And just like that it was August

It’s been weeks since my last post. It doesn’t feel like weeks, but looking back over photographs I suppose it must be. Since my last post I have managed to get out of the house a bit more. My Covid anxiety has lessened a bit and I seem to have had a reason to get out to the post box most days in the last couple of weeks thanks to a flurry of Etsy sales. One day last week I extended my walk beyond the post box and ended up meandering through the gravestones in our local cemetery. It’s a peaceful place to walk. I like to study the names on the stones if they are still legible and the different carvings and engraving styles.

On this particular day, I was disturbed by a flapping and fluttering above me so, I looked up to see a sizeable flock of bright green birds taking flight. If you live in certain parts of the UK, like London for example, you are probably not a stranger to seeing these things but to a northerner who thinks a Goldfinch looks exotic, it’s quite a thing to see a flock of such brightly coloured birds in the sky. I came home and did a bit of Googling and discovered they were very likely Ring Necked Parakeets. I was lucky enough to find a feather to take home!

This week I extended one of my post box trips into the park instead. It was busy and at times a challenge for me but I managed to loop round the lake which is something I have been unable to do since before lockdown because the path narrows in places and the thought of someone coming the other way panicked me too much. I’m glad I made myself do it. I wouldn’t have caught sight of this late brood if I hadn’t. You will have to excuse the slightly blurry photograph, but they just wouldn’t keep still even though I asked nicely! Lovely though it was to see the fluffy babies, I think I’ll stick to the cemetery for now as it’s so much quieter. I imagine these little ducklings will have grown a lot next time I see them.

On weekends when my husband is home we travel further afield, we seem to have made a habit of it. A flask of coffee and a small picnic to share wherever our travels take us. The weekend before last it was Rosedale in the North York Moors, last weekend it was a spot on the Durham Heritage coast. We don’t usually walk long or far. I’m not in the greatest of health at the moment and the inactivity of lockdown has made things even more of a struggle but I’m hoping I can build myself back up to whole hiking days!

Found on a beach.
Rosedale, North York Moors.

I’ve managed to stitch a few new cards over the past few weeks but mostly I have been sourcing more vintage clothing for the shop. I’m finding that selling a mixture of handmade and vintage is working for me. Sometimes I have creative blockages and sewing and stitching becomes a chore whilst at other times I find photographing and preparing items of clothing for sale a chore. Usually if I’m not in the mood for one I am able to focus on the other so in that sense I no longer have the periods of inactivity that sometimes caused my old shop to stagnate. Currently I am focused on the vintage but it’s a slow process trying to juggle family commitments and the shop so I am only able to list a couple of items at a time. I’m hoping I will be able to put more time in once the summer break is over.

Vintage dresses
Set of 3 hand stitched patchwork cards

Upstairs Downstairs and unrelated things from the past week

What a strange and emotional week I’ve had. We have been watching the 1970s series Upstairs Downstairs recently, one episode a night and on Wednesday evening we watched the final episode. I cried like a baby, first when my husband announced we were about to watch the last episode and again in response to various events on screen as it drew to a close. I cried again the night after when we sat down for the evening and it felt like there was a huge chasm left where life at 165 Eton Place used to be. Is it normal to feel like this after watching a TV series? I’ve watched my fair share of period drama but nothing has ever touched me the way this has. I felt as if I knew the characters personally and some of them I grew extremely fond of. I will miss Mrs Bridges and Mr Hudson the most I think. Proxy parents to the rest of the servants, they held everything steady and kept everything proper while maintaining an air of kindness and warmth, well most of the time anyway, perhaps it’s best not to think too much about how Mrs Bridges treated poor Ruby the kitchen maid!

I find myself totally immersed in that period of history, frustrated that our 1910 house bears little resemblance to it’s former self no thanks to it’s various owners over the past century. I would love to put it all back the way it was but we’re unlikely to ever have the sort of funds needed to take on such a task, so I shall have to find my Edwardian fix by watching Upstairs Downstairs on a loop and visiting Beamish.

In other news this week, I have been in receipt of some lovely ‘new to me’ things! Right at the beginning of the week I took delivery of this charming vintage french miniature chest of drawers from RubyTuesdaysLoft on Etsy. When I purchased them I wasn’t completely sure of where I was going to put them or what I was going to use them for but obviously they had to go on my desk somewhere and it soon became clear what they should be used for, a new home for my embroidery threads!

The postman also brought me a couple of Laura Ashley dresses from the 80s, a pair of worn old curtains made from Laura Ashley Nutmeg for my fabric stash, a vintage skirt that is likely to end up in the shop because it’s too small for me, and some old wooden coathangers just because. I feel like I’ve had a mini Christmas everyday this week, especially with all that red and green!

I’ve also managed to squeeze in a bit of stitching and found time to get some of these little hearts finished, framed and up for sale in the shop.

The new shop seems to be going well. Last week I finally closed my old one and began listing the cards in the new one. I studied the traffic statistics for my old shop and realised the majority of customers were from internal Etsy searches which means I am confident the same level of sales will continue. I’m sad that I have to say goodbye to all the lovely feedback past customers have left me but honestly it’s a small price to pay if it means a certain person can no longer attempt to contact me. There are some things that are better left in the past.

The Bagpuss Effect or Why I like Old Stuff

Once upon a time, not so long ago . . .

Sometimes I wonder why I favour old and worn over new and shiny when I was raised by a mother whose sole purpose in life seemed to be updating and replacing anything and everything from her shoes to the kitchen sink. She was the sort of person who would throw out a perfectly good handbag simply because she’d had it a couple of years. In contrast I still have and use the first bag I bought myself as an independent adult. I have nothing of my childhood because my mother had a habit of throwing out our things as soon as we had out grown them. I do however have an old child size shopping basket and a copy of Alice in Wonderland that belonged to my mother before they were passed on to me. The basket served as a peg basket when my first husband and I started out penniless and then later on it resumed it’s role as child’s play thing when the children came along. It lived on a shelf beside a shabby old wooden shape sorter I found in the Red Cross shop for 50p, a beautiful patchwork ball made of different tiny floral prints, also from a charity shop and a crudely made cloth doll I made on my trusty old 1920s Singer out of an old skirt I’d made in my teens. Those four items stirred something within me, something I couldn’t quite put my finger on until one evening, whilst doing our weekly supermarket shop with a toddler and a baby both sleeping soundly in the trolley, I stumbled across a Bagpuss VHS in the non foods aisle.

As the magic of Postgate and Firmin came flooding back from my childhood I suddenly understood why that little collection of things on the shelf made me feel the way they did. I adored Bagpuss as a child, but the memories of watching it had themselves become saggy and a bit loose at the seams, not enough to have faded completely, but enough to leave little ghost memories. It was these faint barely there memories that were being brought to the surface by the collection of shabby old toys on the shelf and from that moment on Bagpuss was very much back in my life. Had I called my eldest daughter Emily because of one of those faded out childhood memories? I can never be sure but one has to wonder and little did I know that seventeen years later my love of Bagpuss would bring me and my second husband together, and that I would end up meeting Sandra Kerr who did the music and was the voice of Madeleine the rag doll and most of the mice.

My daughter with Sandra Kerr and the original cushion from the Owl of Athens episode.

But I can’t let dear old Baggy take all the credit for my love of all things old, faded and handmade. Some of the other childhood programmes I watched had also left little ghosts of memory working away in the background. The Flumps and Fingerbobs both helped nurture a sense of resourcefulness, while things like Ivor the Engine and Camberwick Green simply helped me form a love of old worldness, a fondness of simpler times gone by. I always had a sense that the world moved too fast as a child, and even now I often reach for Bagpuss as an antidote to 21st century living. Nothing beats singing along to the Bony King of Nowhere or getting lost in a story about a Hamish or dear old Uncle Feedle in his cloth world ‘all sewn up with a needle’. Oh to live in a patchwork cloth world!

I hesitate to mention Pipkins. It seems to divide people in conversation when reminiscing in our social circle. Usually it divides me from everyone else because I loved the scruffy old hare and his friends but everyone else just remembers Hartley as mangey and slightly sinister. What can I say, maybe my weirdness radar doesn’t work as well as everyone elses?

I am convinced the programmes we watch as small children shape our lives in ways we aren’t always aware of. I’m just glad I was lucky enough to experience what I consider to be the golden era of children’s television and grateful that enough of it was later released on VHS and DVD so I could enjoy the magic all over again with my own children.

From play thing to peg basket to play thing to sewing basket!