knitonlybutalso

Easter weekend - time for some Afghan bikkys

I've been a busy bee this weekend. Not only have I been busy, I have actually done stuff - achieved! Must be something to do with the glorious weather this Easter.

Firstly (and most importantly), courtesy of the beloved Edmonds recipe book which is a New Zealand institution from a time when rural women needed reliable help and advice whilst living in the middle of nowhere ...

Afghan Biscuits 

Afghan biscuits - these are a kiwi classic, you might have heart of Anzac biscuits? yuck, they are the floor scrapings and the toe nail clippings left in a biscuit tin until stale - for some unfathomable reason I hear there are people who like them. You might have heard of Pavlova? (the Aussies say they invented that - they lie, we did, it is an Antipodean bone of contention and cross-Tasman sea debate, but we are righteous and correct and all that). However Pavolva - meh, - not a fan (but WE invented it).... how about Afghan biscuits? Heard of them? They are quite definitely ours and much better than Anzac biscuits or Pav. These are like hard crack in our office so I made a double batch to take in as our directorate boss is leaving, she is retiring early to a life up on a croft in the islands. I am so happy she is going to something she has really hankered for, but I am so going to miss her. She is very worthy of an Afghan biscuit. One of the good things about Afghan biscuits (please pronounce them "buskuts" - that's a very Kiwi pronunciation as we like to mess with all vowels in general, you can of course just call them bickys ie "bukkies") is that they have very few ingredients and can be adapted to people with special dietary needs. I have seen recipes that cater for the gluten intolerant and the lactose-free as well - replacing the flour with cornflour or similar and the butter (never - NEVER margarine please, there are standards we must uphold) with coconut oil.

Like I say, Afghans are a kiwi institution, I have no idea why they are called Afghans but they are tasty little morsels, and very easy to make...

So, in the best baking blog traditions, here goes:

• Cream 200 grams of butter and 75 grams sugar, then add 25 grams of unsweetened cocoa and mix in well. yes it is a high butter to sugar ratio (this makes it quite deep and fudgey and yes that IS enough sugar).

Top tip: have the butter nice and soft - I am particularly fond of Lurpak spreadable, it has the perfect consistency and no, I don't use Anchor as there are too many cows in Canterbury (my home province back in New Zealand) for such a dry climate and they are irrigating the fields with artesian water pumped up from aquifers of water that should really be left alone and shut up Juliet, before you start ranting. This is a recipe not a diatribe against the dairy industry.... pffffft I am no fan of Anchor, Lurpak tastes much nicer anyway.

 

 

• Add 175 grams of plain flour and mix in too - get it well combined. (yes, I do have 2 Edmonds recipe books which to the best of my knowledge is the source of these little wonders, I have two simply because "reasons" as Nr.1 kid would put it)

 

 

• Then finally - the cornflakes go in - 50 grams of cornflakes. As the mixture for the biscuits is quite soft for a bikky, this is relatively easy to combine,

 

 

• Smoosh them into rounds, that's a normal dessert spoon for scale - bake at 180 degrees C or 350 degrees F for 15 minutes or until "set".

 

 

• Let them cool them down a bit before sliding them onto a cooling rack - the high butter makes them initially very fragile, you often get one or two that weren't  smooshed firmly enough to hold their shape while baking (don't smoosh them too hard however - you don't want to pulverize their cornflakey little hearts), then these little guys need to be iced with chocolate icing...

 

 

Normally you top with either a walnut half or a glace cherry... However, I have to say bigger arguments have broken out in our family over the merits or righteousness of walnuts compared to cherry than almost any other topic of conversation. I left mine naked as I am completely on the fence. It is that simple and they taste lovely.

I also made 2 cushions from a £5 remnant I picked up in Glasgow - perfect for lounging about on our back lawn with a cuppa and a bikky.

Colour my world

Botanic gardens, Glasgow

Apparently it is spring in bonny Scotland - which means it is every weather imaginable. The doldrums of winter before real spring hits seems to be lifting finally. I do find this really unsettling - on one hand I may be the only person who loves daylight saving (finally it is light enough in the evening to walk home after the hour and a half bus trip to our village), but the wayward weather drives me nuts, so I find it "problematic".... Fragonard mail order has helped - considerably. I love perfume - by that I don't mean the fug of someone marinated in it, I just like a little waft of something to combat the honk of gravel-guys running gear that has been known to assault the nostrils. Nr1 kid has no sense of smell and autism, he sometimes is a little er, fragrant after a long walk to observe the otters down at the Endrick, he is obsessively clean but as he is anosmic, he doesn't realise that whilst he is clean, deodorant might also be a marvelous thing. That kind of sounds like we are a particularly pungent household - no, we're not, as I dislike strong odours of any sort. I do however like to smell things other than grotty male. Like I say the joys of the Fragonard catalogue and their website help, I am not normally given to girly and floral (except on the plants themselves) but this just weakens me at the knees.

Fragonard haul - with a swanky french scarf as a background, just because...

Fragonard is a middle of the road (pricewise) brand that I am quite fond of - you can find them in M&S and also online, and if you are brave enough you can encounter the rather terse service in one of their shops (to be fair the one in Montmartre is under seige with large English speaking tourists bumbling amongst the dainty displays that seem quite precariously piled up). Anyway, I love their room fragrances (the basil/mint diffuser thingy - oh my days, I don't buy it often - normally I buy it when gravel guy is away for a few weeks as then the bedroom is mine - all  mine and with fresh sheets and everything just so, it is my special little treat), so I thought I would treat myself to some of their perfume. I chose two - Etoile and Vrai, Etoile is soft and delicately spicy, it will be lovely at bedtime (yes I love bedtime fragrance - it puts me into the right mood to toddle to my nest and try and sleep - I am a terrible sleeper). Vrai is bright and perky with a real lemony/zesty opener (that dries off, so stick with it if you like herbally-florally-mossy stuff) and will be great for weekends and getting up and at 'em. I have my eye (nose?) on others - their orange blossom is sublime and their grenade pivoine is also rather delectable.

It is too early to fully embrace Spring, I know this, but still pre-Spring/false-Spring/nearly-Spring – call it what you will has the effect of pulling me out of my cosy sweater wearing stupor. It’s not just me of course, the Beeb (BBC2 to be exact) has the Great British Sewing Bee which is a programme of utter delight: gentle, creative and only mildly competitive in a decent-peeps encouraging each other on as the contestants are gradually whittled down to the final sewer. It is all quite fabulous and informative and very sweet, they also make some absolutely cracking garments. It has inspired me as far as exploring my fabric stash, I haven't exactly done much except shift piles about but I did make a couple of extremely easy tops (Camber and Fielder) which are both Merchant & MIlls patterns. I have made these before and they come as dress or top length, the basic difference is Camber is a simple woven fabric tee shirt/tunic type top with a nifty back yoke and neck facing that makes for a very elegant construction and Fielder is raglan sleeved, woven fabric pattern but combined with ribbing around the neck, cuffs and hem - it is a lovely pattern. They are a whizz to sew up - the patterns and instructions from Merchant & Mills are very good - I think the simplicity and stripping away of unnecessary fuss is what really appeals to me and makes for a more professional looking garment.

Anyway I had a week off (the work policy is to use your annual leave as much as possible before the end of March every year) so along with a brief trip to Paris (to celebrate the gravel-guys birthday) I felt the creative urge and got sewing. I started off with Camber and made it in some old off cut of gingham, wondering as I made it why I had this rather nice remnant, until that I realised the remnant of woven gingham is slightly squint and doesn’t hang true. No matter what, I could not get my neck bias cut to symmetrical – I gave up and hope it doesn’t eventually annoy me, I also cut the sleeves longer (old lady– flabby arm hangup) and gave them a wee bobbly pom pom edging at their hem. I made the same top again in a ashy mauve/rose of attar coloured linen called calamine from Raystitch. I am quite smitten with the colour. I am also made Fielder - but in a fancy seersuckery type woven with a sort of floral-y embossed pattern  – this was also a remnant that I had buried deep in the pile, it turns out THIS remnant was a little sheer, that must be why I buried it. The ivory fabric is in between the white ribbing you can buy and the cream, I think the white might be OK - we will see....

Camber and Fielder - done and put away

I am probably now over the Camber/Fielder “thing” but I am already planning my next projects – for instance what looks like a lovely simple dress from the Avid Seamstress (a new pattern company to me), what I hear you cry! That looks like Camber with elastic, yup … and? I’m looking forward to this, as I think it will suit a range of fabric type and be a quick and easy project for warmer weather but with a bit of cross over for the still cool days we are currently experiencing, once that is done (who knows when, as I procrastinate as an art form), I do have a couple of other patterns in mind.

One pattern but a choice of 2 fabrics - blue/white and slightly stretchy cotton or a dobby weave darker print - difficult....

Avid Seamstress sheath dress and Megan Nielsen Wattle skirt

Yes the dresses are very similar - we will move on and not mention it. The thing about making something is it doesn’t have to be fancy-dan technical, I mean sure show off your prowess if you wish – but the best and most effective productions are often very simple without the fan-fare of ruffles and twiddly bits, rather  they have a quietness and an attention to detail and getting things right. There is no point adding pockets unless your pockets are well designed and executed and located in the right place for a reason. This is also true of purchased clothing – too often shoddy construction is hidden in extra detailing or busy-ness. The higher end the clothing in the shops, the simpler it often is - as with simplicity comes nowhere to hide. The one thing that I do find difficult to manoeuvre around however is the shoddy/poor/crap choice of haberdashery - I have a long standing grudge match with the buttons in John Lewis, they are stored in tubes and the tubes are often empty except for one wee button. Their buttons are usually shiny/garish/blingy,wrong sized... why is it too hard to sell simple plain buttons of a decent quality? Why. Therefore I avoid making too many things with buttons as the buttons will often be the thing that really annoys me, it doesn't have to be this way. Case in point, the glory of La Droguerie - this is a french shop (actually small chain of shops) where there are lovely knitting patterns, sewing patterns, good quality yarns, drapey fabrics and subtle - SUBTLE haberdashery support, all tied up with excellent knowledge and advice. The clientele last time I was in their Paris shop with my partner in crime G, were elegant and knowledgeable and I can only imagine their horror/bewilderment if transported to the button racks locally. They also do mail order and yes I have succumbed so I can say it arrives as fast as anything from the UK (which I am not knocking - Raystitch and Merchant & Mills are both fabulous).

I know this all sounds quite whiney re the UK fabric scene - but truly the UK is really pretty good, if you know where to find things and have an open mind - it still takes time and effort, and can be frustrating if you know what you want but no one else things it is a go-er. I know for instance, that I would like to make a sort of plummy/damson coloured skirt, I have had this in my head for a while - sort of THIS colour.... can I find it at the moment - nope.

Abutilon smushed up against the glass, I really like it against the pale blue glass

It is all too red, too maroon, too purple and not what I want. I will have to keep looking or broaden my desires. That can be a little hard when you have settled on something in your heart and it isn't really happening - thats when I for one make mistakes and settle. Settling for a second choice rarely works - go with your first choice or make a completely different project entirely, trying to force a marriage between pattern and sub-prime fabric choice means it gets shelved or, made and then never worn. When I reach this impasse I find I have three options - keep exploring the fabric sites or Pinterest for inspiration, pick up my knitting/something else creative instead to get the making-bug out of my system or even better clear my head and head out to the Botanic Gardens. It reminds me of what colours I like and work with my skin/hair and is also a reminder to be patient and hold out for those choices.

Botanic Gardens - inspiration (and look second row - righthand side, furry flowers!!!)

The Botanic Gardens in case you wonder if I have taken complete leave of my senses are a fantastic place to explore colours and colour combinations, your rarely see nature get it wrong - and often when you least expect it, some absolute cracker combinations are out there to challenge and surprise you. I find it really opens my eyes to alternatives as well as re-sets my head contents. It also helps when it feels like true spring is taking eons to get here.

The walk home from the village before ours

 

Berlin

Every now and then gravel-guy has a “moment”, I am not sure how I’d describe them apart from a slight elevation in his terms of crankiness from grouch to mere grump. It occurred to him (after I pointed it out a number of times) that we hadn’t actually “done” anything for our 30^th wedding anniversary, although he HAD given me a bottle of gin (seriously I am currently rather “over” gin but the sentiment was nice enough) and then he left the country for 3  and ½ weeks (maybe that was  the gift). So we took off to Berlin for a few days, leaving Nr.1 creature in charge of himself and the house and anything else he felt like being in charge of.

In case you think this is going to be a blog about stylish travel and living a glamorous existence, give up that thought now. Gravel-guy had been out running a couple of days before and gone flying over his feet leaving him with a spectacular gash down his forehead, the GP smushed it shut and it seems OK – just a bit yucky looking, I on the other hand went off to a dermatologist and had some fine thread veins appearing on my cheeks and nose injected, so I was looking a little crusty too. We must have looked quite something, just not in a good way, so no, this isn't a style post.

Berlin is a place neither of us had ever been and for the most part, not the “prettiest” of places but it is an incredible city.

We arrived on a damp and drizzly Wednesday evening and once gravel-guy (who knew EXACTLY where the hotel was and the tram stop and the route between...) had marched us in what seemed to be concentric circles eventually zoning in on a Hilton somewhere amidst the endless apartment blocks of East Berlin, we went out for a bit of a wander. Berlin it appears is a very instagrammable city - I know this now as where-ever you go there are young women (mainly women) splayed and pouting against a Berlin backdrop, whilst a guy (usually a guy) is squatting in some sort of approximation of a birthing position squinting into an enormous camera, or you might just get to observe groups of young women just tilting their heads and pouting winsomely into their smart phones - not helping each other out - just posing into THEIR phones. Despite this, Berlin is rather lovely in its idiosyncratic way. 

After our walk the first evening took in the Brandenburg gate and gave us a rough idea of our bearings, we began Thursday at the Berlin Dom, it's not particularly old, but it is monumental and weighty and... slightly overwhelming in its solidity. Yes, it is a lovely building, by hokey it is quite the megalithic structure, we started in the body of the church (lovely but full of instagrammers draping themselves everywhere), then made it up to the roof and then down to the crypt. There are far fewer instagrammers upstairs or down below, I recommend exploring both areas for that reason alone if no other.

After a brief wander around Mariankirk (pretty) we made our way to the island of museums, oh wowsers. If you like a museum then Berlin is YOUR holy grail. Each of the museums is spectacular and extraordinary and wonderful - it is almost overwhelming. We settled for the Pergammon for one day and then the Neues Museum (with that iconic bust of Nefertiti), really you could just randomly pick a museum and be quite enthralled.

The Pergammon Museum, so named because of the relocated Pergammon Gates is devoted to Byzantine artwork, it is utterly fabulous. The Byzantines seemed to favour a very pretty blue for their architecture (going by the famous gate) and rocked some serious curly whiskers (which is inspiring to a woman of a certain age with chin hair). The artwork is quite magical.

The glory about museums like the Pergammon is you can explore all the intricate details up close and personal, it feels an enormous privilege to see such beauty, I think we really take this for granted. Oh and despite 4 days in Berlin, we're still married.

I am the sparkle princess (or am I?)

See these, I'd had this idea in my head for a while before I made them. Then once I had made them, it took even longer before I got around to wearing them. I like them, I'd just never got around to putting them on, the thing I hadn't noticed until today was that they ring like little tiny bells when I shake or move my head. Which is fine, I rather like the tinkling.

Have you any idea how hard it is to photograph your neck???

Then, inspired by the silvery bling I bought some new shoes... I really am rather pleased with them, although I am fairly sure the daughter will not approve. At all.

"Pewter" apparently...

Did I need new shoes? Well no. Did I replace or part with an existing pair to make room for them? Ummmm, nope. This got me pondering the whole minimalism thing going on at the moment - the shop your wardrobe, the capsule wardrobe, the ethical wardrobe... the whole puritan kind of "wear it but don't get too much fun out of it" going on now. The thing is I don't wear much disposable fashion, I knit, I sew and I consider pretty carefully what I buy. I've got about 4 tee shirts from H&M amongst the others but they wear well - they have lasted better than some high end tee shirts I have had and parted ways with, sure they are aren't an elegant fit or anything special but they have been worn A LOT over the last few years (yep, they are a few years old and going strong), so no they weren't bought for landfill and no I don't know what the answer is, Am I buying into the sweatshop thing or am I helping someone hold down a job? I seriously don't know. I do feel that if I buy it, then I wear it and respect it then whatever I pay for it that's a good start. I'm also cool about wearing them to scrub the bathroom or dig a bluddy great hole without getting precious.

But I often get it wrong with clothing purchases - well not wrong-wrong, just not quite "right". Pinterest pages - minimalist, wardrobe - minimalist,  shops I favour - minimalist.. but every now and then the bling pops out. It makes me wonder about the nature versus nurture side of dressing - growing up, my mother was (still is) a very stylish and restrained woman, but there was only room in our house for one stylish woman - mum. I was the tail end of the family and the fat one, the fat one and the funny one and the one with elastication at the non existent waist - coming to the UK in my mid twenties was a chance to re-invent myself. But I wonder if I reacted to the person I knew I wasn't rather than really created the person I was. I think I am still struggling with that - my day to day wear is a subset of my wardrobes' minimalism (Doc Martens, black trousers, grey v neck most days) and the slightly showier items get left on the hangers, but every now and then my heart goes ping at the sight of something shiny - not frilly, not ruffly, not pattern-y, not... nope - blingy. At the same time I worry - fat girls don't draw attention to themselves, they shouldn't wear shiny, they mustn't look like it matters, my family herd don't do shiny or blingy or razzle-dazzle and the fat one stands at the back and that's a whole lot of "n'ts" for a fat girl that the others don't seem to be governed by,

oh yes, I was shoe horned into a similar bridesmaid dress a LOOOOONG time ago

When I buy something, I think of where it was made, I consider what it is made of, and if I like it enough once I've got it on, I buy it. But I rarely feel the absolute love - it will do and for that reason I will often give up there and then, and buy it - rather than really stick it out for what I'd actually love, maybe I still feel fat girls don't deserve to be happy with their clothing and should just suck it up and be grateful it fits. I was browsing you tube and came across a vid on minimalism and paring down, and one of the comments made suggested that what the poster was striving for wasn't so much minimalism per se but rather essentialism. Yeah, possibly. But the whole minimalism thing seems to be moving from simplicity to another lifestyle trend led by the young, the affluent and the well styled, which leaves me feeling slightly disconnected - isn't this just a consumerist take on anti-consumerism? Minimalism doesn't necessarily seem to be making do with the "weird shit" of my early adulthood such as the sitting on cardboard boxes of books because we couldn't afford furniture, rather it is very expensive and beautiful on instagram, in short it seems a little contrived and maybe just a tad competitive in its ascetic. I'm not sure you can belong to it, unless you have almost unattainable levels of rigor and self denial that many people don't have and never make stuff-ups, I also wonder about the truth of it - the daughter has hankerings for a minimalist studenty flat, which is why she is living in Bristol with fairy lights and waffle bedding and all her crap is up here cluttering the place up.

I also wonder what the next thing will be, what will the bright young things move to next? Will they get rid of their minimalist belongings and embrace the next trend if they don't "go" together? It also makes me really admire the outliers, those with a strong and vibrant projection of themselves and their self-worth, who seem to have something to say and to say it in their own inimitable style. It takes courage to really be true to your identity I think and is definitely something to aspire to. 

 

Peace-knit

Gravel-guy and I took a few days off straight after Christmas and left the munchkins at home - they are mid twenties and were left a house full to bursting with food, so we figured they'd cope. Much as I love them, I also love my space, so we packed a few days clothing, some peppery oatcakes and some clementines and off we went down to a place near Lancaster. Most importantly I packed some yarn and a pattern for my Christmas project - pinwheel mitts from Ella Austin/Loop, I figured some serenity and some yarn and I'll be sorted for my start of 2019. The drive from Glasgow down is pretty lovely at this time of year, if you get it right, sky-watching is wonderful. Some times the skies are like drifting watercolours, sometimes they are milky with a high haze, and sometimes they are so low that you are driving through pishing rain. You often end up driving through pishing rain.

However our journey was blessed - some lovely skies were seen.

This... love this sort of light

and about 5 minutes difference

We arrived at Thurnham Hall after dark, the main building is a hotel but there is also a gym, a spa (Dermalogica products I think) and self catering units hidden amidst trees and rolling landscaped gardens. It is very pretty and despite a lot of cars parked, it felt very quiet and peaceful. It is a lovely place and a great place to stay.

Did I knit? Well not much - 2 pairs of mittens done, they are both Ella Austin designs I think, I am a total fangirl about her knitting patterns, sighhhh I LOVE her. Normally when I go anywhere with knitting I like to try and match my project in some way to where I go, I'm not sure I was that successful this trip - maybe the soft cool colours sort of match the tones of a winter Lancashire, but as for the big empty skies and broad sweep of marchy landscape surrounding our accommodation - no, I didn't think of that, maybe the Brooklyn Tweed "Perch" shawl I had been working on might have been a match for the marshes but I had finished that apart from the weaving in and blocking, so it was left behind.  Did I read any books - nope, I took a couple down but I was so chilled and calm I barely twitched.

Ella Austin Pinwheel mitts

Ella Austin Bunty mitts

Lancashire (or at least that part) is rather lovely - we took little excursions to Morecombe (I found a haberdashery shop that was open!!!), and to Martin Mere (ducks, geese, er birds) which is delightful. But most of the time was spent just wandering about without much of a plan. I love the wide, expansive landscape and the slightly down-at-heel feel to the area, it has a slightly cant-be-bothered and like-it-or-lump-it feel to the place.

Beach walk - Moorecombe

Martin Mere - friendly local

Martin Mere - hungry local

Martin Mere - sleepy local

Martin Mere - Lancastrian flamingos

Coming back we passed Caer Laverock, another bird sanctuary - it is quite off the beaten track but also rather fantastic - big skies, lots of birds, plenty to sit and just watch. Quite wonderful.

Biig skies and big landscape and big birds!

Feeding time at Caer Laverock

"Wasteland" - fabulous

and more - it is a sublime place

I also finished my Crooked Little Scarf which is an Anne Hanson pattern, only it never became a scarf - it got cast off early and made into a cowl, then in a fit on wild enthusiasm I finished the Brooklyn Tweed shawl-y thing, "Perch" for the office by darning in ends and blocking it, as no matter how hot it is, there is often a cold draft at shoulder level, only I got back to the office on Monday and not only was it hot as Hades, they had "fixed" the heating (which they do often, every time it is announced with great authority how "fixed" the heating now is), like I say, it is hot, and seems to be hot everywhere and all the time. The shawl-y thing might have to sit in a drawer for a bit until we move floors in a week or so.

Crooked Little Scarf

Perch from Brooklyn Tweed

However, being back at the office has meant I am back in the groove and in a routine - I have made my lunch for the office, but who knew a salad based around runner beans (don't judge me - I am fat and I like runner beans) squeaks when you eat it. I also realised that when I turned up in the office on Monday I was dressed all in black - I look like a wee chubby crow, diet it is then.

12 photos of 2018

Upper Rakaia, Canterbury, New Zealand

Gardens By The Bay, Singapore

Benmore Botanic Gardens, Argyll, Scotland

Rhodes, Greece

Symi, Greece

Oisans area, France

Chelsea Physic Garden, London

Montmartre Museum, Paris

Jardins de Luxembourg, Paris

Atelier de Lumiere, Paris

St Etheldreda, London

Kew Gardens, London

 

I am the Christmas Grincherina

What can I say, the struggle is real. Yes I am the Grouch/Grinch of Christmas but despite my best efforts a couple of really lovely things have happened to me lately that have softened my flinty little heart a little - namely 2 (yup 2!) advent calendars. The first was gifted by someone I consider a very special knitting buddy (actually she is more than a knitting buddy, she is all round patron saint of knitters throughout much of the UK and just one of the best people ever), and hilariously (well I think hilarious) there are little chocolate sprouts and Grinch candy. Day three and three adorable stitch markers - how gorgeous are they??? Its been a week and a bit since then and still more lovely stitch markers - this makes me so happy first thing in the morning. All opened and all had me hopping up and down with delight - really I just loved this present, a total delight!  Thank you Yvonne, thank you. 

The only difficulty is deciding which stitch marker at any one time, they are getting a lot of use already, who knew knitting could be so festive with these little guys jingling when you pick it up or put it down?

Aren't they just the cutest!

Secondly I got another mystery advent calendar in the mail - a gin advent calendar, and I don't know who it is from!!! Will my liver thank me by the end of the month, hmmm possibly not but what a lovely thing seriously I couldn't keep up, not even nearly. I genuinely have no idea who sent this to me - I checked it's meant for me and my address several times and I have been all over the packaging looking for clues/sender info - nada. I am mystified but what a sweet and thoughtful thing - gravel-guy who doesn't drink has been as intrigued as I am over the gin - he wants each bottle opened ever night as soon as I get home so he can figure what it smells like, like I say - he rarely drinks so every now and then he has a tiny little taste and his whole face reacts to the suckerpunch of neat gin, once he recovers he attempts a description "spicy?", "rhubarb?", it's worth it just to see his face.  

How elegant is this? I mean, seriously it is almost a shame to break open the little windows (almost)

... half way through. I cant even try and keep up

It did really make me think - I've been going through some difficult stuff at work and to know people care and do some random act of loveliness is something that kinda stopped me in my tracks, and helped me sinking further into the fug I was perilously close to descending into. It made me realise that even the tiniest little thing has an impact - good or bad and I hesitate to use the word "mindful" as it is often used as a weapon in our workplace by a boss with all the mindfulness of a plank, but being that little bit more aware than I usually am of my impact on people might be a good thing... Anyway I've volunteered to look after the work inbox whilst everyone else tootled for their Christmas lunch, that suits me fine as I like the serenity of the office when I'm there by myself, and I have never liked the group lunch where you sit at a long table and can't see or hear the people two seats along, everyone then ends up yelling, nope not really my thing.In fact I have some crafty knitting prepared and general office faffery alongside a multitude of easy-peelers (clementines in case you wonder - not sprouts), I wont actually be alone either - we work in teams in an office that is open plan so with various people coming to "commiserate" with my lonesomeness it is often one of the most social afternoons of the year, I get fed some absolute quality gossip and have a grand old time where I have a proper chat with people I often see only in passing - so it is better than going out for lunch.

Anyway that is all done and dusted now - here is to the holidays and re-orienting ourselves into a new year.

That time of year thing

hmmmmmmmmm

Well it’s the season, THAT season. Yeah, it is not just Christmas but also the season when “they” start to appear everywhere on social media. I am not talking Christmas adverts and the icky-sicky tripe about buying endless, forgettable plastic tat/bilge that gets shipped half way around the world and makes a brief stop off in people’s houses before disappearing into landfill soon after (just call me Mrs Grinch, I am happy being cranky – yep, that’s me waving at you, happy and cranky at the same time, it’s how I roll). Nope, however bad enough the Christmas season is, the thing that really gets me about this time of year is the associated season of competitive bereavement. Trust me it is war out there and a social order of sorts exists in the secret society of loss and loneliness, there are obligations and expectations and even a pecking order – to be blunt and a bit vulgar, that royally cheeses me off.

 

bork! 

I noticed this year as in many previous years, that little shared posts started popping up on FaceBook early October-ish - the “I am so strong – but you’ll never know my personal inner tears of loneliness” appearing across peoples pages (erm, well you just shared, so I guess now I do, and couldn’t you come up with your own words??? Even a few words on that “thing” you are sharing? Seriously?). There are also the “I miss my Daddy in heaven” poems on the FaceBook pages of a bus-buddy of mine – she is in her 70s, what the sweet eff am I expected to do? Sorry about the language but seriously – am I meant to like them? What does a “like” mean in these circumstances – do I like that you are supposedly miserable / missing your Pop? I do NOT like that you shared a really saccharine sickly-sweet poem along with a crappy photo of candles / flowers / blurry lake scene etc that makes my retina twitch and fills me with fury because it is so cheesy / predictable and I have seen on at least 2 other FaceBook pages, if grief or loss is so individual then why use a crappy identikit boring meme that is ubiquitous? I do not like being hit over the head with the message that somehow misery is something to be wheeled out every year to trigger an avalanche of responses along the lines of “you OK hon?” or “hugs” or “so sorry for your loss”… I feel like I am being manipulated into an expected response and a tit for tat of “ yeah, sorry about that” followed by their response of “so sorry back”… I hate that. I hate the EXPECTATION that grief / bereavement is a badge to be worn proudly and somehow profound loss can or will make you a better person, I get furious with the implication that those proudly displaying their big ribbon-y rosette of grief can hijack the Facebook pages and feeds of so many other people. Let me reiterate, grief doesn’t make someone a better person. It doesn’t. Crabby before and crabby since. I hate being bullied into a meaningless exchange of “so sorry” followed by “yeah, so sorry back” followed by “hugs” followed by “xxx” followed by “xxx back at you…” followed by a “keep strong” (what does that even mean???), followed by… often this starts about 11.30pm and I am thinking of bed time and stuff for next day. A conversation about loss is one thing, but the nearly monosyllabic and moronic ping-pong back and forth is nothing more than keeping me from my bed and it is very, very cross making. It is particularly cross making as you are locked into this keepy-uppy nonsense because you cannot tell a sad / bereaved / grieving person to eff off. Ever.

 

... and furious bork 

Here’s the thing re our own personal circumstances in case you wonder why this provokes my ire. Simon our middle child – beautiful, big, gentle, heavy metal loving, all round good kid died on the 16 December 2011, he died in his sleep on the last day of school term before Christmas of a massive heart attack. It hurts, it still hurts like hell – but you know it hasn’t made me a saintly fore-bearing one, it doesn’t give me some special “edge” or a special understanding / glow / empathy / listening ear, other people also have their own grief – I refuse to buy into the pecking order of grimness some people like to calibrate in their heads… lost cat sad, house fire (but nobody harmed) – very sad / bad, divorce (better or worse than house fire – debatable? How much was the house worth??), death of an elderly parent (factor in expected or not, how many family members remaining and their associated age, inconvenience of the death etc) very, very sad but there you are - they lived a good life, death of a child??? Now add in how long ago it was, and if there are any other sad cases that have bumped yours down the list of recent or memorable things (you have your allotted 3 months or thereabouts and are expected to take turns in being star performer, then budge up for the next big attraction in town)… You think I am kidding – I am not, there are some very aggressive bereaved people out there.

 

and double, maybe even triple furious bork 

So what is my take home message? What is that thing I really want to get across? (and this is just my personal opinion and no, as a bereaved person I don’t have any extra powers / rights / expectations that I have the right to force on you). Well it is simple – you DO NOT HAVE TO BUY INTO THIS NONSENSE. There I’ve said it – you DO NOT have to respond / get sucked in to this. If people are genuinely in pain / distress, they rarely display it as a status on FaceBook with the intention of locking others into constant attention giving, my own understanding / observation of grief is that people often withdraw and go turtle. For many, withdrawing in the face of overwhelming emotion is perfectly OK, it is even quite normal – when Simon died, we really genuinely didn’t even notice the Christmas of other people, we were so completely absorbed by our own circumstances – we had no room / head space left. We made a brief message on Facebook to let people know that we couldn’t reach otherwise, but since then, I don’t do his “anniversary” on FaceBook, I don’t light a candle on Facebook, I don’t post poems churned out by some attention seeking personal monster creating this bilge, I don’t share the “9/10 people won’t understand my sorrow but I know you will” (actually nope - I’m just going to unfriend you right there, “friend”) or respond to any of this prodding and poking, I will NOT buy into it… My personal way of dealing with this stuff is generally to hit “hide posts from blah for 30 days” in the first instance. You / we / I have an absolute right to celebrate Christmas or any other part of the year how you / we wish, to the levels of happiness we wish, so do not allow these people to make you miserable. You are not responsible for their “unhappiness” (unless you were responsible for killing their cat / burning down their house – in which case I’ll never tell), and especially if they are enjoying it. Go – give full attention to the moment – love your family, love your new books, your cat, your new mug, your…. As someone who finds Christmas painful (and always has), I can say hand on heart – your happiness does not make me more miserable – it has no negative effects whatsoever. In fact life is for living and celebrating and loving, not for the inane and rather crass sucking of other peoples joy from their lives, I find it parasitic and really rather cruel and narcissistic, maybe someone has finally got the warm fuzzies and are feeling good with life? Why screw them and bring them right back down with attention-seeking misery? If you want a real connection then make that conversation – meet for coffee or a walk or something – but make real time, say real words that you thought of yourself (rather than some crappy greeting card stuff) however inarticulate those words are – they’re yours and not regurgitated from somewhere else, even more importantly listen, if there’s nothing to say and it’s silent, that’s perfectly OK – listen to that. If you can’t do it right now, that’s totally fine – but really don’t get stuck with the sucking energy out of people nonsense – it’s all meaningless and whatever these people are after, you cannot fill that big black hole, don’t fall for the fake messaging back and forth, your time and your life are worth so much more than low-life bullying by these people.

 

To be honest, we celebrate Christmas – not in a big fancy-dan kind of way. We remember Simon (as always) but we celebrate his silly, dopey genius for making people laugh and his kindness and his unerring smartness at finding the joy in people. We are fine – seriously. Crack on people, crack on.

Here I am - not there, but here

Autumn - Scotland

I am not always gallivanting – it is just that being away is endlessly more exciting than being here in the village in the middle of nowhere and perilously close to the arse-end-of-the-universe. But here I am. Sigh. To say I don’t like where we live and have lived for eons is an understatement, I hate it. Utterly hate it – it is an hour and a quarter (on a good bus trip) from Glasgow and the bus goes once an hour – that is a long time from civilisation and decent flat white (2 and a ¼ hours if you just miss one, not factoring in if it is late or slow – that’s each way potentially). Don’t ask me to list the innumerable reasons I can’t stand this place but suffice to say I don’t go out and about – the local corner shop is a 5 minute walk (at most) from our house, I’d rather wait for the bus and take a 45 minute ride to the nearest supermarket than be seen. A lot of it relates back to experiences after Simon died and I am still too traumatised to encounter certain people who enjoyed his death a tad too much, that's coming up for seven years at Christmas but I still cant bear the memory or being hunted down every time I showed my face on the main street. Basically I don’t go out, I hate it here.

Escaped to the city (and a flat white is being made as I sit...bliss)

Anyway, so I am “at home” which is not and never will be my home in this awful village and the only way I can think of coping with being here is to get out of the village as much as possible. I hear you saying “why don’t you move?” well, gravel-guy can’t be arsed – but then gravel-guy is barely here, his job takes him off overseas and if the house fell down around his ears he couldn’t give a flying fig, the house is therefore hideous, I kind of need him to agree to moving before we can possibly move … So anyway the only way to cope is to be out and this weekend was rather delicious weather-wise, who knows however many more we will get before the weather turns and we are drowned in rain, snow, sleet, skitter about with black ice, get blown away with howling gales etc and the darkness of a Scottish winter hits with all its full claustrophobic misery. Out I went on Saturday, 7.27am bus. The quandary is; do I go for another walk around the reservoir as of the other week or do I head for the botanic garden / Great Western Road area of the city. I decide to venture in towards town and leave the reservoir for another day. I get off the bus earlier than the usual stop so I am ready and primed for a flat white by about 8.20ish only most places open at 9.00, that then involves a lot of scampering about the botanic gardens for a first look in the biting cold, but it is glorious – the day is sunny and perfect. They are putting out the lights for the illuminations, they look rather good, but I am less enamoured of the ticky-tacky plywood cabins that will be selling hot food and throat-catching mulled wine…

Botanic gardens - autumnal light

After some serious people-watching in Paris I decided my wardrobe needs smartening up – I am a scruff, I really am but I work in an office of (mainly) fellow scruffs, every now and then I get a clothing-related obsession in my head and identify a perilous gap in my clothing and the cold winds suggest I need more layers. The current gap is a grey cardigan – I had one, I had two, I had three in fact, but I lost one, another recently expired (well it probably expired a while ago but I only officially recognised this when I wore a hole in the elbow and being a fairly scuzzy thing in general that was pilling and stretching, decided it was not redeemable in any possible way) and the third is missing in action and very long so it pokes out below my coat in a very unbecoming fashion. It is cold enough to wear woollies – hooray! This is the weather for knitters – only thing is, my woollies are up in the loft and the rickety ladder we have prevents me getting up there as it is too awful to contemplate. A lunchtime sortie to John Lewis confirmed my worst fears – there is no suitable grey cardigan out there, nothing the right shade, nothing the right weight, nothing the right fibre composition, the buttons / stitch pattern / sleeves were all too hideous and naf looking and it was all quite cross-making. I came out with a pattern book with a jersey (I’ll adapt that to a plain v neck cardigan), the right shade of chunky grey wool , a singular button (seriously John Lewis – get your act together – your buttons are vile and the button tubes are basically empty, pathetic, I may have to resort to FIMO and make a button) and 9 balls of yarn at that too. The thing is once I have knitted this ideal cardigan I will have spent MORE for the pleasure of making it than if I had bought it – however, it will be the cardigan I want and not some sort of “nearly” item that will annoy the heck out of me. And that is the thing, once I decided to crank this blog up I decided one of the reasons to crank it back into existence was to chart the embellishment or not-settling-for-the “meh”-in-life kind of thing, so a quick knitting of a grey cardigan it is (9mm needles – this will be a swizzz), that would be a quick knitting after a boring plain cardigan in a dark red that is currently on the needles and blocking the way... The grey cardigan may be a quick / boring knit but it will certainly make a useful knit that I will like to wear.

potential adaptation into a cardigan

The thing is, that a lot of what I like to wear is fairly plain but sadly plain is harder to find and often more expensive as there is nowhere/nothing to disguise poor construction or shoddy fabrics, I get really infuriated with brassy zips that don’t need to be there (Mint Velvet), gathers, frills, trimmings, ruching, shiny-shiny buttons (Marks and Spencer), huge bat wing sleeves that make even the smallest person look like a misshapen lump (Jigsaw) etc. Where the heck are all these classy items without the trailing whatsits and the scabby finish – at a reasonable price and for a normal body? Seriously – where are they??? Coming in to winter all I want are plain-ish and well made clothing items, things that go with other things, that are thick enough in fabric so I don't feel like I am standing at the bus stop in my knickers and preferably don't define my age/class/batdom - when did this get so hard???

Paris

tell me that hotel room is not ridiculously adorable

and the cutest courtyard view

Love Paris, love it. The city is an absolute joy – by that I mean it is gorgeous AND very walkable. G and I arrived Friday, early afternoon and settled into our hotel in the Batignolles area, Hotel Eldorado is a small and quirkily charming establishment. It is sadly nearly always booked solid and hard to get in, but it is gorgeous and very sweet. The staff are lovely too by the way (and I include the resident cat). We immediately set out for a bit of a flaneur – we like to wander, so a toddle around the local shops, a brief sortie through Montmarte cemetery (ha! My mother would be delighted by the idea of her “local” cemetery she likes a bit of the old morbid stuff does mother, although Montmartre cemetery is anything but…), then settled ourselves into a cosy corner of a local establishment for a shared bottle of voignier and some fairy lights (lovely wine – very “green peppercorn-y”, delicious) before waddling onwards for dinner locally and a relatively early night, turning in about 10.ish

wooo fairy lights

Montmarte cemetary

nothing miserable here

Saturday – our first full day in Paris and we decided to walk from our hotel to the exhibition we were in Paris to see and find a petit dejuener on the hoof as it were. I had heard about a new exhibition venue and was really keen to see it, I had high hopes that this might be something quite good and boy, it surpassed anything I could possibly have hoped for. The Atelier de Lumieres exhibition of Klimt, Hundterwasser, Schiele etc was beyond incredible and has been extended to January 2019, if on the offchance you are wandering past Paris – go. Just go, and in fact check their website generally to see what they have on would be a VERY good idea. The venue is a large converted old warehouse, the exhibition space is essentially an empty shell apart from a mezzanine area one end, a couple of smallish enclosed spaces and a watery pool in a basement that you look down into. Upon this, are projected images that slowly change and are set to music. Doesn’t sound exciting? Except it was – you are submerged into the art – it is projected all around you and on the floor, enormous portraits stare out at you and you stare back – normally the trick is to wait for a gap in the crowds to get the right photo only the interplay and the knowingness of these giant faces and the little people (us!) staring back (or not) actually made for a really interesting conversation between the art and the people attending – and all this was so mesmerising and beautifully done that people were drifting around silent and respectful and totally, totally absorbed.

   

Huge space - view over to mezzanine

Who's looking at who?

who wouldn't want to wander through this?

beautiful 

Blissful – photos don’t do it justice but it was easily one of the best things I have seen in a very long time. The choice of Klimt, Hundterwasser and Schiele as the main artists was an inspired first choice for this new venue, I can’t wait to see what programme they will come up with over time. We turned up about 10.00am and when we went in the place was not particularly busy, but as more people arrived it got busier and busier – but still it was respectful and quiet and lovely. We left about 1.00ish completely spaced and deep in thought finding a small Kurdish place for lunch on the way back (delicious) to the hotel.

 

 

 The evening was filled with something G had wanted to see – another light/illumination type experience. The was the Coeur de Dames, a light show of the history of Paris projected on to the front of Notre Dame. Like the morning, the majority of the people there appeared to be from Paris. We were there for the 7.00pm show and filed in with everyone else to find a convenient spot to watch the proceedings, ending up next to a very Parisian family/teenagers who appeared by the barricade we were leaning on and immediately settled on the cobbles for a picnic. Every time Mama caught G’s eye she leapt up to offer food from their picnic – an immense pile of carrot sticks wrapped in foil, quiche, golden delicious apples, cheese…. A small boy was despatched by Mama to offer salted pistaccios to people surrounding the family and especially to the helpers and policemen etc. The smallest child (probably about 7 or 8 years old) asked through her papa if G had any children – G had none (and normally is not a great fan of small people – but these innumerable teenagers and smaller children were delightful, Mama appeared in total control even when she was rootling through her massive bag of picnic supplies etc), G explained I had offspring. Was G bored? The small child wanted to know, G was not bored but the small child then wanted to know if G was tired, hungry, lonely, liking Paris… and eventually deciding in case G WAS bored but too polite to say, small child clambered up and perched on the barriers like a dainty little bird and sang to her. Very sweet, somehow very French and totally adorable.

 

I'm not even french - but I really wish I was

dramatic

stunning 

Again, the light show was wonderful – absolutely delightful and so well done, but also being surrounded by French people makes the experience really lovely too. People went out of their way to talk in English (yes I MUST learn some French), a very tall man sidled out of the way of smaller people behind him (people like me Jand a couple of others) and made chit chat, a couple of women commiserated over Brexit, and everyone was friendly and good natured and quietly enjoying the spectacle.  

 

and the exit was through the interior of Notre Dame

 

The rest of our break involved a great deal more walking and church visiting – and also a visit to La Droguerie which is a fabulous shop hidden behind St Eustache. Think wool shop, fabric shop and jewellery-findings shop. Bonkers, eccentric and somewhat mystifying in its processes – you sit on a small settee if you want to be served, however if there is a queue or you simply don’t know the system then that can take some figuring out. Once you are served then they are very attentive – you point out the skein of yarn you like for instance, they note it down, you explain you’d like enough for a scarf – how much do you think you might need, they inquire how big a scarf – one loop around the neck or two (very sensible rather than metres), you tell them whatever else you want – they note it down and then they leave you at the settee and disappear down the far end of the shop behind a velvety curtain and magic up the goods. Wool skeins are then wound on a creaky winder and presented to you. Delightful, and as all things in Paris, the people watching while you wait is a great past time. A young woman arriving with much huffing and puffing and twitching of feet as she was in a tearing hurry (I suggested she get served before me – partly as I was slightly dithery and partly as I was still figuring their “system”) only to be firmly told – don’t do that again, you’ll be here all day (the young woman was still delightfully chatty and friendly and thankful for bumping her way up the queue, she was a seamstress/sewer and needed that specific something right away for a deadline)… an elegant woman with a wild mass of charcoal curls and canvas sneakers who was visiting from Montpelier… another older woman wearing shades of burgundy and inky blue who just looked effortlessly elegant and casual… all were attended to and all sat on the settee and made attempts to chat and be friendly.

 

bit of a covered passageway

Luxembourg gardens

I think that is the thing I adore about Paris most of all, the expectation of good manners and decorum and just random moments of connection. No shoving, no shouting, no gum chewing or trampling of others, it makes you wonder how we treat people on our home turf.