus reluctantly acquiesced.<br />
<br />
So, it is now October and we have not been abroad. Tartarus has put the ball firmly in my half of the park - if I want to go abroad, I have to organise it myself.<br />
<br />
I start looking at 10 days in Italy, only to find that in October direct flights to Italy are rarer than moments of lucidity for Donald Trump. Adding in flights to London AND accommodation in Italy soon sends the holiday spiralling up the pound signs.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
I then look at a week on Malta. Which has even fewer direct flights. It does look lovely, but there are only so many historic sights that Sonshine will want to see.<br />
<br />
"Where do YOU want to go?" I ask him as my eyes start to leak out of my skull thanks to too many hours checking out locations and accommodation and flights and Things To Do on Trip Advisor.<br />
<br />
"Dunno. Japan."<br />
<br />
"Japan?" <br />
<br />
"Yes, you promised. 'Cicada' is in Japan and you said that we could go and visit him one day."<br />
<br />
Reader, Sonshine has not yet worked out that One Day is approximately the day before Never. The last thing that the lovely tattooed drummer/hipster known as Cicada requires is his mother's friend and her son turning up for a wee visit to his bijou abode in Tokyo.<br />
<br />
"How about a week in London?" I offer by way of solution.<br />
<br />
Sonshine considers this, his hands never straying from his one-player shoot out game on the Playstation, his eyes never blinking away from the screen.<br />
<br />
"Aye, London would be alright."<br />
<br />
I dive back into Trip Advisor and check out accommodation in London and flights to London and on and on and on and on. I absolutely HATE booking holidays. <br />
<br />
It actually looks semi-affordable. <br />
<br />
Until I check the school October holiday dates. <br />
<br />
And I am a week adrift. <br />
<br />
I type in the correct dates and watch the prices inflate by hundreds of pounds.<br />
<br />
I am furious.<br />
<br />
I lie with my head on the desk and talk to Tom Hiddleston who is standing in his tuxedo right behind me.<br />
<br />
"As God is my witness, I am not leaving this computer until I have a holiday booked." <br />
<br />
My inbox pings.<br />
<br />
Five nights at the delightful self-catering accommodation known as Cosaig in the Scottish Borders has become available, during the October break. It means I can take the dog. I type back: "We'll take it."<br />
<br />
So, 10 days in Italy becomes 5 nights in The Borders. That's probably about as close as I am likely to get.<br />
<br />
How about you?<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4776380217462070463.post-31299048134436885322016-10-08T12:05:00.002+01:002016-10-08T13:40:13.369+01:00How I get ready .... <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xfZzyk2TuNY/V_jSqrZ-5rI/AAAAAAAAFV8/oFEjCir7EIwiN8Z50JB5vTyXBCe9X5TUACLcB/s1600/P1020572.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xfZzyk2TuNY/V_jSqrZ-5rI/AAAAAAAAFV8/oFEjCir7EIwiN8Z50JB5vTyXBCe9X5TUACLcB/s320/P1020572.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me and Tom<br />
Me: possibly having a mid-life crisis</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I roll out of bed on a weekday morning when the dog stuffs his head under the duvet and talks to me in that peculiarly barfy-breathed greyhound way that either indicates hunger and/or pee time.<br />
<br />
My night attire is usually by The Factory Shop (usually flammable) or M&S (usually flannelette) and my robe is a fuchsia pink fleecy number that caused Sonshine and my SIL to drop into quivering piles of suppressed laughter when I modelled it after birthday presentation from Juno in August.<br />
<br />
I look like a particularly flamboyant flying squirrel in it.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
After throwing the curtains open and staring balefully at the rain for a few minutes, I slide on my slippers (Tesco) and enter the ensuite for primary ablutions.<br />
<br />
My skin care in the morning is very simple, dear reader. It involves blankly staring in the mirror at whatever fire-hazard shape my hair might be on that particular morning and despairing at what to do with it. This is followed by cold water thrown onto face because I can't be bothered waiting for the combi-boiler to send hot water all the way up from the kitchen. Then teeth-brushing using whatever toothpaste was on offer in Superdrug at the time.<br />
<br />
Then it's a trudge downstairs to the kitchen where I throw Nero out in to the garden for his morning pee. If he's lucky, I remember that he is there and he gets let back in for his breakfast about 10 minutes later. If he's unlucky and I forget, he can be confined to the top step in the pissing rain for about an hour while I drink coffee and peruse the all-important Livre Du Visage (facebook).<br />
<br />
I listen to Radio Scotland as I get dressed and shout indignant things at the radio. Most mornings it's like I have Tourettes.<br />
<br />
If I am going out for a jog, I pull on a sports bra before braving the t-shirt and leggings look. If I am facebooking for the day, I can still be found in my jammies at midday. Once, memorably, also at 4pm in the afternoon when Sonshine came home from school. That WAS a bit shameful.<br />
<br />
A proper shower takes place after the jogging and also heralds my clothing choices for the day. This is inevitably a sweater and jeans. Even in summer. In winter I also add a scarf and thermal vest. Sometimes a cardigan. I call it my 'Lady in a Van' look.<br />
<br />
My make-up routine is simplicity itself, dear reader.<br />
<br />
First, sit in front of the mirror and wish that you have the skin of a 21 year-old. Not in a creepy Hannibal Lector use-it-as-a-duvet-cover way though.<br />
<br />
Secondly, apply heavy brows to remove 'startled mole-rat' look that comes with grey hair and one's 50s. Then eyeliner - so that one's eyes do not simply disappear into one's face like a monster from Dr Who. No, far better to transform oneself into the monster that is Alice Cooper.<br />
<br />
The look is topped off with some lippy. If they day is to include a mid-life-crisis photoshoot with my cardboard Tom Hiddleston and my increasingly bemused son as photographer, the lippy may be quite colourful. if it's purely to vegetate in front of lolcats, I find a slick of lipgloss suffices.<br />
<br />
*whispers* Yes, newspapers actually do print this kind of trite drivel under the guise of Beauty - How I get Ready.*<br />
<br />
What about you?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4776380217462070463.post-85864140405885852172016-08-18T12:27:00.002+01:002016-08-18T12:27:12.830+01:00A heart-attack with Jessica Ennis Hill :-D <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-K7sm6XDm0jY/V7Wa8nN_waI/AAAAAAAAFTs/KyiiCDRiAqUggDV8K5QZRBU5iGTAH5YLQCLcB/s1600/jessica%2Bennis%2Bhill.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-K7sm6XDm0jY/V7Wa8nN_waI/AAAAAAAAFTs/KyiiCDRiAqUggDV8K5QZRBU5iGTAH5YLQCLcB/s320/jessica%2Bennis%2Bhill.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These are not the abs of a woman<br />addicted to co-op almond croissants</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
So, on my first visit to the gym, on my own, I am on the running machine. I am plodding away at a steady pace (euphemism for sloooooow) and watching the tv built into the running machine screen in front of me.<br />
<br />
I have no earphones, so I am kinda guessing what's going on. Richard Wilson is on screen. I hope, as I jog, that he has won an award. Back home later, turns out he has had a heart attack. Not my best guess...<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br /><br />
Anyhoo it was the news and there was some olympics stuff in there which was mainly people rowing in a boat at Henley in Arden or somewhere like that.<br />
<br />
I am watching the screen, keeping one eye on my time and distance. I want to be able to run a km in less than 10 minutes (my first attempt's time). According to the screen, if I can just up my speed a little, I will run a kilometre in under 9 minutes. I know. Roger Bannister I ain't.<br />
<br />
I flick up the gear lever that controls the speed of the running machine and suddenly my screen springs into life:<br />
<br />
'A MINUTE WITH JESSICA ENNIS-HILL' screams the title on the screen.<br />
<br />
Dear SWEET bebbeh JEEESUS - what have I done?!<br />
<br />
I am jabbing at the touch screen in front of me so mindlessly that I forget to keep my feet moving and suddenly I'm staggering around on the treadmill, hyperventilating and making panicked whining noises.<br />
<br />
I can barely run the length of myself - I do not want Jessica Ennis-Hill as a running mate. Not for a minute. Not for a nanosecond. Despite everyone else in the room wearing headphones, all eyes seem to be turned in my direction.<br />
<br />
My panicked gaze alights on the screen of the chap jogging next to me. His screen is exactly the same as mine.<br />
<br />
A minute with Jessica Ennis Hill isn't a running machine programme, it's a 60-second slot on the olympic news.<br />
<br />
Still, my time for the kilometre was under 9 minutes. However, the heart-failure was immediate :-D<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4776380217462070463.post-61679601021078482392016-08-17T10:33:00.000+01:002016-08-17T10:33:30.533+01:00Hestia has ....joined the gym<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qE1jk0I85qY/V7QuSpt0SgI/AAAAAAAAFTY/canUMtF_oAwcOc5tbFc6TZf5yA4725ebgCLcB/s1600/venus.rubans.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qE1jk0I85qY/V7QuSpt0SgI/AAAAAAAAFTY/canUMtF_oAwcOc5tbFc6TZf5yA4725ebgCLcB/s320/venus.rubans.jpg" width="249" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Too many fecking mirrors</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
So, it came to pass that I found myself in a hotel bathroom that was overly endowed with mirrors, all of which conveniently unfogged as I was drying myself after a shower.<br />
<br />
Of course, if I had been expecting to see myself naked from a million different angles I would have sucked my tummy in and stuck my ass out ... or maybe just not showered for the entire weekend.<br />
<br />
BUT, as it was, I suddenly encountered myself in my full Rubansesque nakedness. Which would be FINE if I was living in the 1600s (I would have been a BABE) but not so hot in 21st century Scotland.<br />
<br />
It wasn't good.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a>I took in the whole landscape: Nothing was the right shape. Nothing was hanging the right way. Or at the right height. I make the Willendorf Venus look like Twiggy.<br />
<br />
I stood marvelling at myself. After a caesarian, an appendectomy and gall bladder removal, my stomach resembled a particularly lumpy and dented map. Lots of cut muscles. But mostly evidence of too many kitkats and almond croissants.<br />
<br />
You know that lovely little curve that sweeps down from your waist to the top of your bottom. I have none. Whatsoever. Flat back. Where did it go? It's not buried beneath a layer of wobble, but it's gone.<br />
<br />
That's what comes of sitting on your arse for a lifetime.<br />
<br />
And so, dear reader, I found myself signing up for a 6 week pass at the local sports centre.<br />
<br />
The first class was KETTLEBELLS. What a cute name. Reminded me of the friendly and motherly singing kettle thing in Beauty and the Beast. <i>It will be</i>, I assured <i>myself, a piece of piss.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Cut to later that same evening as I find myself lying on my back, unable to pull myself up into one more sit up. Cut to slightly later in the same evening - my buttocks absolutely refusing to play ball any more as I try to lower myself into one of the endless lunges. Squats? Fuck off.<br />
<br />
Beryl, on my left, is in her 70s. June, on my right is just a little bit older than me, I think. They are both dipping and sit-upping with gusto. I feel so sore I can barely walk to the car. I get home and Sonshine has to help me from the car to the house. THAT'S how unfit I am. After FIVE days, I can walk up the stairs without clutching the bannister and moaning as though I'm in a particularly low-budget porno.<br />
<br />
Aquafit class the following evening is, on the other hand, a laugh and achievable. Sure, I do struggle with the hand-weights behind my head and I'm not keen on my fanny acting like a suction pump on the cold pool water as I gaily swing my legs to the beat of Ed Sheeran .... but I get through it!<br />
<br />
The induction session at the gym - an Instructor walks me through the equipment. I tell him not to bother explaining about the big heavy weights, I won't be going there. <br />
<br />
And so it has come to pass that I am going to the sports centre every weekday - sometimes for the gym, sometimes for the aquafit.<br />
<br />
And guess what, dear reader? I LOVE it.<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4776380217462070463.post-48175414933693450242016-08-07T19:08:00.000+01:002016-08-07T19:39:55.348+01:00Bute Noir | an investigation | with wine and cake<h4 class="western" style="break-before: page; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #262626; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;">The Case of Bute Noir</span></h4>
<div class="western" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #262626; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;">It
was a bright and sunny lunchtime when I strolled down to Bute Museum
for the inaugural event for Bute Noir. </span></div>
<div class="western" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #262626; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="western" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #262626; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;">I didn't know what to expect:
the weekend event had been organised in a rush by one Karen Latto.
She was the kind of broad that makes grown men go weak at the knees –
capable, efficient and a rabid Liverpool fan: this was one broad not
to be messed with.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></span></span><br />
<a name='more'></a><span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">My
case notes showed that she had some kind of hold over crime writer
Craig Roberston – I suspected blackmail – but for cash or bags of
tablet and a jar of chutney, I wasn't yet sure. It was going to take
a whole weekend to get to the bottom of Bute Noir … </span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
opening event, Craig Robertson was talking Serial Killers with two of
his fellow crime-writers – Italian Scouser Luca Veste and Gordon J
Brown. Not the ex Prime Minister. I watched them carefully for signs of stress, but the three
of them sparked good humouredly off each other for an hour. These
guys were good.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Then
it was down Print Point and meet the Queen Bee, Latto, on her home
turf. 'Would you like a cake?' she asked and there I was, caught,
BANG in the headlights of her stare. I hadn't eaten since mid-day
and I was starting to believe that I was a gum-shoe in a Raymond
Chandler novel. Taking a cupcake and a glass of wine, I settled down
to hear Myra Duffy chatting with American author Alexandra Sokoloff.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
had a few more glasses of wine. Relax, they were small and I wasn't
driving anywhere other than myself. Up the wall. What was going on
here at Bute Noir? What was Latto's mysterious hold over all these
authors?</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Then
it was up to Rothesay Library for Alex Gray in conversation with
Alanna Knight. That dame's a real lady. There was no way Knight was
wrapped up in Latto's game. But Gray? She was cool, calm and classy. What was her involvement in all this?</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It
was now half past seven and I was twitching through lack of food and
too much vino collapso. We were back in the Museum and Caro Ramsay
was with Michael Malone and Douglas Skelton – a blonde rose between two
thorns. They answered questions drawn from a hat and kept us royally
entertained for an hour. Malone was also a poet laureate for a sex
shop. I wasn't expecting that. Maybe it was somehow linked to the
case ….</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">By
9pm I was back in the library and Francine and Janice - whom I
suspected of being in league with Latto - kept me supplied with
flapjacks and more wine. Sure, I was no closer to solving the
mystery of Bute Noir, but I was getting so loused on rose that I no
longer cared.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Suddenly,
there he was - the Big Cheese. The Numero Uno. The Head Honcho. The daddy of them
all ….. Christopher Brookmyre. From the start the guy had us all
in the palm of his hand, playing it straight, but killing us with a
wicked sense of humour. There was that Sokoloff dame again … was
she on to me? I made some notes, staggered home through the darkness
and fell into a troubled (wine-infused) sleep.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Saturday
lunchtime I was stone-cold sober and swore to be on the wagon for the
whole day. We were on the countdown to the end of Bute Noir and I
had nothin' on anyone – they were all accomplished writers and
entertaining talkers, but I was determined to get to who was
responsible for all this.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
grabbed my pad and pen and headed off to the library where Ramsay,
Robertson and Brookmyre were in cahoots and keeping a packed audience
regaled. There was something about Robertson – an edge. I was
starting to think that I'd got it all wrong …..</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Maybe
I'd been looking at this down the wrong lens of the telescope! Maybe Latto wasn't blackmailing
Robertson …. maybe Robertson was blackmailing Latto!!</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Elated
by my new insights, I celebrated with some cake. And a couple of
glasses of wine.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Knight
and Duffy then took the floor and I was soon convinced that neither
of these two clean-living broads were guilty of any crime. Other
than the murders they wrote about, obviously.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
celebrated their elimination from the investigation by some more
cake. And a couple more glasses of wine.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
headed back to the Museum where Grey was skilfully interviewed by
Malone and I learned just what an important player Grey is. The
organiser of Bloody Scotland … but not at the bottom of Bute Noir.
Still, I felt as though I was closing in on The Organiser.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">More
wine was foisted upon me by the museum staff and I was powerless to resist.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
weather had closed in and I hurried through heavy rain to get back to
Print Point where Veste and Skelton argued for the merits of their
various home turf as locations. Glasgow won. So I celebrated by
eating some more cake. And drinking more wine.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Latto
looked on edge, nervous – did she know that I was on to her and her
game? It was time to play a few trump cards. I mentioned that I
wanted to know her game …. she immediately buckled and began to
sing like a canary. Her game? Liverpool were playing and they were
winning AND SHE WASN'T ABLE TO WATCH IT! No wonder this chick was so
on edge.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
scored through Latto – she might be providing one of the safe
houses, but there was someone else masterminding this shindig …</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">7pm
and I cannot bite my own finger never mind suss out the criminal
mastermind behind Bute Noir. Sokoloff, again! Brown, again! Both
talking about their subtle use of the supernatural in their work.
One thing was for sure, I needed a miracle from God to solve this in
the next hour!</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
drowned my sorrows in flapjacks and some more wine...</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
last event of the weekend and the museum was packed. Robertson had
centre stage and Sokoloff was manning the scoreboard. Was he in
league with Sokoloff? </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
quiz began and although I was determined not to be sucked into their
criminal game, I found myself miming Ironside to team Brookmyre. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">My investigation was now sorely compromised as I shamelessly hummed
along to the themes from Starsky and Hutch, Kojak and Dixon of Dock
Green.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Robertson
had it in the bag and as he drove the quiz along, ruthlessly docking
points and awarding points, it all became clear to me ...</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Latto
hadn't bribed them with chutney, rock and tablet …. It was all down to Robertson! Yes, crime-writing maestro Robertson had made the other authors an offer they
couldn't refuse!</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">But
I could do nothing – I had helped team Brookmyre cheat their way to
second place in the two-team quiz.... </span></span></span><span style="color: #262626; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;">I had bought Robertson and
Sokoloff's books and they knew I was powerless to unmask them as the powerhouse behind Bute Noir.</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">They'll
be back next year.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT" class="western">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">But next time I'll be ready …</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">** none of the names have been changed to protect the guilty ** </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">*** nae pix - but the men were all wearing fedoras and smoking cheroots and the dames looked beguiling *** </span></span></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4776380217462070463.post-72190114402812127982016-05-19T17:49:00.004+01:002016-05-19T17:49:54.177+01:00New Blog - for a year!Sonshine and I are going veggie. For a year, initially, but who knows. If we can stand the flatulence and not succumb to the bewitching lure of a bacon sandwich, we should be fine.<br />
<br />
Bacon sandwich ...... *drools in manner of Homer Simpson*<br />
<br />
It's not going to be easy, but I hope we'll have a bit of a laugh and get some new cooking skillz beneath our belts.<br />
<br />
Coming over to The Year of Living Vegetarianously?<br />
<br />
<a href="http://tyolv.blogspot.com/">http://tyolv.blogspot.com</a><br />
<br />
Hope to see you there!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4776380217462070463.post-8494563894708218112016-03-18T16:06:00.001+00:002016-03-19T12:23:51.044+00:00On being an author :-D <br />
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<img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_LZ3v3YZMNk/Vu1DF84FM6I/AAAAAAAAFKE/oJFBiRCx954zoheAIZXDE5IhimslgOjAw/s320/Wildwood%2Bcover.jpg" width="210" /></div>
Dear Reader,<br />
<br />
I have written a book.<br />
<br />
It's a Tarot book and it has taken me an absolute dog's age to get it mobilised and actually on to Amazon. Where it goes on sale tomorrow.<br />
<br />
I made it available as a pre-order the day before yesterday. Already the highs and lows of an author's life are making themselves known:<br />
<br />
<br />
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1 Anxiety<br />
<br />
Have I actually loaded up the correct version of the book? What hideous consequences will there be for me if I have loaded up The Wrong Version. Which, given the state of my desktop, as well as my desk, is entirely possible.<br />
<br />
This anxiety is very closely related to the #2 concern ...<br />
<br />
2 What if everyone hates it?<br />
<br />
Yes, you write this thing and you hope for the best, but what if it's not what people think that it is and you leave everyone disappointed and frustrated and not wanting to read anything that you ever write, again?<br />
<br />
3 Support from unexpected places - delightful<br />
<br />
Over the past couple of days I've received e-mails of support from some unexpected places and it's been absolutely lovely. People that I didn't think would be bothered have been very kind. <br />
<br />
I am making a list of everyone who has been lovely and in my own little way, I shall do my very best to be as lovely to them when I get an opportunity to support THEM. There's still time to get on my list *grin*<br />
<br />
4 Marketing<br />
<br />
I have mailshot (What might be the verb for sending out mailshots? Mailshit? Mailshat?!) over 1,000 people. All of whom are the book's target market, so that's good. However, every time I mention the excitement of the rankings saga on Facebook, I totally neglect to add a link to my book. Thank God for Ebil Twin Viv who has taken it upon herself to follow me around the internet dropping the link in where required. <br />
<br />
5 Amazon rankings fever:<br />
<br />
At noon, I find that I am the no 11 best-selling tarot e-book in Amazon UK. I am beyond thrilled.<br />
<br />
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<br />
By 5pm I discover this:<br />
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<br />
I AM GOING THE WRONG WAY!!! *hyperventilating panic sets in*<br />
<br />
I start compulsively reloading the page, hoping that it will suddenly start going up again.<br />
<br />
I am praying to all sorts of gods and promising all sorts of unrealistic things (please God, let my rankings improve and I'LL GIVE UP CAKE)<br />
<br />
6.30pm:<br />
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<br />
At this point I am head down over the keyboard, despondent. The dream is over: I am bombing down the list faster than Nicola Sturgeon at a Tory Party Conference.<br />
<br />
My compulsive clicking to refresh the statistics screen is getting on Tartarus's nerves. AND I have an AGM to attend. Reluctantly, I drag myself away from the screen and go and talk about clean beaches for two hours.<br />
<br />
Back home. The first thing I do is rush upstairs to check the statistics. Not even stopping to pat the dog's head. Not even stopping to pat Tartarus's head. If this is what all authors do, I'm surprised that their partners haven't stabbed them during the night with a rolled up Penguin novel.<br />
<br />
I log on:<br />
<br />
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<br />
OH MY GOD! Oh my GOD! I'm in the Top 10 Tarot e-books on Amazon UK. It is 8.45pm and I need scraped off the ceiling I am so high.<br />
<br />
I go downstairs to tell Tartarus and Sonshine. We settle down to watch Guy Martin fight it out with David Coulthard. But I can't concentrate. I am thinking of best-seller lists and adulation and acclaim and cheering crowds and being invited back to my old school to talk about my RAGING success as an author...<br />
<br />
In the last advert break, I can stand it no longer and thunder back upstairs to check my statistics ....<br />
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<br />
I HAVE GONE UP A PLACE!!!!<br />
<br />
I go to bed, but I cannot sleep. I am so excited that even the anxiety of the whole thing turning to shit in my hands is fading into the background.<br />
<br />
I am awake at 6am but know that there will be a complete familial meltdown if I get up to go and check on my Amazon statistics before the dog has even woken up. I lie in bed fantasising about buying a sports car...<br />
<br />
As soon as it is a decent hour (ie daylight), I bound through to the computer:<br />
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I am #4 not just for Tarot, but also New Age ... and in the Top 10 for Divination as a whole. I am nearly weeing myself with excitement. I am in the TOP FIVE. This is as good as sex! From what I remember.<br />
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I wonder how things might be progressing in the other versions of Amazon and nervously click on the Dutch shop. I have two Dutch friends. Only one of them is interested in Tarot and THERE ... well, look for yourself ....<br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O7LWm6jqTgU/VuwhpS9ZB1I/AAAAAAAAFJ4/riuW5Qtl6rwFP_EeIMdGMvEDGWO6ghNFw/s1600/NI%2B18%2BMarch.tiff" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O7LWm6jqTgU/VuwhpS9ZB1I/AAAAAAAAFJ4/riuW5Qtl6rwFP_EeIMdGMvEDGWO6ghNFw/s1600/NI%2B18%2BMarch.tiff" /></a></div>
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I'm number TWO for e-books in Engels ... and Gezondheids!!<br />
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I brace myself and head over to the big one.... Amazon US....<br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Edfg58rg9SI/VuwhpmcAOlI/AAAAAAAAFJ4/wD_Lu_juqQICn6srYAf85PBdQG3kCq5mw/s1600/US%2BAmazon%2B18%2BMarch%2B2016.tiff" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Edfg58rg9SI/VuwhpmcAOlI/AAAAAAAAFJ4/wD_Lu_juqQICn6srYAf85PBdQG3kCq5mw/s1600/US%2BAmazon%2B18%2BMarch%2B2016.tiff" /></a></div>
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And there it is... THERE IT IS!!!!! I am the NUMBER ONE SELLING TAROT E-BOOK ON AMAZON US*!!!!!<br />
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Reader, I take the dog for his walk :<br />
<br />
'Here is the NOSTEOAUS* out walking her dog.'<br />
'Here is the NOSTEOAUS picking up her dog's poop.'<br />
'Here is the NOSTEOAUS walking with her increasingly disgruntled partner.'<br />
'Here is the NOSTEOAUS running away from him up the beach before he can physically gag her from mentioning AGAIN that she is a NOSTEOAUS.'<br />
'Here is the NOSTEOAUS eating a celebratory lemon meringue cheesecake slice. For her breakfast.'<br />
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It is now nearly 4pm and this means that for most of today I have been a number one best-selling tarot e-book author. *clicks just to make sure*<br />
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Being married to J K Rowling must be insufferable :-D<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4776380217462070463.post-70340705589637730472016-02-09T11:32:00.001+00:002016-02-09T11:32:26.533+00:00Flowers for Bees | Horologium Florae<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7seyBl5RWIQ/Vrkc32SUOpI/AAAAAAAAE_4/Juh3-BAZ-Nw/s1600/plant%2Bto%2Bsave%2Bbees.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7seyBl5RWIQ/Vrkc32SUOpI/AAAAAAAAE_4/Juh3-BAZ-Nw/s1600/plant%2Bto%2Bsave%2Bbees.jpg" /></a></div>
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Plant these to ensure that all the bees in your garden have something delicious to dine on.</div>
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Won't it be nice to just leave buttercups in situ and know that you are actually helping save the bees, rather than your neighbours thinking that you are just too lazy to weed?</div>
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And 'cilantro' is what we call coriander. I don't know why. If anyone does, let me know. It's like us calling a pineapple a pineapple and the rest of the world calling it some version of 'ananas'.....</div>
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If you're not keen on some of these flowers, here are some tips from the top (ie the folks at Gardeners' World) on the sort of plants that bees like:</div>
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Single flowers are preferred (maybe easier for them to get at the good stuff)</div>
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Apparently their little bee radar is best with PURPLE flowers </div>
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And they are also a big fan of the tubular shaped flower (foxgloves)</div>
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Bear those three things in mind and your garden will soon be heaving with the little blighters and you will, in all honesty, be saving the world!</div>
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I am also enamoured with the idea of a flower clock, or Horologium Florae But since we never get any sun in Scotland, I would never know the time. BUT, if you live in sunnier climes and want to give it a go. <div>
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Here's a graphic:<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jScHs8YwVV0/VrnNjVOdPbI/AAAAAAAAFAI/8yGx2yj27po/s1600/flower%2Bclock.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jScHs8YwVV0/VrnNjVOdPbI/AAAAAAAAFAI/8yGx2yj27po/s400/flower%2Bclock.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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And a link to an interesting article in the <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2015/01/29/garden/planting-a-clock-that-tracks-hours-by-flowers.html?_r=0" target="_blank">New York Times </a></div>
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Wouldn't that make a splendid jigsaw? </div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4776380217462070463.post-84566242813054601212016-02-08T10:47:00.003+00:002016-02-08T10:47:41.726+00:00Style - I've got it. Sort of.Before you jump to conclusions, I haven't had a personality transplant and started swanning round the rain-lashed streets in spindle-heeled pink chiffon Louboutins. No, I am, in fact, in possession of The Sunday Times Style section:<br />
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Allow me to share the adverts that caught my eye this week:<br />
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1ifV90SXo88/VrhrkH2T3yI/AAAAAAAAE-o/bnn9eb_Ojp8/s1600/balenciaga.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1ifV90SXo88/VrhrkH2T3yI/AAAAAAAAE-o/bnn9eb_Ojp8/s320/balenciaga.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />
I am strangely taken by the Balenciaga advert of two young sleepers, dozing in their underwear after a hard night of modelling. I fondly hope that the one who has been subject to a frenzied biro pen attack has not got any on the 'spensive sofa. But then, if your dad is Lenny Kravitz, I'm sure that you don't care.<br />
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Onwards to Versace:<br />
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Here we see the value of that old Billy Connelly adage: 'There's no such thing as bad weather, just the wrong clothes' as two impossibly swooshy-haired models stand on a snowy slope in tiny black leather outfits, bare legs and high heels. I would not say no to that handbag though.<br />
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Then to Moschino:<br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-AbeKuLqczjE/VrhtUQR8taI/AAAAAAAAE-4/1iMUrt1pfo0/s1600/moschino.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-AbeKuLqczjE/VrhtUQR8taI/AAAAAAAAE-4/1iMUrt1pfo0/s320/moschino.jpg" width="229" /></a></div>
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This is Linda Evangelista. Modelling toilet/glass cleaner.<br />
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Jimmy Choo, famous for SHOES, has a model who looks like she's snogging a hand-grenade instead of a perfume bottle. I cannot find an image of this advert on line, so am not scanning it in in case there is a reason why it's not on the internets. But come ON, I want to see SHOES in my Jimmy Choo advert.<br />
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Oh wait, there ARE shoes, and LEGS but wrapped around Kit Harrington in the gents' fragrance campaign. Which was in last week's Style. Let me share it with you:<br />
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It's not even called a gents' fragrance, but MAN. Hence the legs, the leather and the bearded hottie, I suppose. He does scrub up well, doesn't he?<br />
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So concludes my roundup of the ads :)<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4776380217462070463.post-42625240664014135712015-08-20T08:38:00.001+01:002015-08-20T08:38:37.772+01:00Hestia ... and summer holiday bits and bobsSorry that I've been absent for most of the summer holidays, but as Sonshine grows older, there are fewer mildly amusing things to report.<br />
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Fewer, but not nothing at all....<br />
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This, ladies and gentlemen, is - according to Sonshine - A SHEFFIELD PONY!!!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uTk1dgbPD7c/VdWCi0XhMaI/AAAAAAAAE6Y/OZk957nwH24/s1600/shetland.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="217" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uTk1dgbPD7c/VdWCi0XhMaI/AAAAAAAAE6Y/OZk957nwH24/s320/shetland.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Well-known for their cutlery-making abilities<br /><br />
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It is not only Sonshine who is still prone to a blooper. Tartarus answered the phone for the millionth time the other night saying:<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">"It's like Pilladicky Circus in here!"</span></b></div>
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Henceforth, it SHALL be known as Pilladicky Circus :)<br />
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We've been busy - a week in Aviemore with hopalong Nero - whose walking is greatly improved. <br />
<br />
We've been to the exotic south, to Birmingham, where we had an amazing apartment on Brindley Place (right in the thick of it!) and I gave a small presentation at TABI's Tarot Conference. I won't tell you what it was about because if you are not interested in Tarot, it will be totally yawnsville.<br />
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Alright then, you totally twisted my arm: How to read with reversed court cards.<br />
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*prods reader awake*<br />
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The weather over the summer has not been very good here in Scotland and we're hoping for an Indian Summer. Up here that means 'lots of curries' :-D<br />
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School has now returned. Tartarus has gone back to sea. My life is once again my own.<br />
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How has the summer been for you?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4776380217462070463.post-31924797061722685812015-06-16T12:30:00.002+01:002015-06-16T12:30:18.835+01:00Hestia... #FAIL<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-AY-M_SugXxE/VYAEn0sj58I/AAAAAAAAE0I/RoKkhF60QlQ/s1600/book.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-AY-M_SugXxE/VYAEn0sj58I/AAAAAAAAE0I/RoKkhF60QlQ/s320/book.jpeg" width="248" /></a>Yesterday, Monday, I had a lot of very fine intentions which all went to pot as I hovered over the computer awaiting a client's e-book to go live so that I could get the tweeting scheduled and be on hand to help iron out any glitches.<br />
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Which meant that I was never more than 30 minutes away from the computer.<br />
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Which is not conducive to anything particularly creative. Although I was, I think, useful as far as the book is concerned - which makes the #fail a bit more bearable. <br />
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But only just. So, there you go - yesterday (Day 12) I failed :-D<br />
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I AM reading Vivienne Westwood's autobiography, which is actually very enjoyable. The book is a curious combination of (what looks to me) like VW speaking to the author verbatim: Sentences half-finished, thoughts that digress away from the topic in hand .... and quite lengthy complex, well-thought out discussions on politics etc.<br />
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At the moment, I'm at the Malcolm McLaren years. And what a strange character he was. Even to her. Especially to her. I don't particularly like him - he comes across as needy and selfish, promoting his work and downplaying VW's role in realising that work.<br />
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Anyway - it's a jolly good read!<br />
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Today got off to a better start when my Ebil Twin, Ania, posted me a gorgeous book called A Celebration of Light. An optimistic gift that encourages me to keep going with the ol'watercolours :-D<br />
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So today is Day 13 and I'm counting settling down with the new book as something creative :-D<br />
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I think that to get through these 30 days, I need to do very small things that I can do within about 20 minutes - maybe a sketch? a tiny watercolour?<br />
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Suggestions for 20 minute arty projects welcome :-DUnknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4776380217462070463.post-2447175452890624592015-06-15T14:43:00.002+01:002015-06-15T14:43:43.771+01:00Hestia's Creative Weekend<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gWCATqQN7Ro/VX7V6dfM7DI/AAAAAAAAEzw/iaeOXEMIC0E/s1600/creative%2Bthing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gWCATqQN7Ro/VX7V6dfM7DI/AAAAAAAAEzw/iaeOXEMIC0E/s320/creative%2Bthing.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I find that gin also helps ....</td></tr>
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<b><u>Creative Day 9</u></b><br />
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So, it was all going swimmingly on Friday - did my creative burst in the garden with some plants and then settled down to make Gnocchi for dinner.<br />
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And then our burglar alarm went off....<br />
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Reader, I would like to tell you that it was a minor blip in a lovely day, but it took up the whole of Friday evening to try to get it sorted out. And I discovered one thing - there is no Emergency Weekend Electrician service on the island.<br />
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With some judicious turning off and on at the mains, we managed to get the chirruping in the house to stop. Eventually. Which was great. But the outside light was strobing. Not so great for the neighbours - but hey, I phoned EVERYONE that I could think of, even the local cop shop and no one could help me. So we all slept in Studio 54 ;-D<br />
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I made a tiny salad planter from two plastic dishes that I had bought cherries in. <br />
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Two coats of black acrylic inside the lower one.<br />
Then some silly flowers and leaves to decorate the outside.<br />
Then duct tape to act as a hinge between the two :)<br />
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It'll be in the bin by the end of the summer, I'm thinking .... (photo to follow - battery is flat in camera:))<br />
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<b><u>Creative Day 10 and 11</u></b><br />
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This morning we reset the alarm a couple of times and the strobe light outside eventually went off.<br />
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So we're back to normal. Mercury has just stopped being retrograde and I think I've been lashed by the tail end of his troubles because NOW the Hive unit for the central heating has stopped working *sigh*<br />
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Thank God Saturday is World Gin Day:<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-assqd_et984/VXynNfemD3I/AAAAAAAAEzU/-wJApwyYaBE/s1600/P1010008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-assqd_et984/VXynNfemD3I/AAAAAAAAEzU/-wJApwyYaBE/s320/P1010008.JPG" width="221" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Why yes, it IS a very blurry picture... :-D</td></tr>
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I decided for Day 10 and Day 11 to have another go at this picture from earlier in the week:<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--iyKrXvHysI/VXhRpklbZvI/AAAAAAAAEyc/VEYme2l9JeQ/s1600/northumbrian%2Bcoast.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--iyKrXvHysI/VXhRpklbZvI/AAAAAAAAEyc/VEYme2l9JeQ/s320/northumbrian%2Bcoast.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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And got this:<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nUQ2mfiWJWc/VX7VgmH8WhI/AAAAAAAAEzo/WITy8QZ-NKA/s1600/Queen%2Bof%2BCups%2B1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nUQ2mfiWJWc/VX7VgmH8WhI/AAAAAAAAEzo/WITy8QZ-NKA/s640/Queen%2Bof%2BCups%2B1.jpeg" width="472" /></a></div>
I know. It's still about as similar to the original as Katie Price's current boobs are to her originals, but it's allllll about the process, right?!<br />
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Have you created anything luffly over the weekend?<br />
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Or celebrated World Gin Day?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4776380217462070463.post-1080030779620162602015-06-11T17:03:00.001+01:002015-06-11T17:03:42.498+01:00Hestia's ... Creative story so far<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-I1FQVHIfvuU/VXmwb-r29BI/AAAAAAAAEzA/TFCHOepatOY/s1600/van%2Bgogh.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-I1FQVHIfvuU/VXmwb-r29BI/AAAAAAAAEzA/TFCHOepatOY/s320/van%2Bgogh.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">But what if being in it with all your heart,<br />just isn't good enough?!</td></tr>
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I've managed to be creative for a whole week. It's not been a complete success.....well, it's not been ANY sort of success, truthfully, but I HAVE learned that the point of doing something creative is not the end result - it's the PROCESS.<br />
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I suppose that realisation is a success, of a sort.<br />
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I had a lot of gardening to do today and so the creative process has been taken outside and into the polytunnel. Can I be creative in the garden, I wonder? I spend ages planting up 12 little broad bean plants, carefully making sure that they are all the same distance apart - it pleases my inner gardening artist to see them planted up. Or perhaps it's my inner Gardening Nazi that likes to see them neatly standing to attention.....I wonder whether this counts as a Creative Project for Day 8?<br />
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By Jimminy it was hot in that polytunnel! At around 1pm I admitted defeat and retired to the cool interior of the house - to do some ironing and get a shopping line together.<br />
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I had some cherries for my lunch and I decided to recycle their packaging into some kind of storage for my packets of seeds. So that's creative, right?<br />
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Truthfully, I'm struggling to get everything fitted in to my day! <br /><br />How do creatives find the time to do all their muse-driven art, the housework, their gardening, their shopping AND manage to face the day washed and dressed? It's beyond me. <br />
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Although I AM managing to get dressed every day, let me ASSURE YOU.<br />
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I'm enjoying Grayson Perry's memoir - although I find bits of it quite startling, being a sort of conservative gal. Not the cross-dressing or the sexual thrill of it, I find that quite charming, really. But the art. Some of the art utterly <br />
baffles me.<br />
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In turn, my being baffled then depresses me. I'm never going to get the hang of this arty stuff. I'm going to end up drowning in words with no art lifeboat on the horizon :-/<br />
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I am finding lots of amazing quotes by artists, about art:<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: x-large;">"Where the spirit does not work with the hand, there is no art"</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"> - Leonardo Da Vinci</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">That's a big problem for me, I just don't know how to get the spirit to come out of my hands and onto the paper. Maybe I'm still too focused on trying to produce something that is actually worth showing you. I haven't given myself fully over to the process...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Well at least I'm starting to SOUND like an artist.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I am also discovering that while I'm happy to spend vast deserts of time noodling away with watercolours, I'm getting increasingly anxious about work that I know I must write ...</span><br />
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If you are arty and creative, give me some hints and tips - I need all the help I can get!<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3