Getting back on the horse.

I haven’t written a blog post for quite a while and you may know that it’s because I’ve been tied up with (not tied up by) Mr W.  Following a major op on 1 July, he is now embarking on a six month course of chemotherapy.  I know that many people find writing to be quite cathartic, but I feel like I haven’t had the time.  I thought I’d better get back on the horse, otherwise I am at risk of loosing my appearance in the next series of Kardashians (though I suspect a lack of spandex/Lycra/bandage clothing may have put pay to that).

We did Glastonbury 

I knitted at Gastonbury 

Mr W did Glastonbury (though to be fair his op was pushed back a week to enable him to attend)

Mr Williams found that he didn’t quite fit into the toilets

18 minutes into the Squeeze set you can see him in that knobby hat, right at the front.  That’s his festival hat – apparently.   I wore flowers and glitter and had a large moustache and a goatee painted on my face in luminous paint.  Mr W made the tragic mistake of letting the firstborn paint his face and then spent the weekend with the work c**ck painted on his forehead; thus the wearing of the hat.

If you look carefully in all the photos there isn’t one smiley face (with the exception of my husband taking in the fresh air of the long-drops).  The entire escapade deserves a post all of it’s own.  The music, people, food etc was world class but the lack of hospitality and care for the poor sods living in the mud was poor. 

If you like quiet swearing and bowel habit talk, then you may wish to go to to catch up with Mr W.

Making a feature of the sewerage pipe

This post has been along time coming ( or in the pipeline if you like).  So much has gone on here in the past few weeks some of which we expected and some we clearly didn’t see coming.  In Friday the 13th (most apt) we were in a little room in Musgove Park hospital hearing the words that no one wishes to hear – “we are so very sorry but..” We then spent 10 days worrying that Mr W would not be here for Christmas; but now know that he can be operated on and will be around to annoy me for many years to come. If you’ve a strong stomach or enjoy medical dramas go over to ‘’ for the up to date details on Mr W’s pipeline. 

The pipeline of the title refer’s not to Mr W’s colon but to Clevedon.  One Wednesday had been particularly onerous for Andrew so to make the day more positive we headed off to Clevedon, me with my sketch pad and Mr W with cameras, tripods, filters, Kendal mint cake etc.  This is his excellent image.  The image below is mine.

 He has clearly omitted the sewage outlet pipe – let’s face it, you know you are at the British seaside when you can see an outlet pipe- usually with some toddlers playing in the aqueous drippings . I think I’ve captured the pipe most beautifully. 

On a positive note we also went, via a hired charabanc to a gathering of the clans in Dorset for a family wedding.

I’ve been to London to meet up with Mary, whom I hadn’t see for a few years.  We were pals whilst at school, me at the local comp, she at the local public school for gels.  She did go to King Alfs for one year before her horrified parents removed her to ‘La Retraite’, a convent school.  Why didn’t my parents do that?  I was very horrified for most of the time I was at King Alfred’s. Mary got her face ‘done’ at Bobbi Brown’s in Harrods and I ‘Venusssssed’ myself in the giant Botticelli shell at the V and A. There is a joke somewhere in the giant Botticelli vicinity but I’m not going there.

All the other visitors to the museum did variations on the traditional Venus pose, not me, I ‘owned’ that shell, I totally ‘worked’ it.  Obviously offers of modelling jobs have come flooding in but I’m going to stay at home and keep it ‘real’. Note that I’m so up with the young people that I can use all the jargon. Mary and I opted for the ‘Britain 1500 to 1900 tour – V & A tours are great and free, plus there are usually very few  people on them.  I fancied the ‘Brief history of underwear’ exhibition but Mary didn’t seem to be as interested in other people’s knickers as me.

This was the highlight of the tour for me.  So small that the guide had to illuminate her with a torch, so small that most visitors pass her by without knowing she’s there and so small  that Holbein painted her with squirrel hair using a magnifying glass.  To be fair to Hoblein he painted what he saw, a good, kind and warm person.  Much better to finish with Anne of Cleves in miniature, rather than me shell (not so miniature) .

Consider the woodlouse

My lovely friend Linda (and her husband Keith) furnished me with a very large bundle of their carefully forced rhubarb. Huzzah thought I, I will make some rhubarb jam.  I’ve never been a fan of rhubarb, when I was growing up there was never enough sugar with it and consequently it forced the human face into a myriad of contortions.  However… if I make jam, the problem is solved as there is plenty of sugar involved.  See exhibit a. ( below ) 

The unpredictable fierceness of the new hob ensured that, rather than a batch of jammy goodness, I made a batch of new fangled (previously un-invented)’rhubarb yuk’.  What can I say?  Mr Williams said not to waste it as ” he would put it on his breakfast cereals”.  However, the jars are still there in the pantry, all present and correct; but to be fair to him he did find a use for it.  It made a stunning anchor for the dust sheets, whilst painting the kitchen ceiling.  I dropped the ball there a little as I should have taken a photo of him for my ‘Lessert Spotted SAAB male part three’ feature.  

Mr W came home from the shops last week with a present for me – a window cleaning sponge on a stick!!!!  To be fair, the last present he purchased was a Coach handbag, so I’m happy to take one for the team.

Whilst gardening this week I came across a lot of  woodlice (woodlye, a ‘crusting of woodlice’ – I wonder what the noun for a collection of woodlice is).  These little chaps are mostly forgotten and hated, after all their only claim to fame is appearing in ‘All creatures great and small’ as baby armadillo.  I hadn’t realised that, like hedgehogs, they curl themselves into ball when sensing danger.  This explains their common names of pill bug and roly poly.  I’m designating these my favourite isopods crustaceans – remember other isopod crustaceans are available.

I emote – therefore I am

I didn’t fall down a ravine, die of exposure on the moors or get sucked into a bog.  Unfortunately I had already purchased and worn in the walking boots.  The art and craft weekend at Halsey was great, but the nearest we got to the great outdoors was the front lawn.  Grandad’s COPD was outclassed by the gentleman who arrived atop his happy shopper scooter and I soon realised that there would be no yomping and that I should have just spent the boot money on another handbag.

At Pod’s Cottage Grandad dabbles with painting, when he disappears off to paint he tells us he is off to ’emote’.  He makes a lot of mess doing this so is encouraged to emote in the shed, the garden or some else’s house.  The tutor at Halsway soon had him sussed out ( he has lots of focus on small details) and instead of watercolours of the house and grounds, got him working on a larger scale.  At one point he was working on a large piece in charcoals using the charcoal tied to the end of a long stick.  I was just happy that someone was encouraging me to make mess, there was lots of rubbing in and the session culminated with me doing a fine impression of a Victorian chimney sweep (albeit a very affluent, rotund sweep so not suitable for sweeping at all).  Apparently there is lots of charcoaling happening at Pod’s Cottage; there is also lots of Mum going around with a damp cloth, wiping off handprints.

I think Halsway Manor suited Gramps as meals were announced with a gong and the tea urn arrived at regular intervals.  There were also no limits on the number of biscuits he could have with his tea (unlike at home).  The staff at the Manor were lovely, the atmosphere great and the catering somewhere between a holiday camp, school dinners and the quiet seaside hotels of my childhood.  We were entertained by the folks on the Nyckelharpa course.  The first day of painting was difficult on the ears as the beginners were only repeating the same three or four notes, but by Sunday we didn’t mind them joining us on the grass.  The musicians came from as far afield as Germany and Chile. 

On Friday night, Fightclub (Knit Club) celebrated it’s eight anniversary and moved to a new venue at the Friends Meeting House.  This venue isn’t strictly new as it is where the club first started.  Unfortunately an addictions group also met on the same evening and some of the older ladies were offended and shocked by having to step over bodies on the floor, so the venue was switched.  I’m made of sterner stuff, I have teenagers and therefore am quite used to stepping over bodies.