knitonlybutalso

Move me

We have moved house, or as they say in Scotland, we have done a “flit”. At last – goodness, paperwork takes a long time – not ours, we had ours done in a flash, but yes – we are done and moved. Carlisle I am delighted to say must be one of the UK's best kept secrets, it’s a dear little city, sweet and friendly and I am very in love. We live near Rickerby Park which is slap bang on the edge of the town centre, it is a reasonably large open patch of ground with the river Eden flowing through. On the diagonal side of the road is Bitts Park and there is a dinky cricket oval – something that warms the cockles of Gravel-Guys heart a great deal. We are two doors from a mini market shop and about 10 minutes from a Morrisons supermarket and I can buy pretty much most things I could want within normal UK parameters. I am almost delirious with joy, I could theoretically buy a leek a day (I won’t – not efficient, but….. I am no longer expecting a leek emergency ever again unless it is national or global so I feel pretty good with life, my general leek-related anxieties appear over for now).

We really have landed in clover - leeks, open parkland, historic and super-delightful town centre in walking distance... Closest of all, Rickerby Park is a lovely tract of land with The Swifts on the other side of the river – The Swifts is another big open area with lots of work being done to minimise flooding by returning watermeadows and such like – something very dear to the fluvial geomorphologist husband, I suspect he will go running and nod approvingly at the same time.

Rickerby Park - a lovely new space to explore 5 minutes from our house

The Swifts - across the river from Rickerby Park, wilder and also exciting

Of course there is also Bitts Park. This is kitty-corner to Rickerby Park and full of soft hazy foliage just starting to soften the skyline, it's next to the castle (yes, we have a castle - and a cathedral....).

Bitts Park - more manicured but so pretty and full of new leaves and blossom right now

The house is dinky, I am smitten – a sweet little Victorian terrace, and the back garden is a walled garden – all the way round. The downstairs rooms have original cornicing and ceiling roses, there are old fashioned fireplace surrounds, a huge, solid front door and inner door with etched glass… and a walled garden. Not to labour the point too much but it has a walled garden, that is a fantasy I’ve held since I first read The Secret Garden (Frances Hodgkin Burnett) now I can be my own Mary Lennox and set about “restoring” it. Gravel-Guy ever the sensible, suggested we wait the year out and see what pops up from the bark mulch – silly him! I had already test-scratched at the bark chips and discovered weed suppressant cloth. Nothing will stop my plans now – we have a spot ear-marked for herbs (terribly important), a couple of little apple trees planned, an acer planned for a large pot, a hydrangea in another pot, a staphylea near the tiny shed, a magnolia over there, a dwarf mock orange blossom about there, some shade loving iris, an auricula theatre…….. Gravel-Guy has left the ladder and the bike rack for the car in the middle of the little lawn in silent protest, of course I will overcome this. We/I have overcome already his laundry issues (a tiny washing line that cuts across my view of the garden from the dining table where I work), words were exchanged and after some firm negotiations, and an attempt at a standoff he has now promised not to hang his graying, fraying pants (specifically his under-frillies) in my eyesight (I sound rather Hyacinth Bucket there), gentlemans’-bunting as I called these rather drab and forlorn looking items a-dangling are NOT part of my plans. But how heaven is all that! A walled garden with good bones and weed suppressant cloth means I can plant my schemes as I wish as it is basically waiting for plants and soil feeding and such like, not much can get better than that.

Yes - we have moved in and effectively trashed the place....

New plant children - pet auricula and a super-whiffy hyacinth

To ensure Gravel-Guy feels that he has some dominion over our little empire I have magnanimously let him use the front bedroom and choose the paint we will paint it (I did suggest dark green was rather nice, and after pondering this, he has agreed... he is therefore allowed to choose from three near identical shades – generous of me I know). I have also bought him a sofa bed and will be buying him a desk – which also sounds generous until I mention that I chose that new desk (mwhahahahahahaaaaaa) as a gift for him to replace a very scabby old table. The desk is a mid century design that will go with the chair and the sofa bed and be ideal by the window where he likes to work, and it will have storage for his bits and bobs and even his bobs and bits. He is extraordinarily pleased with life – for a Gravel-Guy.

Still to paint, no paintings, no bookshelves... but Gravel-Guy has moved in

So a couple of weeks in, we are as happy as three little clams. Nr.1 child has been outside and gone walking quite contentedly in daylight (major achievement), the house of course is still a complete guddle – we have boxes, and the boxes we are not unpacking yet are now those ones no one wants to unpack as they are full of useful stuff that no one wants the responsibility of, or to take the effort of figuring where those sensible things should go. We need bookcases, we need wardrobes but it is all good really. We each have space to rattle about and the local neighbourhood is lovely, Nr.1 child was delirious with delight that we had a Chinese takeaway from across the road the day we moved in. I know where most of my knitting and fabric and stitching is, the wool winder and swift are readily to hand –I know where the yarn or fabric boxes have pitched up, but not necessarily which yarn is in which box… I know where the sewing machine is, I know where my thread is and the ironing board and the iron. This is happiness. I think we are all going to like it here.

I have barely touched any knitting, but I do have a needlepoint in progress. 

bzzzzZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzz

Our belongings are mostly here too, some are still in Kirkintilloch in a lock up, but we did get an old sofa out of storage – 15 years of storage. Sadly the old sofa was past it, so Gravel-Guy chopped it up and it is now in my darling little garden, however the sofa yielded a very special treasure as a last gift to us. A sock, a sock buried so deep that Gravel-Guy can’t fathom how it got way into the internal workings of the sofa – a Simon sock. So, I guess that’s Simon blessing our new home as that was one of Simons favourite socks when he was small and he had a very particular relationship to his socks. That sock is immensely special.

A Simon memento

It is now Easter. The daughter invited herself to stay and immediately commanded Gravel-Guy retrieve her from Leeds, however she did “remind” him to swing past her local Waitrose and find smoked hummous and as many different varieties of tofu as could be found. In return, she has made us risotto one night, and sushi another then she baked a gluten-free, lactose-free ginger cake and has effectively splattered the kitchen from one end to another. She has taken over the spare upstairs room with a mountain of clothing, deposited clothing to be cleaned in the utility room and sequestered the front room downstairs for Netflix binging and more embroidery. She has also taken over the shed and has suggested a spare set of keys to come and go as she pleases when lockdown is over… Hurricane Frances will leave Tuesday or Wednesday - when we have run out of smoked salmon and avocado I’m guessing. It is delightful to have her here, but by hokey, she makes a mess.

12 photos of 2020

Move it! (house is on/off the market)

This post is slightly all over the place - I manged to lock myself out of my typepad account - clever-not clever Juliet. For some weird reason comments now seem to be marked as spam and I had no idea, certainly I haven't been prodding buttons... The house went on the market Friday 19th November and we had a couple of viewings on the Sunday, I have no idea if that is good, bad or indifferent as we have been here 28 years. The first couple were deeply enamoured with the decor and the garden, the second couple were smitten with my sofa/cushions and the art work on the walls... will this sell our house? A third woman came on Monday and wanted to stay and not leave as she bonded with my indoor plant children... all of them seem so lovely and the first couple were just delightful, how many viewers does it need for one viewer to say they want it. Who knows???

Update: The first couple made a good cash offer late Monday and we have sold it to them on the Tuesday afternoon. I am so happy the first couple have bought our house - they will be great neighbours, that is so important as our current neighbours have been fantastic to us, it feels really important that whoever moves in after us will get on well and have a happy life with the people on either side.

neighbours - important...

Having effectively rendered ourselves homeless from the beginning of February we then had to focus on finding somewhere to live which is a very off feeling - a sort of this-is-not-quite-happening-so-pinch-me-feeling, I've wanted out of our village for so many reasons for so long that I cant quite believe that this is for real. Having looked at some possible new houses-to-us online we drew up a short list of three possibles to get into the idea of house hunting, 2 were very much Gravel-guys idea of what he liked and I chose one that I kept coming back to and then thinking its on quite a busy road and why has no one snapped it up? The first house is the one I liked and as soon as I steeped through the door I was smitten - it is a small, cosy Victorian terrace with a back garden which is big for the local area but not so huge that I will be left looking after a wilderness, I am totally entranced with it. The busy road is not that busy and we are 5 minutes walk from a huge tract of parkland, minutes from shops and a short but pretty walk into the town centre. The second house was near the first and had a perfectly nice house - a huge open plan kitchen which is a "no" with someone as mucky as Gravely-guy or Nr.1 child and the tiniest back garden ever - the size of our living room (which is not huge) and a large garage tucked at the back which is down a long private shared lane and would not be possible to get a car in or out. Number three was near the race course in Carlisle overlooking a delightful huge park but it was nowhere near shops to walk to and the layout was a little eccentric. All vendors were lovely and friendly but my heart just melted at number 1 house. We came home and discussed it (in other words gravel-guy wanted to "think") made an offer on number 1 house on Wednesday and on Friday our offer was accepted subject to terms and conditions. So yes, technically all sorted apart from the paperwork and as Gravel-guy says until everything is signed the vendor can theoretically pull out. But I think we are done or as done as we can be.

not our new house, too much cleaning involved

Having lived in our house for such a period of time, it has been hard to draw up a list of what matters to me - I knew what I didn't want (any equivalent of a Balfron bus which is 40 minutes to a decent shop and it goes once an hour so if you miss it you are an hour and 40 minutes from either your home or the shopping and is never heated in winter), I don't want to hear the drunks in non-Covid times come barrelling down the footpath from the Pirn Inn shrieking and shouting at 2.00am, nor do I want people knowing my own business better than I do myself. If pushed, I guess Id like to be able to walk to my groceries and not feel that lugging home the normal shopping (milk, potatoes for the potato eaters, maybe a bag of flour for the cake baker) means a military expedition of backpack, tote and reusable shopping bags and a choice between can I physically carry that bag of flour for Nr.1 child or a pack of my beloved romain lettuce.... its simple things like that which people don't necessarily factor in to the charms of small village life in Scotland (or anywhere else)

Lovely maybe, not so lovely when you have forgotten loo roll

travelling light - no 2 litres of milk, no potatoes and no 1.5kg of flour, I will not miss schlepping this home great distances...

I also went and got the eyes tested - new prescription and new frames, sigh. On the one hand it is is a distraction from cleaning and gets me up off my hands and knees but the reminder that I am getting old (presbyopia) is not welcome thank you. On the plus side I have exceptionally healthy eyes, great pressure and a super-delightful blood vessel picture - an unusual compliment but I'll take it. Apparently after trying on a selection of frames I can narrow my look down to angry and bewildered, very cross and confused, surprised and rather furious or vengeful and rather feral. I have been caught out before - I have bought my glasses and then discovered crazy detail on the sides. I am not a detail on the sides type of person, I don't want scrolls, twirly bits, flourishes, none of that, so I spent a long time looking and narrowing down what I might like before I even showed up for the appointment. Like I say, I have been traumatized in the past - right from my very first pair at 15 (hideous blue - did me absolutely no favours whatsoever and picked out by mother, who went "them" and that was that). The thing is I like that sort of detailed thing on others, but it worries me - its too much of a style commitment. So I have now got my first pair to try for a week before I ring the optician and say go ahead with the next (free) pair. It is a has been a temporary reprieve from fretting about our house. I don't know how people cope with their house on the market for eons or taking forever to find a new home - I like done and dusted.

So now, 5th December I am sitting wondering what else I can possible tidy/sort tonight and smelling the Chrismtas cake baking - it is a small one this year. A 20cm round one - Nr.1 child loves Christmas cake and Gravel-guy considers it "useful" as fuel for running, me, I can ignore it in favour of pannetone which has me all a quiver at the merest thought, so the small cake has been a compromise (and a way to use up the remnants of a bottle of spiced rum which had me bemused as to why anyone in our house would ever buy such a thing until I remembered I liked the octopus on the label and decided it might be a nice lamp base for a home made lampshade). So far the cake smells rather good, this year I have actually noted down what has gone into it (makes a change, technically I could replicate this one).

Uxbridge, autumn leaves, kimonos and beyond

Note to self, if wanting to sell ones house - one must clean windows...

Gravel-guy has got all enthusiastic about moving, we had an estate agent come - he thinks our house is very sell-able. My mouth dropped at that one, the lower jaw may have bounced in amazement - I mean I have never liked our house or where we live, but he thought the house was great, he thought the decor was excellent (that would be me thank you)... I am still stunned - anxiously stunned as I'd love to move right now (never mind moving tomorrow - too far away), and just because an estate agent says nice things, it doesn't necessarily mean someone will actually buy our house. Really I just want to be gone and settling into the next phase no matter what or where it is. I am done here, I think I have always been like that. A bit like sitting down to dinner but with your eyes and heart firmly fixed on the pudding (and I am not even a pudding person)...

Just for me? but where's pudding...

This meant Gravel-guy got briefly all energised with a paint brush (not easy to tell where he swiped at paintwork but you can smell he has been "somewhere"), he then said it was urgent he go down to the flat in Uxbridge briefly to wait for an electrician, and I could come too (in other words I have been mithering on and on about getting the house sorted and ready for selling and he needs a break from my constant carping I guess so this is the best distraction technique he knows). I packed my knitting and some clean socks and was ready as soon as he thought to ask, it also helped that I had scored one of the last remaining tickets for the resurrected V&A kimono exhibition I nearly got to see in March just as lockdown hit.

Fabric-y perfection

And travel at this time of year - I love it, and Britain does the changing of the seasons fabulously well - not too in your face showy but with an intensity and timeless ritual that roots you to place and season. The trip down normally gives up a wonderful scenic tour - in the early autumn when it is cold and dry, the countryside takes on a syrupy glow, with a slightly golden light and sharp bright shadows, but we came down in the evening. Still I am as happy as a clam, I know Britain-shire is out there somewhere in the darkness as we drive. The hazy softness of summer has given way in a matter of days to frosty mornings and the clear and decisive tang of autumn or soft drifting mists blurring the edges up in Scotland, but down south it is much more mellow. After our summer, this autumn looks to be arriving with sharp bitey teeth in the north, a first frost appeared from nowhere in Balfron. Leaving our village, we head into the central belt of Scotland, this part of the country always depresses me - towns merge into one after another, I find it weirdly unsettling that lack of margins between one place and the next, but we are soon into Ayrshire and then the hilly south of Scotland. The countryside of the borders gives way to the broad and generous scoop of the Solway Firth and the Solway Firth gives way to Cumbria, Cumbria leads to Lancashire and Lancashire drifts into... there is a pleasing progression from one place to the next so you feel your journey has a purpose. I love it, it's like a story unfolding before you. The trip through the countryside is as exciting and enticing as a ticket to somewhere special - the UK is fascinating to me still after all these years living here. The potential threat of a next lockdown makes this trip even more precious.

The kimono exhibition at the V&A was disrupted due to the covid lockdown and it now in it's very last embers, I think it shuts in a few days, but I had wanted to go quite desperately and then rather gave up hope, so when a chance perusal brought up a ticket - I snapped it up and then wondered how to get down there. Gravel-guy must be thanking his lucky stars I am so easily distracted.

Kimono exhibition - just some of the exhibits

The exhibition is stunning - visually it is so well staged and with the reduced visitor numbers you are not kippered in like previous exhibitions, there is time and space to get up close and also to stand back and appreciate the flow of someone at the V&A carefully curating a story and a flow to the garments. Quite, quite beautiful, most of the exhibition focuses on the kimono as the V&A pointed out, not so many obi (sash) still exist as they were more heavily used in terms of tying and twisting and experienced general wear and tear, there were a few netsuke and other tiny adornments but those main treasures are still in the Japanese hall if you want to see them - part of their appeal is their tiny perfection, I also think the clever lighting adds beautiful crisp shadows to their display and it all looks just wonderful, you really have to appreciate the skill and ability of the V&A staff when they bring out such clever and subtle visual aspects to a collection as much as what they curate.

Netsuke

Part of the appeal of the kimono of course is the wide expanse of fabric involved - the minimal cutting/shaping lends itself to appreciating the fabric design and quality of creation, the flat front of a kimono really shows off the design which sometimes takes a broad sweep (often from the right shoulder) across and down lending a sinuosity and extra dimension, I'm also quite in love with many of them having puffy hems which adds an extra element. Give me the stiff, flat frontage despite any encumbrance over today's fast fashion - not practical maybe but beautiful and so elegant. There is a story to the fabric with layer upon layer of meaning, all quite intoxicating.

Kimono made with french silk, exquisite

My main point of visiting was of course the kimonos but I had to take a wander through the Middle Eastern hall - it pulls me in every time. I think it is my favourite closely followed by the Japanese/Asian collections. It is heavenly isn't it.

Heaven and hardly anyone there...

My brief time spent down in Londonshire wasn't all inside, Saturday was a walk around Burnham Beeches - the autumnal colour is really good this year, really good. Sunday was a trip to near Dorking, I have no idea where Dorking actually is, but the countryside is splendid for a walk.

Burnham Beeches and a lurking Gravel-Guy...

Monday and Tuesday, and maybe a little of Wednesday were pretty much my days to do as I please as Gravel-guy is working - Monday, an afternoon ticket to Kew - I booked late so 1.00pm was the earliest I could get, oh well I have Kew membership so visiting is free, and if I take local buses I get a fabulous scenic nosey at the local scenery (yes I am that sad schmuck with an addiction to the 427 bus and the 65 bus, basically any London bus is terribly exciting to me, the local Balfron bus nope, not so much).

Last of the dahlias

Kew as to be expected was delightful - heaving but delightful, apparently the Gruffalo is in residence at the moment so it was full of small children and shouty mothers, no I don't miss those days at all. Yes there was more looking at leaves, and without Gravel-guy in tow it was much more pleasant.

Ethereal scilla in the alpine house

A quiet spot near the lake

Some very busy geese

... and of course, leaves - still lots of leaves to be looked at

Tuesday, was my last full day - I am on best behaviour with most of my knitting packed away, so I went off to see the Wallace Collection in Marylebone, I'd been once before when they had an exhibition by local artists employed for the East India Company (glorious) but had only vaguely clocked the actual collections. If chocolate box on top of sugar plum on top of furbellows is your thing you might quite like it, I am still bemused - glad I went, but the "old masters" of much European art seems incredibly busy and over the top. The showcasing of the art and the ability to get phenomenally close to it is incredible and the staff are lovely. Yes, bemused is probably how I feel.

Room upon room of this, lovely - but overwhelming

One of the more restrained paintings

Beautiful, well displayed but soooo full!

I topped my visit off with a quick deviation off to Daunt Books and VV Rouleaux - must plan better for next time as I felt I hardly got to see anything, I certainly didn't get to meet my comrade in stitches. The upside of no knitting shopping/excursions is Gravel-guy seems lulled into thinking no knitting is being plotted - the silly sausage!!! I am always plotting - even if I am not muchly doing..... Mwhahahahahhaaaaaaa

Glorious shop, and any purchases can be packed quite small (cough)

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.