knitonlybutalso

Pull yourself together

Me, on a good day

Right now we are enjoying a delicious autumn, the garden looks decidedly careworn, the dill and the coriander came up and bolted straight to seed - barely a leaf, the borage has grown leggy and floppy and fusty, the bronze fennel looks like a gawky angular teen and now more stalk than leaf too... the wanton scruffiness is rather delightful. On the other hand I feel a bit like I am going to seed also, but in a less appealing manner - a bit scruffy about the edges and a bit out of shape and wanting some attention. In the garden it is all rakishly charming - a patch of rebellious cyclamen, a tiny spider is weaving a delicate web of the finest silk worthy of a Spitalfields loom... Each little treasure feels hard won and a special delight now things are all sinking into themselves. I am sinking into my physical self but in not such a appealing way - sadly I am not lean and straggly like the last of the summer plants, more of a blob, much more of a sofa-dwelling blob, I am a bit like that plant forgotten at the back of the plant collection - and it's me who has forgotten to care for myself.

If this plant also looked grumpy, then that could be me, although I am not as slender

I think a lot of it is to do with the covid lockdown, but not all. I feel very hemmed in by the tiny house, by the inhabitation of others in the tiny house - the crumb trails in the kitchen which initially start with almost topographic cripsness and had an ethnographic fascination (which household male created which trail?) have blurred into hazy patches and decidedly irritate me (they are NOT mine, but somehow my responsibility). The breathing - the loud WILLFUL breathing of others (yes I am not a fan of huffing about), the sock garden languishing in a plastic bag... it all makes me rather out of sorts. But mainly I am out of sorts with myself - I should go out walking more, I should eat better, I should follow the sleep app thingy on my phone, I should all sorts but left to my own devices I have the willpower of a plastic duck. None basically. These are things I should do, don't - then regret that I haven't.

Not that I recommend rubber ducks or duck races... environmentally not good I believe

Mainly however I feel very unhealthy in terms of my usual self - unkempt and blobbish and it is hard to change tack and snap back into it, especially when you live with Mr bacon sandwich (Gravel-guy) and Mr cake baker/Lorne sausage addict (Nr.1 child). Even if I am not tempted then I find myself grumpily comfort-munching as I wipe up the smeary/sticky residue on the kitchen benches, the frig fills with slightly skeevy looking packets of sausage or whatever that were begun with great earnest and then abandoned halfway. I hate that, utterly crossmaking in so many ways. I detest the waste, the half eaten creature that was casually discarded, the ickness of it all, and the fact that NO ONE clears their detritus as there seems an implicit assumption that "someone" will finish it off/tidy away the carnage. I absolutely loathe the smell of Lorne sausage which clings like a invisible film of greasy, cloying, fluorescent-lit misery to everything long after the inhabitant has eaten, half-washed the frying pan and scarpered, that makes me very unhappy. The other day Nr.1 child was bemoaning a slightly crusty bowl he found in the cupboard - did he wash it, nope - he put it in the sink to BE washed, pfffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffft

Apparently I am the house fairy with a magic wand - basically the grump with a dish-brush, and only I have the magic powers to wash things properly between meal times

Its not just me that feels like this - MSTeam work meetings are more torporific than usual, other blogs also talk of weight gain and feelings of "meh". But enough is decidedly enough, changes need made. Weight loss is one thing, but really it's the health benefits of dropping the poundage and the psychological boost of being more in control. Sure I feel blobby and dislike the way it sits on me, but what really annoys me about myself is the lack of care that builds from weight gain to wearing the same three tee shirts in rotation to not making an effort etc, so it isn't just about diet or exercise but a re-centering on things that matter to me. The things that make me feel more me are probably shallow and just a bit pathetic, but quite frankly it's the little things that build us up into a feeling of being ourselves and the collective rituals and choices that define who we are, and I really am not too enamoured with my current being, in fact I am very bored and not impressed with myself. So what do I like when I am being more of the self-likable me???

No, I am not actually a cat, but my knitting is on standby and yes I am just flumped like that

I like my food - MY food - not someone else's choices, often I say I am half gannet and half seagull - I'll eat quantity and just anything in front of me to please others, but in truth I am very fussy if left to my own devices. Gravel-guy also says he is not fussy - which is not the truth, he has an almost binary interest in bacon/sausage sandwiches/stodge and burnt-raw stirfry/broccoli concoctions that involve chunks of apple. It is also not easy to find the ingredients in our small village - we have one shop, the one shop has a small fruit and veg selection of sweating stir-fry packets, damp salad greens and loads of noodles and glowing stir-fry sauce, the fruit is woeful. Its all rather plastic wrapped and unappealing, the choice never changes.

To be honest, I can't even imagine such an apple in Balfron, the apples in the shop have been there so long I think they all have names

Eating differently means planning well ahead, it takes a trip to Milngavie, and then hauling my trophy back on the B10 bus and that sometimes seems a huge undertaking when you are afflicted with can't-be-botheredy-itis.

That looks delicious, apart from the avocado - have I ever mentioned my concerns re avocado? Don't even get me started on my personal phobia of guacamole - people think those sharp little bits poking up are discarded corn chips - no sirree - THEY are guacamole sharks, and they are angry and very bitey you have been warned

I should get moving  - the thing is I love being outdoors trotting about, but really getting from the house to a walk in the country whilst not far (minutes) runs the gamut of some of the local inhabitants I'd do almost anything to avoid before I'm free. It might sound funny avoiding the woman who does her own dentistry and has about 4 brown teeth (unintelligible), the religious woman who often invites me back to her flat where she would like to sing to me, the local-good-causes-woman who is slightly over intense and the pub owner who says I'm not bad for a fat bird, but personally - yuck.

My happy lunch time walk - but I have to dodge the locals to get out here

Invest in my physical maintenance - there is a brilliant book by Caroline Hirons that my daughter gave me. Caroline - or "the Caroline" as I like to call her is a straight talking, no nonsense northerner who knows skincare, the skin care industry and cuts through flannel. Her book is fabulous - she knows her stuff, she explains why things work and why they don't, she doesn't ask you to suddenly change your skin care routine and buy lots of stuff, because as she says if it works for you - keep doing it. What she does say however, is be nice to your skin - being gentle is just as effective and will get you good results, and no, you don't have to spend massive. I changed from a foaming cleanser to an oil-based formulation and my shiny/sensitive skin has calmed miraculously. I love the Caroline. I enjoy the routine of skin care and the step after step rituals I have calm me and make me feel cared for - even if it is just me patting at my face... Google the book if you wish - as any links probably involve a giant internet behemoth if it is to be universal, support your local bookseller instead. 

Brilliant book - about skin care, not about slap or make up - but skin maintenance and caring for your face

I could smarten my wardrobe - I actually had a cull of tee shirts a while ago, some were consigned to duster/polishing territory, but to be honest I get in a rut of the same tee shirts over and over. That in itself isn't necessarily a bad thing - but the not thinking or considering choices of what goes with something else or trying new combinations of thing means I am not wearing other things I DO have, what is the point of owning belongings if you don't wear or enjoy them?

Close to the truth but without so much sunshine

I like my creature comforts - To be honest smell really matters to me - the encroachment of the husband and his wiffyness after a long run is something I find quite revolting, I guess I like to control my bubble and not smell such things. I also don't want to smell like everyone else so I have very few fragrances that are probably high street - my nose leads me to things like galbanum or tomato leaf or herbal/plant notes that take a bit of detective work. To be honest I am not usually a huge fan of rose on me as rose in a bottle often disappoints and doesn't come near the full range of the actual rose on the plant, I know in Internet-ville no one can smell you at the other end of a video-meeting, so its purely about me claiming my territory. Rose on other people is often delightful, but it isnt normally my thing. A few months ago I signed up to a seasonal perfume delivery list - one little bottle of organic and carefully sourced, small batch perfume made in the the south of England appears at the start of each season carefully matched to that time of year. I really like the ephemeral nature as the fragrance story progresses through the year, autumn actually has a strong rose component that I wasn't sure about at first, but now I really like it. It also helps that it is beautifully and sustainably packaged. I love jewellery - I'm part magpie I'm sure, but with the droopy neck and the on and off masks, necklaces and earrings don't often get worn, I do however have brooches and bracelets and erm rather a lot of scarves... I really should wear them.

https://ffern.co/ seasonal, organic + sustainable packaging, it smells lovely

Downtime - I'm really not a sociable person, give me quality interaction over numbers or huge amounts of time spent in inane facebook chit chat. I need a lot of personal space when it comes to just pottering about in my own little orbit, I have been trying a sleep app with some small degree of success and following a couple of mindfulness apps (anxiety inducing - what if I am doing it wrong and remembering it into my day is possibly counterproductive). Yoga has actually been a great help when I can make the class (internet wobbles and the husband loudly producing dinner bang on yoga time don't help), I mentioned this to a friend and she was appalled "you know it is incompatible with Christianity?" she said... I'd like to know which part is the problem - breathing? stretching????? mindfulness - isn't that rather akin to prayer? I have quietly carried on in my own little way regardless as I think at 56 if I can't think for myself I'm in even greater need of help than I originally thought (her claim still makes me chuckle).

... and breathe

Listen to myself and stop being so nice - I think I often give pretty good advice, at least according to my friends I'm great listener and often help them sort out their issues by letting them talk. I am not so good at listening to myself - in fact my first words on any given subject are probably along the lines of "well, what do you think?" I am very agreeable like that. Partly I think as females we are often conditioned to be that way, so when it comes to a personal choice we aren't that good at knowing what we want as we blot it out - we go matchy-matchy and tailor our wishes to what we think fits other people. In fact in New Zealand we have the "yeah-nah" which is a way of saying no to sound agreeable, I suspect we also led the world in our "no worries" and "good-o" none of which help in getting to a place of polite refusal that others actually hear...

I would love to know what or how others make self-space or build important rituals.

Early autumn...

I've been busy - extremely busy, busy nursing a cold (how?!) and busy finishing a jersey and busy faffing about. That's not a very good photo of Dahlia below but she is done and overall I think I am pleased enough with her. In my mind when I was knitting I had images of those preppy Neutrogena and Clearasil adds of the 1970s - mysterious potions my slightly older sister was privvy too, but I was strictly not allowed as I was considered chaos. Looking back the lack of such skin stripping potions were probably all to the good as my sensitive pink skin wouldn't have coped - but you always want what your older and ever so much more sophisticated sister has.... and her dressing table had a range of treasure I could only wonder at (alongside the Neutrogena and Clearasil there was a bottle of some floral perfume to smell inoffensively nice and an even smaller bottle of 4711 if she wanted to be a bit more wild and go out in her clogs, flared trousers and safari jacket, she also had a highly covetable chapstick and a blue eyeshadow duo - everything I wanted desperately back then was arranged in a regimented row on her dresser), eventually when I was about 12 I was given my very own bottle of Cyclax's milk of roses and a tiny tub of lemon scented Bronnelly hand cream, I "lost" them both in my hedge-house much to my mothers irritation. Lemon scented anything isn't really my bag, unless its actual lemons... I wanted what my sister had. This little knit takes me back to a wholesome era of pink candlewick bedspreads and my raleigh20 bike and just wishing that one day I could escape New Zealand.

The actual knitting pattern is very quick and sweet, it is well written.

We are gradually moving into woolly weather - as a knitter that makes me ridiculously happy, but whilst the air is crisp and sweet in the mornings, often it brightens up into a relatively warm day (not always - this is Scotland!), so here and there we get the odd late visitor, and its good for a lunchtime walk to clear some mental cobwebs... that peacock butterfly was a late delight, the blackbird however is the local yob - it hops about the apple tree pecking apples, it tries to burrow through the netting trying to protect our blueberries - and all the time it gives us the side eye and a cheeky bird-smile. I cant help but like the little creature.

and a bit of a walk, between Balfron and Killearn, the muck spreaders have finally run out of muck I guess as you can breathe, you can actually breathe without your lungs filling with the ammonia stench of fermented ****. Happy days.

We are also out and about a little bit - as much as local covid restrictions allow. Gravel-guy has it in his head that he wants to move house, he wants to move house and live in Carlisle and he really wants to move asap, because he would like to live on the hill above the river and go running along the riverbanks which wind for miles. Asap means different things to different folks, Gravel-guy is of course a Geomorphologist and used to dealing in geological time so I'm not expecting "rapid", he had a frantic weekend burrowing through the tonnes of detritus in the cellar and carting most of it off to the dump and then on Sunday after all that action he decided he was needed by his people down at the other end of the country for the week. I guess "his people" are wanting something academic out of him rather than for any handyman abilities (of which he has none), still it has made for a pleasant week of pottering about and eating what I like (3 days of different types of tofu with salad, basil tofu, marinated tofu, smoked tofu...). We are going down to Carlisle this weekend just for the day, I think I rather like it - it is a pretty place, well connected for transport, not humungously big so I could walk anywhere, perched on the edge of the lake district where you get some wonderful countryside with little reserves or bigger tracts of wild countryside very close. Last weekend we were down we went off to a bird reserve, I didn't see many birds but nonetheless it was a gorgeous day and I saw plenty of late flowers and a little bit of wildlife. So I think I could quite like Carlisle if Gravel-guy gets himself into gear.

A little excursion to RSPB Campfield Marsh.... Id like to be near this.

Strangely enough a 2 and 1/2 hour drive from Glasgow to Carlisle takes just over an hour or so on the direct train, where I currently live (17 miles from Glasgow, my BUS takes just over an hour and a quarter when it all goes well)... the train is also heated in winter and goes every 30-40 or so minutes. Carlisle is about 85 miles... My bus goes once an hour if it hasn't broken down - apart from an afternoon blip when it doesn't bother coming as far as Glasgow when all local buses are pressed into the school run for the rural kids. I could live further away and have the same if not better transport if you see what I mean.

Anyway, another day trip down to Carlisle this weekend and Gravel-Guy is still smitten with the idea of moving and once we got home after he took the scenic route over the Campsie Fells to get to Balfron, he shot out into the garden like a man possessed to hack enthusiastically if a little haphazardly at a galloping cotoneaster. I busied myself with a mystery bag brought down from the loft which turned out to contain some embroidery skeins and tapestry yarn, right at the bottom was an abandoned project of a pukeko I had planned and half done. I think I should finish the little guy before I decide if I like it or not, then at least it may? be donate-able??? I think it needs done.

Colour my world - a short post on gratitude

I know a lot of my blog is possibly a bit of sark and snark, but sometimes my flinty, littIe heart lifts a little and I feel the urge to be grateful, this is one such post so I guess it will be short but heartfelt. I have  been noticing lately that quite a few blogs I follow are quieter than usual, maybe they are riding out the covid thing or maybe they are busy doing non bloggy stuff, or just feeling a bit of nothingness-worth-posting, I don't know - I hope those bloggers are all OK. Anyway as I was pondering this I realized how happy many of the blogs I read make me feel - how connected to like minded souls and how much these people matter even if I have never physically met them - or maybe BECAUSE I have never physically met many of them. For instance, a few years ago, I felt very connected with a lot of knitterly blogs - not blogs with something to sell or push, just like minded people knitting and sharing the aspects of their lives that made their blogs quirky and delightful and often thought provoking - I loved that, then for reasons it is has fallen away or maybe I just fell away from the knit-blog scene. Anyway coming back to the wider blog world after a few years away, I have really come to appreciate the generosity of people that blog with no big push agenda - the time taken to write and photograph and document, thoughts, feelings, happenings and often their amazing and varied creativity is a wonderful fluffy universe of feel good that is balm for the soul. It is one of those places where you can be honest and open in a way that I'm not always sure we can be in the big wide world, certainly I have shared way more here than I do with most people in non-blog land. In fact very few people in non-blog world know I blog, and I think that's pretty much how I like it. I also think my tastes have changed in many ways - I am not really that attracted to people who just want to sell their latest knitting patterns, I want interaction, I want to feel there is a person that cares about what they do and I want to understand something of what makes them tick, there is a generosity about being invited into someone else's deepest thoughts and personal space and that means reading a blog post should be an unhurried and special pocket of precious thought-space. Blog-world is a great place to shelter in these weird and chaotic times. I want the slower more scenic journey through other posts rather than arriving at some destination without valuing how I got here.

I know instagram and whatever are much more lively in terms of traffic and there is a faster vibe, but I love the ebb and flow of blog posts, comments and then considered responses to the comments. In general I feel there is more depth or thought rather than the push of influencers or that ilk that are crowding other fora. I dont want to be "influenced" at least not like that, not in that cynical fleecing type of way - I like the nuances of a considered blog post, the reasoning and the reciprocity of blogging, rather than a speedy slam-dunk of someone posting a photo and scampering off to collect scalps, sorry - "followers" or revenue. That all sounds a bit cultish and a bit ick to me, personally the idea of "followers" is not my thing - I like people, real people. Real people and their conversations make me think, whilst I quietly navigate my little personal ship away from choppy antagonistic waters (sorry but Im here to enhance my mental health not wreck it on the jagged rocks of professionally angry people) I don't have an issue with challenges to my beliefs or mindset - I like that very much, I just want a kinder gentler place where people get along and we all benefit and grow from the interaction. And I do like instagram and all that to some extent, but what I like more is the slow-cooker element of blog world, where people make reasoned thoughts reach people.   

So right now I feel I should make an attempt at thanking the bloggers I follow - some old and treasured friends and some wondrous bright new gems, you colour my world.

 

Shinrin-yoku (a little forest bathing)

We are down in Gravel-Guys flat in Uxbridge for a break from the village, and a break from work and a break from well everything except each other basically (when DID he get so grumpy - oh wait, he has always been a grouch with a downer on life in general - but by hokey he can wring a reason to be a cranky bear from the sunniest of sunny experiences). Today was a big treat - Wakehurst. 

Wakehurst for anyone not familiar with the place, is out in the beauty that is called Sussex, it is 500 acres of lovely greenness, greenness and a few other colours as there are some autumnal tones just creeping in around the edges. Whilst Kew is the more manicured and the classical urban type botanical garden, Wakehurst is its wilder relative with biodiversity and ecology very much in the main frame, the Millennium Seed Bank is here with seeds from over 190 countries carefully stored for posterity. This is bucket list stuff for yours truly, nothing fancy or grand - but bucket list - ever since I heard of the seed bank eons ago I have been entranced by the idea of somewhere as special and precious so to be within the hallowed grounds was truly special... bucket list.

In the less manicured bits it is a bit like a softer/gentler Benmore - not surprising really. The gardens up at Benmore (just outside of Dunoon in Argyll) are part of the Edinburgh Botanic Gardens, the Edinburgh Botanic Gardens are very much modelled on Kew, it is all just a little bit interconnected really in botanic garden world I guess. Anyway Wakehurst is rolling slopes and lush valley bottoms with ponds and reed beds, Benmore if that is your fancy is somewhat more vertical in nature and if you have ever had that yearning to leap like a mountain goat which is what you would expect up in the West of Scotland then Argyll is for you...but the trees and the soft light from being under all those leaves are just as magical here in Wakehurst.

So yes, Wakehurst - forest bathing... forest bathing is a recognised thing actually. There are five simple steps to follow to be thoroughly present and in the moment:

• Step 1 – leave behind your phone, camera or any other distractions, so that you can be fully present in the experience. 
• Step 2 – Leave behind your goals and expectations. Wander aimlessly, allowing your body to take you wherever it wants. 
• Step 3 – Pause from time to time, to look more closely at a leaf or notice the sensation of the path beneath your feet.
• Step 4 – Find a comfy spot to take a seat and listen to the sounds around you. See how the behaviour of the birds and other animals changes when they become used to your presence. 
• Step 5 – If you go with others, make an agreement to resist talking until the end of the walk, when you could gather to share your experiences. 

There are parts of the NHS that do recognise the value of what is on offer within the broad spectrum of ecotherapy, mainly because I guess it is cheap and there are no contra-indications like you might get with medications, it certainly has no negative effects. That places like this exist and do you good is you would think pretty obvious, however hard fast evidence of the kind generated by drug trials that pit a against b in carefully controlled populations and environments and are the cornerstone of evidence-based medicine just doesn't have the capacity to measure and quantify effect. But then some things cannot be measured or quantified, they still exist...

Anyway all was very calming and restorative, the sounds, the smells, the feel of the paths, the peace...

Of course Wakehurst has other areas that are more "gardened" too - there are areas devoted to different regions (oh my excitement on finding a little copse of young Nothofagus, a favourite tree from New Zealand along with some even younger looking Totara, but thats my idea of a big find to get quite chipper about). There is also a beautiful walled garden which is a riotous celebration of dahlia and other delights next to the old mansion house, humming with bees and bedazzling in the sunshine.

It is all a perfect counterpoint to the very gentle colour tones of the trees and the forested areas, who wouldn't want their very own walled garden. A stunning day - Wakehurst is a really beautiful place.

Steps forward and back

The previous post, it got me thinking and I am not normally a thinking person much - so bits of me are hurting right now as the thinking bits are so unused to being used... But why do I have piles of good intentions, with so many things going unfinished or poked to the back of a cupboard and not touched in eons?

I have knitting, I have jewellery, I have patchwork, I have embroidery, I have mending...

Why can't I finish some of it?

The cushion - I did manage to finish that...

And a jumper with a hole... I tried my new fandangly toy (a mending loom all the way from Russia via Etsy a delightful place to spend time fantasy-buying and faffing), I did some of that "visible mending" schtick as I love Tom of Holland and all he creates (and besides I doubt I can find thread to replicate the actual lilac-pinkness of the jersey). So yes, I managed to mend a hole in a jersey so I know can sport a bright and intentional splodge on my belly, I think my patch might need more visible mending patchy friends to stop it looking a bit stupid. It took a week of pondering whether was "ridic" as the daughter might say before I just thought I should just mend the flippin' hole already.

Visible mending - yes, it's a thing...

There are all sorts of flippant throwaway reasons but in truth often I don't finish something for the fear of "meh". I tell you, the power of "meh-ness" is very strong, logic tells me to see a project through to completion because at least then it could be quietly donated onwards to an op shop or similar, as people see treasure quite differently to each other. One persons (my) "meh" could be a a funky treasure or upcycled into a new and glorious thing - I know that, but still I get stuck in the becalmed sea of self-doubt. Will people fall over in the street when I am wearing my newly mended jersey - unlikely as it is pretty much a home type jersey, will they stand and point? Well I think I am small fry to some of the locals with their cagoule and pyjama bottom combos or the woman who does her own teeth (with pliers, she doesn't see the point of dentists but to be fair she only has about 4 teeth left), but still I worry.

I have started a new scarf with this - so far I have tried three simple stitch patterns, the current thought is a wide and lightweight scarf in horseshoe stitch - I am still not convinced BUT if I keep unravelling I will end up witha frowsy and scuffed ball of yarn, horseshoe pattern it will have to be, once it is done I hope it will be fine - THEN I can knit something else and stop fretting. Or will I? Self doubt is a large part of my make up and worklife is not going so well that that isn't helping my confidence with any knitting decisions.

Work-wise things are going a bit pear-shaped again and I have spent the last week fretting about it and it is taking up too much nonworking time. I currently have a different line manager from the one who caused all the problems, I like her (the new/current line manager)  but I still have group contact with the one who made life unbearable. He (the former line manager) wants to raise a formal complaint of bullying against me, in 2 group email exchanges I emphasised a thing by typing "NOT" as in I used capital letters - he feels disrespected and victimised by this. The next thing to upset him was a planning meeting I was tasked with organising that drags 2 fairly reluctant colleagues into doing an aspect of our jobs they didn't sign up for - again me and my emails... I sent one that suggested those that were going to be doing the doing do the talking, as the two colleagues go a bit turtle and stay mute as their way of resisting something being foist upon them, I feel for them but I can't do anything about that except try and make them feel they have opportunity to shape some aspects of the new job. Anyway former boss felt upset and again disrespected (he doesn't do the job, has never done the job, has no skills to do the job...) but mainly HE wasn't actually going to be involved in the meeting - tell me if I am stupid but he is upset that I asked the people doing the new job to talk at a meeting he wasn't involved in. I feel like I have lost all perspective, we are going to have a mediated meeting to discuss this and our tangled lines of communication - HE thinks we could clear the air if "going forward" he and I could just have 1:1 emails/skype meetings to sort things. Personally I think he is lying in wait to launch an attack and slide right back to the previous nonsense. Like I say, I have pretty much lost perspective on this - any opinions on this please say as if I am being ridiculous as I'd want to know before I get even more ridiculous about this.

I really mustn't let work screw up scarf knitting, and I’m not going to end on a negative note - this a a gaggle/straggle of purple rosebay along my walking path - on a sunny day it’s like greeting a little group of flowery friends - isn’t it delightful?

Lockdown and the art of achieving not-very-much

Lockdown version of commute

Me: Well Juliet - all this lockdown I guess you have been productive with such significant extra time on your hands - no commute of 1 and 1/2 hours each way on a daily basis and of course the long summer evenings, you will have got so much done and achieved the incredible...?

the real me: Erm

Me: Surely you have learnt a new language (something other than English), mastered the oboe, got some fancy patisserie techniques down pat? created a mime performance of 4 hours duration that expresses the emotions of those living with someone like Gravel-guy and his crumb trails? Maybe a poem cycle that offers personal insight into the futility of trying to nurture life in your tiny garden when there are very big snails with tummies covered in very sharp teeth that actually sit in wait and laugh whilst you plant and woodpigeons that devour your dill seedlings then poop on your garden furniture in brightly coloured splats from whatever they have recently eaten? Or have you done something truly wonderful and altruistic like translate the full works of Herodotus into Clingon for the benefit of humanity? 

the real me: Erm

Me: Actually English may just pass as your second language at this rate - which is a shame as you only have English - can you say anything other than "erm"

the real me: Arhhhhhhhhhhm

Me: Have you done anything? A-N-Y-T-H-I-N-GGGGG productive?

the real me: Oh that! Sure, I've been knitting, and by the way I don't know any Clingon

Me: What have you been knitting Juliet?

the real me: A cushion - actually a cushion cover of sweet little houses all sewn together - 15 to a side, 2.5mm needles (skinny devils) and HolstGarn doubled to make some nice robust houses in different colours and the pattern is called Copenhagen and it is really meant to be a blanket but I am lazy and decided to finish up some spare yarn and ... 2 and 1/2 houses to go and then both sides done apart from the sewing and all the houses are different and .....

Me: You are gibbering - that means you are nervous, have you finished it?

the real me: erm...

Me: I'm guessing that is a "no" what have you been doing instead of finishing your cushion of little houses?

the real me: I started a blanket in the rest of the spare HolstGarn to use up some odds and sods

Me: with 2 and 1/2 houses to go??? I guess at least you are using up some spare yarn so the yarn pile is shrinking...

the real me: well actually in order to use up the odds and sods of HolstGarn I had to order loads more in lots of lovely colours, so exciting - I think my package is due this week all the way from Denmark

Me: you bought MORE yarn??? MORE yarn to shrink your piles of yarn????

the real me: that is the way knitting generally works, and as I said, the little house cushion is a pattern called Copenhagen and so I needed yarn from Denmark and maybe a few extra colours in case of y'know "emergencies" - after all someone has gotta keep the Danish economy afloat with the purchasing of their very lovely yarn and all that - you know how selfless I am about supporting others and seeing the world economy as very much a family of nations yearning for financial stabil....

Me: Well I hope you are ashamed of your profligate approach to yarn-purchasing, why can't you finish anything???

the real me: well obviously you aren't a real knitter are you as you would understand so little is EVER finished and even the finishing doesn't mean it is final. Final is a concept that knitters really tussle with - the need to let go, to cast off and be done, the end of a brief and perfect relationship and a synergy of woman, yarn and needles, the highs, the lows, the knotty little dramas  - difficult to face the end especially if that end is the yarn ending before the project, devastating

Me: Bad, you are very bad, your actual (non knitted) house is a tip with all these yarn balls spilling from their hidey places, Gravel-guy sat on a couple of balls last night - and those tightly wound balls must feel like haemmorhoids

the real me: Mwhahahahahahahaaaaaaaaa and I very don't care - well I care that my little woolly balls might feel slightly bruised, but y'know sitting on those hard round objects certainly woke Gravel-guy up over dinner - he almost made conversation (as in "what the hell????" which counts as a chatty night from him)

Me: You are not even slightly ashamed are you?

the real me: nope

Actually I have been busier than I am suggesting - in between buying yarn (so difficult, takes ages and lots of thinking, often with eyes closed and lying prone on the sofa), I bought 2 new dresses and another pair of wafty trousers(I figured dress wearing eliminates the need to choose a top AND a bottom so my morning routine would be done in a snap, from say jeans and first tee shirt in drawer which I don't normally even look at as Gravel-guy has the spare dining chair in the way upstairs).

New wafty pants to go to the near identical wafty pants I already have

My order from Sanareva arrived (too exciting for words, I have spent much time smelling my wrists - have you any idea how much of a time-soaking activity that is?), and I have been making focaccia as a change to sourdough (much less painful underfoot or if you kneel on it due to all that oil softening things up I guess, that's a great household tip for you from the Juliet school of domestic management), Gravel-guy is a huge fan of the new bread but really it is to save myself from bread-puncture stigmata. Sod him I say, and I say that often.

Anyway the clothing splurge - mad or what? It is not as though I am dressing up to go anywhere but new trousery wafty pants from Saint & Sofia (these are so heaven - they come in different lengths and are so light and elastic-y, maybe I should have done a paeon to all things elastic as a blog post, in fact maybe I will...), but new light knit fabrics with a bit of elastication and an ability to skim - SKIM! Very exciting, actually I can see a time when maybe just doing the non-elasticated up may become an event... actually no, I have committed to non elastication at least once or twice a week and will be firm about these things.

So yes, the Sanareva order has arrived from France much to my delight (yes I am excited that something comes from France - if I can't travel, at least my body lotion has), and whilst I could bore on about the delights and properties of each unguent I am more bemused as to what I ordered - for some reason body wash was very much on my mind that night, now that could be that Gravel-guy came back from a run and was particularly pungent, it could be as simple as that. Anyway, the products that I have tried - lovely, but I still look exactly like me. So far the highlights of the Sanareva order would be the Embryolisse body lotion - very nice, light but absorbs well and smells rather lovely, unlike a certain someone, I'm also liking the hyaluron filler for the eyes - yep still look just like my tired and droopy old eyes but yeah I am liking it, actually I am liking all of it - I am not a beauty blogger so don't expect detailed reviews after all what suits my skin won't necessarily suit yours. But Sanareva has been rather a nice treat to myself.

Anyways, back to the yarn - I have things to cast on over here...

Apart from that, daughter (studying down in Leeds) was flung off her bike by a boy racer on the wrong side of the road and in the actual cycle lane. She says she is fine - fine as in broken wrist, broken collar bone and bruised lung, the bike is a write-off. As a mother I have other definitions of "fine" but I am so happy that she is her version of fine that really I am very happy given how much worse it could have been. Times like this I really want to be down there, and times like this I suspect she would really rather I wasn't. 

 

What day is this?

Is this the 96847264th day or lockdown or is it the 96847265th? Things are a little blurry regarding such details, maybe if I was the type of woman that shaved my legs come the first day of spring or still dyed my hair I'd be better placed to chart time and its' passing. To be honest, not everything about lockdown is bad - the Easter cactus went into floral meltdown this year and surpassed its' previous efforts, our tiny garden continues to shoot forth nibbly little shoots of this and that, the birdsong this year is amazing, the blossom incredible, and also May-time has to be one of the loveliest months of the year - that gauzy film of fine young leaves just starting to really cover the trees in a gentle veil of green always stops me in my tracks with its' beauty. Springtime in the UK this year in particular has been a total cracker, the weekday walk between Balfron and Killearn is full of magic at this time of year.

...and meanwhile out of the garden and taking a walk between villages...

And of course the magic of the fairy tale existence with Gravel-Guy continues. I don't know how he does it, but there is always a little something that he brings to our relationship that surprises and intrigues me. I choose the terms "surprise" and "intrigue" as words such as "bafflement" or "irritation" sound much less appreciative of his special skill set and I do realise that it sounds like I am perpetually carping on about him and his little ways (that is because I am). This week I have noticed little seed/crumb trails - much like Hansel and Gretel venturing into the forest and leaving behind them a little trail to find their way out, Gravel-Guy leaves a crunchy mix behind, however unlike Hansel and Gretel there are no birds in our house to peck up the mess or hide his comings and goings. So fairy tale yes, but the WRONG fairy tale no one is about to rescue me from this mess of a house. I notice this very much when I get down on my hands and knees for any reason (newly discovered yoga) and discover the shooting pain of a particularly sharp (sourdough?) crumb. To be fair the other week he did make me a whole orange/almond birthday cake which was a success, he almost followed the recipe even and is now (still) basking in the glory of it working the way it was intended. Having made it once, he thinks he can vary it a little next time from the "using up of easy peelers that might be on the turn" to other citrus, he is contemplating the notion of grapefruit the way an artist contemplates their next great work - that's what a single shot of success can do to him. That's what I live with, am I a saint or am I a saint?

As for actual birthday - meh, never been fussed and this was like any other day, I did slightly succumb to a splurge of online purchasing (Carluccios reduced price pannetone - I can offer no resistance to the fluffy loveliness of those heavenly bodies, SpaceNK and Sanareva - yes, I am a complete sucker for skincare despite looking exactly like me) and of course a little knitting yarn...  I had to check out a new indie publisher (Pereine). All that is trundling towards me. But yeah, SpaceNK is a guilty pleasure and Sanareva is a new online find - they send the type of skincare products you find in French pharmacies, and they come from France... This all despite my protestations that I am not a material type person - obviously I am as I went rather wibbly at the sight of some retro looking barkcloth type fabric that will make a couple of bread bags to contain Gravel-guys bread loaf obsession and maybe hold a few crumbs. Of course it wont contain anything if the fabric just gets added to the pile of grand ideas and good intentions...

Crush life with Gravel-guy

I feel I have to share something, maybe you will judge me, but anyway... I am in love with Slav, very - very in love. I have that giddy anticipation when I know I will be seeing him, I love his twinkly smile and his shaven head/beardy slightly hip older guy thing going on, he makes me feel young and girlish and fluttery of heart. The Slav-thing is all very shiny-new and very, very precious to me. Just to clarify, Slav is NOT Gravel-guy, who knew one could find love later in life with such intensity and passion?  This has blindsided me and is not something I would ever have expected of myself. 

I know it is a bit wrong, but Slav meets needs that Gravel-guy doesn't - and doesn't even care to try and fulfill after such a long marriage (I was figuring this out the other night - 20-something? 20-eleven actually). Slav is my (MY) DPD driver. Now I am aware there is probably a Mrs or Mr Slav out there, maybe some cute little Slav-ettes, I don't care - I don't want that aspect of him. What I get from him more than meets my needs and I am happy to share. If Mrs/Mr Slav has to pick his pubes from the shower I will never know (a task VERY much on my mind at the moment during lockdown), if he stands at the back door chomping his museli in a loud and very irritating way, then that too will forever be a mystery. I love Slav - what he brings to the relationship is stuff, stuff on time and that I want - OK, I have paid for it, but Slav appears and puts it down carefully on the doormat, gives me his adorable Slav-smile and says pleasantries in full sentences and LEAVES. How perfect is that. I know it is a little wrong but Gravel-guy doesn't bring stuff like wine (oh yes) or wool, and as I have mentioned - once Slav has delivered - he goes, how can I labour that point and emphasize how lovely that is? He turns around and goes back to Slav-world. I don't want to sound like all I am doing is perusing Trouva in order to bring Slav close to me, as honestly I am not - the infrequency of Slav-visitations are what keeps the magic so special.

Sighhhhh in contrast, Gravel-guy is very much in residence. Life, and the contents of our house seem to swirl around Gravel-guy in some sort of mysterious orbit - much like comet trails get bent out of shape by the dark forces of black holes and other things I do not quite understand, things happen around Trev. Things seem to be happening to the inanimate within our house that are apparently beyond control, it is all very twilight zone. I bet Slav doesn't have that sort of thing going on in HIS house. The tea jar is now chipped, mugs are chipped, bowls that have been stacked in the cupboard are chipped, utensils are in the drawers but in the wrong place and not quite as clean as I like them... a favourite tea towel has scorch holes in it, and a wine glass has completely disappeared (I know it was left on the bench but now it has gone completely). It all feels a bit smeary and unkempt, there are crumbs, there are swipe marks on the bench, there is jam on cupboard doors... I have seen the way Slav handles my parcels - I KNOW he wouldn't hurl mugs into a cupboard and assume that they can sit in a higgeldy heap without mishap.

I realise I like to have my favourite (comfort) belongings to the fore, my tea bitch mug from the daughter, a bowl I bought on travels that always makes me happy when I have sliced tomatoes into it... but I don't like them chipped by the mark-of-Trev (Gravel-guy). Yes, so much is going horribly pear-shaped in the world and I am worried about a favourite mug getting a little bent or an unidentified sticky bit when I rest my arm on a surface. So do I hide the favourite mug (and still risk it being bashed about in the cupboard) or use it??? I use it. I use it, and sometimes I lose it and get a bit snippy at Gravel-guy and his hamfisted ways. I don't think I could get cross at Slav. In case you wonder, yes Gravel-guy knows. Gravel-guy thinks my (many) declarations of how gorgeous Slav is are just a whim and it isn't serious - but the other day when non-Slav delivered... I was gutted.

Gravel-guy and I are becoming a little jaded with each other and on a bit of a territory battle, Slav doesn't look like he takes up much space - Gravel-guy uses laptop cables and his blue fleece to claim plum position, I retaliate with knitting and stitching projects scattered about. He sighs and ups the stakes by going for his daily run and reappearing with a man-miasma of old-stinky-maleness that leaves me gagging (I have never inhaled Slav - maybe he stands too far away but non stinky males are very attractive to me right now), so I break out the scented diffusers and assorted tubes of hand lotion and bring in a couple of hyacinth that make Gravel-guy sneeze. He appeared in the bedroom the other day with a flatpack desk - by hokey it is a hideous piece of white and wibbly MDF. I know I cannot trump that - BUT it gives me the right to express moral outrage (many of MY belongings are in that lockup in Kirkintilloch, things such as vital recipe books etc... and he has brought in that?) that awful thing is now taking up the place-where-the-ironing-board-goes and if he EVER dares criticise my bringing back a small plant or some slight shopping to his flat in Uxbridge, before squirrelling it back to Glasgow then he is legally toast and has no right of reply or comment. I am very, very not-pleased with Gravel-guy. The white desk was delivered by another delivery company - I KNEW my Slav wouldn't do that to me.

We are pretty much over the relief at seeing the other one currently safe, we are now into the slightly cranky phase of just seeing each other, every day. EVERYwhere.

He has now also noticed I get a bit or erm, postage... but he appears unfazed by Slav in fact he seems almost relieved to share some sort of burden.

Rules of (dis)engagement and food, food as an obsession and all consuming "thing"

I tried to go back to work this week - cue, a furtive meeting with the boss's boss's boss in a supermarket carpark on Wednesday when she carefully put my laptop/work backpack down and stepped away and then I carefully stepped forward and retrieved it. I gave her a small artichoke plant in return. She has had the virus, said it was awful but is now back in the swing of things. That meant I could now get into our systems and folders and use the software and get up to speed on what is happening. However, Thursday brought a skype meeting with 5 colleagues and the boss, I couldn't do it. The GP has signed me off for four weeks, so here I am at home wondering what I can do that is useful to others, so in the mean time I tend the plant children on the window ledges.

Plant children - probably sick of me

To be honest there is relief and a guilt all in one - I want to be working, I am good at my job but the sight of the boss and his emails telling me how overloaded everyone was and how I needed to now "step up" and he wanted a letter detailing exactly what I am capable of wasn't helpful. After emailing the colleagues to see what they are doing and where I could be doing things, part of me knows that he is talking mince - they are essentially sitting on their hands waiting for someone to get their act together (him) and organise some work if it comes, things are very quiet, all standard work has been ceased. People have taken their cars for MOTs, done their big supermarket shops, done their daily exercise during work times. I still feel like I should be doing something but the GP said nope. Personally I think most of my problem relates to him but maybe that is unfair.

So I feel like I am floating - disengaged, and as everyone is disengaged maybe I am now disengaged from disengagement, where are the rules and little rituals for that to add order and routine to the day or the week?

Lockdown with Gravel-guy is proving interesting, have we both changed so much in the six months since he moved down to London or has he always been like this? I suspect a bit of each. For instance food: I'm your veg and fruit eater, he eats museli. If the fruit or veg is a bit ding-itty I will find a way around that but he won't. I grew up being made to eat apples where the codlin moth had been there first - we just got a knife and sculpted our way around the little tunnels. Mother refused to waste food and it's still a habit - not much gets past me or my little compost heap, and mum always maintained the codlin moth knew exactly which were the tastiest apples to go for - it took me years to realise this couldn't have even a kernal of truth, as the moth are laid as eggs well before the apples develop. I feel if something has been grown, then we should pay respect to Papa (mother earth) and the plants/animals and the people who made it all happen.

I eat the hummus and corncakes, he eats lots of bread - lots of bread. When we did the supermarket shop I gave him a huge list whilst I retrieved the work laptop, "...focus on vegetables" I said. He came out swinging a bag of purple bread rolls aloft the rest of his shopping. "Vegetable?" I queried, "Yes!" he exclaimed - the bread had beetroot, sultanas and rosemary in them. I have to admit that if he eats the bread then I am naturally drawn to whatever it is being eaten - in truth I am very much a social eater and my natural inclinations get skewed. Personally I could eat dhal and greens forever, he can go three days of dhal before he starts to break, I love anything with greens, his default button is "bacon sandwich" I'm not sure I could live without greens, to him they are just green. I hadn't really thought about how different we are in terms of most things until he moved to his own weekday flat. No longer am I offered a flaccid bacon sandwich on strange types of bread with berries (grains rather than berries for me thanks) whilst he is away, and he no doubt is delighted NOT to be offered a cup of tea every five minutes or asked what we might have for dinner before breakfast is out of the way.

... a few recipe books not in the lockup, "Leaf" is a new treasure, it looks mighty and I am very excited by it

Am I becoming food obsessed? No - maybe a little more than usual, but I love food - it fascinates me and in my family we were always very up for endless food discussions. Food and its colours and textures and of course its flavour is an endless source of interest in my family. Sadly most of my favourite recipe / foodbooks have been in lockdown even longer than I have - they went into a lockup in Kirkintilloch 6 months ago as a temporary measure whilst we got around to moving house (not happening soon and no, lockdown cannot be blamed for this, the other half deals in geological time - I may be waiting millions of years for movement from him). I have a few (very few) recipe books on my bookshelves and maybe a couple ordered from Amazon (cough, non essential items - bad). My mother and her siblings were desperately competitive over what they grew: Harry grew radishes - better than anyone I know, he had endless varieties from the humble French Breakfast for breakfast or snacking on down the garden, through to nuclear reactor types no one had heard of, to enormous Chinese varieties and elegant Japanese beauties, we are very much a radish clan. Alec (the smart one in the family) grew vegetables no one knew what they were, he had spaghetti squash as a staple well before anyone else heard of it. Scorzonera? of course - and how many varieties of the heavenly Kiwi yam (oca) would you like? He also had the engineer's curiosity of how to make things happen; so he had raised beds, no-dig beds, hydroponics... Mother (the eldest and very pragmatic) grew more traditional fruit and veg - large self sufficient quantities on our standard suburban plot, then she bottled and jammed, froze, pickled, preserved and swapped - she did the vegetable/fruit equivalent of nose to tail, nothing wasted and encyclopedic about preserving and growing and planting what next to the other and rotating crops and when things might happen. She knew when the asparagus was sending forth its first dainty, delectable sprue and which tiny shoots to pick to keep the filmy elegant forest of plants growing happily in their corner of the garden for the coming year gathering strength. So extended family get-togethers were dominated by food - when cheesecake arrived in New Zealand as a "thing" and the family were curiously discussing it, Aunty Wendy produced a home made blackcurrant cheesecake with a flourish as she was an avid forecaster of future foody trends. Aunty June lived on a farm up the back of Awatere in the utter-est sunbleached middle of nowhere, she was the family baker and maker of cheese or anything others would get from the grocer - her baked goods were on another level. Food obsessed? Yes, always.   

I am gradually letting go with some of the cooking - Gravel-guy made a rhubarb clafouti using the first rhubarb from our very small garden, the recipe wasn't strictly adhered to - we can't pop out for the double cream or the whole milk required, so he used single cream and yoghurt instead, the blood oranges replaced with slightly wonky easy peeler clementines. It was very rhubarby and quite lovely and had a seductive wobble just like it should.

rhubarb clafouti

Gravel-guy is therefore slowly becoming more engaged in food - he sees it primarily as fuel. His parents are both indifferent cooks, his dad had an allotment but really food was just cooked and eaten, no pleasure or gratitude to the cook or the grower, it was just a chore to be done. That attitude fascinates me - surely a plate of food placed in front of you deserves thanks, a polite "delicious" and acknowledgement of the efforts taken as a bare minimum...

Every now and then he will humour me and talk a little about food, in fact we had a tinned vegetable conversation last night; pondering deeply how our lives have shrunk got me wondering, what is one's favourite tinned vegetable (excluding tomatoes)? Gravel-guy paused in his chewing and thought very hard, eventually he offered "mushy peas?". I have to admit I had not encountered mushy peas until I came to the UK and met his family, mushy peas still slightly bewilder/frighten/worry me. They are green, a slightly glowing green, and mushy. I am not sure what, if anything they taste of, they concern me as I can almost hear my mother wondering if I really should be putting that strange thing in my mouth. Now pease pudding made from split peas I understand - a stolid honey coloured block of split pea, that falls from an upended tin with a satisfying "Whomp!" and a slight popping of air vaccum - they are a great emergency cupboard staple that can be transformed into a dhal or lentil soup, those I understood as soon as I arrived in Britain. But mushy peas? You think because you have been married to someone for thirty one years that you mostly know them - I guess not so much. Give me a tin of salsify (hard to get, but available online), or tinned artichoke - heavenly.

Gravel-guy being a very fit runner likes great hulking portions of stodge, he grew up with leek puddin' and  dumplings bobbing about in grey, greasy looking stew - his family like that sort of thing, quite frankly not much foodwise turns my stomach, but that does. But, as I am that social eater, if Gravel-guy is eating, then I tend to match him - not good as I am much more sedentary. I really need to refocus - but the lack of just wandering past a shop and checking for a "spare" romaine or reduced raspberries isn't going to be happening for a while, I need to adjust. I will adjust, and when this is all over I will be that bit more grateful for what I took for granted.

Things that were a bit slapdash because I got home from work about 6.30ish (and the evening is precious), now have time and effort devoted to them, tearing up leaves for a salad - now has me pottering around our tiny garden looking for the first edible leaves of sorrel, rainbow chard, fennel or hyssop or others to add to the carefully hoarded lettuce type leaves we bought most recently. I have a greedy interest in things sprouting forth and balance has to be weighed between pouncing on fresh young fronds or sustaining and letting something grow. This being Scotland (and cold) all the green goodness takes a while to get going, patience is not my natural "thing".

All this time devoted to food has its down sides, I have resolved to wear the tightest fitting trousers I have at least every week - I have recently bought a pair of trousers from Saint and Sofia that are quite the opposite of this, they are a light and stretchy jersey fabric and feel lovely; however, light and lovely jersey fabric that floats and wafts about the form is no indicator of the porkiness that could easily creep up on me. Exercise - every day, get out do something, anything, acknowledge the season and the beginnings out there. Finish some stitch projects (there is quite some selection), knitting and embroidery both have WIPs (euphemistically termed work-in-progress, rather than I never-want-to-knit-another-stitch as they look grim) ok, they won't help with burning the calories, but they will keep my hands and mind busy in other directions. But we have to build ourselves up from where we are.

Kew - before lockdown

Kew, it is my favourite place in the northern hemisphere, and I have many favourite places here - a good many are wool shops or places with Yvonne or museums or art galleries or sundrenched little towns somewhere-in-Europe...  thankfully Kew is still open the day I plan to visit (it has since shut due to Covid-19). I have to admit I feel rather pleased with myself that I caught the 427 bus from Gravel-guys flat in Uxbridge to Ealing Common Broadway and the 65 Kingston bus all the way to Kew and Victoria Gate without mishap. That is some achievement - in my addled frame of mind I am not the most observant person, but 427 basically tips people off at the subway, and the 65 bus collects people up from the subway. The vague-ish plans with Yvonne are on hold until another time, that's OK - I'd rather my darling partner in knit-crime is safe and well and fighting fit for more knitting/tea related adventures another day.

I get to Kew just after 10.00 and it is not as glorious as yesterday when we went to Bath, the clouds have made the sky a bit more overcast, but it is still a lovely spring-weather type day. Kew is quiet, but the young woman behind the glass at the entrance says it might be the "virus thing" it is her first full day on the job and she is very chatty, we talk about the recent orchid exhibition, we talk about where she is from (Hong Kong - on my list to visit, but don't go there right now she says and she says the gardens are getting lovelier and lovelier at this time of year, it is all very exciting...).

The gardens ARE lovely, I haven't many words to explain how much this place means to me or the space to breathe, or the balm to the soul they offer, just photos...