tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2019165957364183852024-03-18T08:16:05.151+00:00A Shropshire PatchMrs Tiggywinklehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18262841220840086776noreply@blogger.comBlogger290125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-201916595736418385.post-21618522747473371382022-09-27T11:07:00.002+01:002022-09-27T11:07:37.231+01:00A Little Box of Seaside Bunting<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Hello, and thank you for welcoming me back last week. I really wasn't sure whether any of you would still be here. I am still feeling quite wobbly (new monarch, new prime minister, new budget, uncertain future) but the security I found in being back in this place is reassuring.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH2__vYF5HNNPjN_lnQJ8rxmF7EZ6CJBfMAi9BuSnlcIlr247lF94eouXPC6sRRmsefkcjKT5IfM4qTOS-Z0yDCnFI0y5Qhnur4hhiWrHS2DFLMkEChqZ1n4BOuYN_WKK0ptmpnXNYkNn9K0rEnPtctZJ1mL0E2KMZD0C_z_5ELmJWBXbq2KxDFOxT/s1600/IMG-20220903-WA0015.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH2__vYF5HNNPjN_lnQJ8rxmF7EZ6CJBfMAi9BuSnlcIlr247lF94eouXPC6sRRmsefkcjKT5IfM4qTOS-Z0yDCnFI0y5Qhnur4hhiWrHS2DFLMkEChqZ1n4BOuYN_WKK0ptmpnXNYkNn9K0rEnPtctZJ1mL0E2KMZD0C_z_5ELmJWBXbq2KxDFOxT/s320/IMG-20220903-WA0015.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Today I'd like to share a bit of crochet with you. A couple of Christmases ago my sister gave me a Little Box of Crochet and on the gift tag she wrote that she had chosen it for me because of my love of crochet, my love of the seaside and my love of my summerhouse. Wasn't she thoughtful? Now, I am a sucker for a good box and this Box was very good indeed; to be honest, she could have given me this empty box and I would have been delighted. However, when I opened it up it was even better. Here is what I found:</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2slIj9J9WMzvavj1LPMEqM47LCB8OySOQTKs-Mry9dbgDby8Oc_I_XQzNxNtRorQHKoc5G0RBzhIU9Y7zQhPr6loq970HNe43_k25hSwB-hhEPlKIA3w5WAaGR4Or7FDM123eZR0dYV_cQGwtEpIF38rABOJIKsROUOh2Bm62XZg99ay-h39PXdgv/s1600/IMG-20210807-WA0002.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="309" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2slIj9J9WMzvavj1LPMEqM47LCB8OySOQTKs-Mry9dbgDby8Oc_I_XQzNxNtRorQHKoc5G0RBzhIU9Y7zQhPr6loq970HNe43_k25hSwB-hhEPlKIA3w5WAaGR4Or7FDM123eZR0dYV_cQGwtEpIF38rABOJIKsROUOh2Bm62XZg99ay-h39PXdgv/w240-h309/IMG-20210807-WA0002.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Inside was everything I needed to make a little string of seaside bunting: five balls of cotton yarn, a pattern book, a crochet hook, a needle and a sweet little handmade stitch marker. However, this wasn't all, as I carefully unpacked the tissue-wrapped contents, savouring the moment, I found some lovely treats, a postcard and a pair of earrings. Inside, I did a little happy dance.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">I was itching to get started but it was winter and I realised that I wanted to crochet this bunting not <i>for </i>the summer but <i>in</i> the summer and specifically, <i>on</i> a beach, so I set the Box aside. Actually, that's not strictly true because I kept opening it up to look at the contents and every time I did that I smiled and got a little bit excited. In August I packed the Box into my suitcase, donned a mask and (tentatively) took a half-hour flight from Southampton to Guernsey with the Best Beloved. The weather was glorious and on our first day there, while the Best Beloved and The Mathematician swam in the blue sea, I sat on the beach under a blue sky and crocheted. I couldn't have been happier.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjawl3kSUEGjXScQnGUjapXMvLlCh-ewz-UQOqZ3wW1QbyW8k0Ydw7CisKbTp4A-qRN5FFzh_r3wlZ_MFs8AD23PQFJONK7IFTwzuKVxzai3rs0znQuAmBOawA4gLqCznBqkARq7U5p8mbN2cDIeAk_5YxF8x2hsE94idvvQ_kHDwnXt1lB78kECa3b/s2160/20210806_161625.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="2160" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjawl3kSUEGjXScQnGUjapXMvLlCh-ewz-UQOqZ3wW1QbyW8k0Ydw7CisKbTp4A-qRN5FFzh_r3wlZ_MFs8AD23PQFJONK7IFTwzuKVxzai3rs0znQuAmBOawA4gLqCznBqkARq7U5p8mbN2cDIeAk_5YxF8x2hsE94idvvQ_kHDwnXt1lB78kECa3b/s320/20210806_161625.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSR1n5ecQ2f1r6PeDmEetEbNqI44CfbXR1o7-iboVgF9_4-XQMGky7C_0XnIKktzpLXjFGRO4vlviQqaLoGSFhDFK95P5Bgo3qqU07iKlgbuXy99buHKBsIPFeJvm88ifVoa58zCcF-p54oFrGRaGORvNQ7CTe1T-3E6sqYOYS_AB4P9sdheKLg7TW/s2160/20210808_161135.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="2160" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSR1n5ecQ2f1r6PeDmEetEbNqI44CfbXR1o7-iboVgF9_4-XQMGky7C_0XnIKktzpLXjFGRO4vlviQqaLoGSFhDFK95P5Bgo3qqU07iKlgbuXy99buHKBsIPFeJvm88ifVoa58zCcF-p54oFrGRaGORvNQ7CTe1T-3E6sqYOYS_AB4P9sdheKLg7TW/s320/20210808_161135.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><div style="text-align: justify;">There were seven little flags to make, three with jolly stripes and others with sun, sky, sea, sand, beach huts, seagulls, shells and starfish. The pattern is easy to follow and I learned new techniques and I loved making my bunting. </div></span><div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidL4vRapFnotsz0YOVFH-kssa4HFV5I-W9u2QZpM8o8bnpYSBnmDV6UCQv7aY9A-64yv-AE9-iW6F-tAyK_QERyuobND_uAo9AV6RB60XkHTNWQo2WApAzZX-ZnDWsGHdeJ121uqbNJYLZuCfU8VF8BiQHHz2_5piNCu-h0EZWJ1ABkK18hxGdQacu/s1600/IMG-20220903-WA0018.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><b><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidL4vRapFnotsz0YOVFH-kssa4HFV5I-W9u2QZpM8o8bnpYSBnmDV6UCQv7aY9A-64yv-AE9-iW6F-tAyK_QERyuobND_uAo9AV6RB60XkHTNWQo2WApAzZX-ZnDWsGHdeJ121uqbNJYLZuCfU8VF8BiQHHz2_5piNCu-h0EZWJ1ABkK18hxGdQacu/s320/IMG-20220903-WA0018.jpg" width="240" /></b></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRVNv7U0bIzLRmhyJgSgIKSTPUVUO-UgXjZVNCkuY3PZLxpVjxncmdu_tQlej-zvwqoAlWDD5g6SoM5gkA3J6ADCIrOzkhsRLlgO6R9GkyEyfi-TRfmZuEs5gYzeEytXrY4TqzVeq1mQg-iO78dIwV8BV2CWBZlBfCiRf3OPNjw5ADFZCA2s5fI9W7/s1600/IMG-20220903-WA0022.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRVNv7U0bIzLRmhyJgSgIKSTPUVUO-UgXjZVNCkuY3PZLxpVjxncmdu_tQlej-zvwqoAlWDD5g6SoM5gkA3J6ADCIrOzkhsRLlgO6R9GkyEyfi-TRfmZuEs5gYzeEytXrY4TqzVeq1mQg-iO78dIwV8BV2CWBZlBfCiRf3OPNjw5ADFZCA2s5fI9W7/s320/IMG-20220903-WA0022.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6wnCgUZLNdJSrZr1-tsratYMzf1P9jliiTWCQt6rfQWuQAK9pO4ETOZagb4m0cEP7cPV18b-wMwwpfJgx2khyxFnp6XG2QxN9aD-cuF6TLlV8hJm0rQHr2w1ttT52OON8lpq1RMs9WocA_yyM8TVftnH-_YMycgw8QI46k7DOITa1ukBE7xYQf9eH/s1600/IMG-20220903-WA0023.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6wnCgUZLNdJSrZr1-tsratYMzf1P9jliiTWCQt6rfQWuQAK9pO4ETOZagb4m0cEP7cPV18b-wMwwpfJgx2khyxFnp6XG2QxN9aD-cuF6TLlV8hJm0rQHr2w1ttT52OON8lpq1RMs9WocA_yyM8TVftnH-_YMycgw8QI46k7DOITa1ukBE7xYQf9eH/s320/IMG-20220903-WA0023.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">However, one of the flags confused me, it was a plain white triangle adorned with flowers and I just couldn't work out how why it was there and if I couldn't understand it's place in the string, I couldn't happily make it. I turned to the internet and found the designer's website <a href="https://coastalcrochet.com/2019/05/26/little-box-of-crochet-seaside-bunting/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">here</span></a>, she is Eleanora at Coastal Crochet and she lives on the south east coast of England. She explained that this flag represented white chalk cliffs with springtime flowers and there was a photo of said cliffs. At last it made sense! I realised that this was a very personal project and that gave me the confidence to design my own flag because my favourite cliffs are not white, they are golden, with grass above them and sand at their feet, in which lie shells and, if I am lucky, fossils. Here is my flag:</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwdzwNHWDuHDXfjVeYJu8VJgV_gDwVqhn8Hi_B0AMRf4B8INNXAqMTF9_dxbjBb4lj4RvZA9MTIVZKDjIe823O882CLdvS0Z8C2xigNMTHr9-eZXM_yVsuiaHHh2F-ISE-SmWmvSdZmx12AsP6ty3dkpHhgh5BKCXz2DW5luye6Knui8K09o50zHVz/s1600/IMG-20220903-WA0016.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwdzwNHWDuHDXfjVeYJu8VJgV_gDwVqhn8Hi_B0AMRf4B8INNXAqMTF9_dxbjBb4lj4RvZA9MTIVZKDjIe823O882CLdvS0Z8C2xigNMTHr9-eZXM_yVsuiaHHh2F-ISE-SmWmvSdZmx12AsP6ty3dkpHhgh5BKCXz2DW5luye6Knui8K09o50zHVz/s320/IMG-20220903-WA0016.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">I didn't finish my bunting while we were in Guernsey as our visit was only a few days long so it was completed while I sat in my summerhouse on sunny afternoons as the summer faded into autumn. I had decided not to rush this project but to mindfully enjoy every minute of it, and I did just that. However, when we visited our daughter last month I took it back with me for its final photo shoot because it felt like the right place for it and as The Mathematician is better at this sort of thing than I am, I let her crack on with it. The wind tried to thwart her but couldn't get the better of her.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbZxG6n_m3RRpHqkdcx0GS9Qf8jbXKZayUM2z2p5JxB9vLBCX6E638o6cmlzhLMI9qg3qDIw965QJ_iViKBNpyKpinIDzKHROLENEnjfiPJb-dyqAbpqYgBBj-YHjjBWXEOzHkUKdf_GoPgzkoGaup6dX_yQV1SAkI9_j-dIevjpriseAtexPODyR-/s1600/IMG-20220903-WA0014.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbZxG6n_m3RRpHqkdcx0GS9Qf8jbXKZayUM2z2p5JxB9vLBCX6E638o6cmlzhLMI9qg3qDIw965QJ_iViKBNpyKpinIDzKHROLENEnjfiPJb-dyqAbpqYgBBj-YHjjBWXEOzHkUKdf_GoPgzkoGaup6dX_yQV1SAkI9_j-dIevjpriseAtexPODyR-/s320/IMG-20220903-WA0014.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Amanda Bloom has closed down her Little Box of Crochet but the company is being revived soon by somebody else under the same name and is already active on Instagram if you fancy a Little Box for yourself or somebody else (that C thing is coming!). Amanda is there too,and on Facebook, now running Cosy Life Boxes which is similar but different, if that makes any sense! </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Every time I look at this bunting I think of my sister, my daughter and those two holidays in Guernsey; it really was a very thoughtful gift. The rain is pouring down outside my window as I write this post but I am dreaming of blue sea and sandy beaches bathed in sunshine.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">See you soon.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Love, Mrs Tiggywinkle x</span></div><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></p></div>Mrs Tiggywinklehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18262841220840086776noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-201916595736418385.post-31485248241431728502022-09-20T15:34:00.000+01:002022-09-20T15:34:08.068+01:00God Save The King<p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Hello. If you've been waiting patiently, thank you for sticking with me. If you have just found me, you are welcome here, too.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">The last time I was here I told you how my mother told her parents about the death of King George VI and now here we are, seven months later, having just laid his daughter to rest. I was hovering around the television on 8th September, watching the news unfold, and when Queen Elizabeth II's</span><span style="font-family: helvetica;"> death was finally announced I immediately rang my mother. "I know that you will already know," I said, "but I wanted to tell you that the Queen has died because you told your parents that the King had died." It simply felt the right thing to do. As I was speaking to her the television played the National Anthem and, hearing it, my mother told me to stand up. "My father would have done and your Auntie Peggie would have done, and your father-in-law as well," she said. So the Best Beloved and I stood up, just the two of us, unobserved, in our living room, while the National Anthem played, and I didn't feel silly. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">I heard a journalist say on television that he's not a monarchist but he is a Queenist and I have discovered over these last twelve days that I am a Queenist too. I have been far more upset than I expected to be and I don't really understand why. I never met The Queen and only saw her once, when I was a child and stood on a pavement waving a flag as her open carriage drove past. Even my republican husband's views have changed during these days and he can newly see advantages in having a constitutional monarchy. Yesterday we put the television on early, lit a candle and watched Her Late Majesty's last journey all day, standing up every time the National Anthem was played. By the evening I felt wiped out. All rather odd.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnnqEsqJzv2T46KyIHqcrwElRkUSsgaYgeT4Sau0J-UAvkLTzitz-zKkGsMXNlt22btPTkcVmhyHjMZQPzTFoaVKjyQ8SUu66L3OFOTZYApCPvRs1jMwnuJhfR5-Xir4PbHNtoTqyjHsQDatFwinIAbKxs5ujrdJzhLmsyDG58tNk03iaafJymmxoh/s2028/20220919_102148.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1838" data-original-width="2028" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnnqEsqJzv2T46KyIHqcrwElRkUSsgaYgeT4Sau0J-UAvkLTzitz-zKkGsMXNlt22btPTkcVmhyHjMZQPzTFoaVKjyQ8SUu66L3OFOTZYApCPvRs1jMwnuJhfR5-Xir4PbHNtoTqyjHsQDatFwinIAbKxs5ujrdJzhLmsyDG58tNk03iaafJymmxoh/s320/20220919_102148.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Today is a new day.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">See you soon.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Love, Mrs Tiggywinkle x</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></p>Mrs Tiggywinklehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18262841220840086776noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-201916595736418385.post-79554584891654419242022-02-08T11:16:00.001+00:002022-02-08T11:16:58.283+00:00A Platinum Jubilee<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Hello, thank you for calling in. Is all well? I seem to be careering from one metaphorical punctuation mark to the next without taking time to sit down and read the whole paragraph and it's making me feel quite unsettled. This time of year is all about birthdays in our family which is rather lovely, but we've also had two stress-inducing covid isolations and the hideous news of a terminal illness. However, I am trying to be a glass-half-full kind of person so the good news is that there is plenty of supply teaching work for the Best Beloved so the coffers are filling and I might even be able to buy myself a new, hardback copy of Jane Eyre!</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">The news over the weekend was dominated by the revolving doors at 10 Downing Street but something significant happened on Sunday: the seventieth anniversary of our Queen's accession to the throne. During my lifetime we have had ten Prime Ministers but only one Queen and no British monarch has reigned for as long as </span><span style="background-color: #f8f9fa; color: #202122; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Elizabeth II, by the Grace of God, of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland and of Her other Realms and Territories Queen, Head of the Commonwealth, Defender of the Faith (to give her her full title and yes, I did have to look it up). Celebrations will come in June when, hopefully, the weather will be sunnier, warmer and drier than it is in February and anyway, I always feel a little bit sad for HM on this day because it is, after all, the anniversary of her father's death. Here is the first paragraph of her message to the nation, published on Saturday:</span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: #f8f9fa; color: #202122; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: "Source Serif Pro", Cambria, "Hoefler Text", Utopia, "Liberation Serif", "Nimbus Roman No9 L Regular", Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Tomorrow, 6th February, marks the 70th anniversary of my Accession in 1952. It is a day that, even after 70 years, I still remember as much for the death of my father, King George VI, as for the start of my reign.</span></span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: #f8f9fa; color: #202122; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">So, there was no great royalist celebration here on Sunday (or, perhaps, on any day) but I did ask my mother about her memories of 6th February 1952.</span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: #f8f9fa; color: #202122; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Ma was born and raised in London and was at primary school that day. It was an ordinary Wednesday until just before lunchtime when the headmaster, Mr Kershaw, entered the classroom and told the children that the King was dead. This was shocking news and after Ma had bolted down her lunch she ran home and relayed it to her parents; ordinarily, her father would have been at work but he had annual leave to use up and had taken a day off work so he was also at home to receive the news from his young daughter. Isn't that funny, that he should have taken that particular day off? Ma told me that her parents couldn't really believe it so they turned on the radio and heard the BBC announcement which confirmed that the King was indeed dead. Although we now know that he had been ill for months with lung cancer, Ma says that the general public didn't know that at the time which was why the news came as such a shock. </span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: #f8f9fa; color: #202122; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">The King's body lay in the church at Sandringham until 11th February when the coffin travelled to London and was placed in Westminster Hall. The King lay in state there for three days and my grandfather took Ma to pay their respects. Apparently, at times that queue was four miles long because in all, more than 304,000 people passed through the Hall before the funeral on 15th February. </span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: #f8f9fa; color: #202122; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">There may be more family folklore to come later, perhaps next year, as both of my parents were on the London streets on Coronation Day in 1953 to watch Queen Elizabeth drive past in her golden carriage. In the meantime, I raise my cup of tea to HM and thank her for seventy years of service. If nothing else, she deserves admiration for enduring weekly meetings with those Prime Ministers and for wearing coats made heavy by the weights in their hems and hats with contraptions fitted inside to clamp them to her head and prevent them blowing off in the wind. </span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: #f8f9fa; color: #202122; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">I don't have any photographs of the Queen and her father to show you so instead I offer you this image of my mother with her father and younger sister, taken in the summer of 1952.</span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: #f8f9fa; color: #202122; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: #f8f9fa; color: #202122; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuPYQA_ZgugbDd-9X6_iRLWYENC86i-mXtZI6pAjnTovJaGsVPyvbQx4pxcsu7VJseU_YvWJ4KM53RPOJ3l9fENg_v-GOXHq3IxHla1iwcjkm4fv0_-EzC627f47yV6WJ8lbv2rCMmSnJHC-k7-F0mkD4NmWoMjONT_rCZg75ipLI0FY0kuxCUH4aE/s391/Page 2a (3).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="391" data-original-width="295" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuPYQA_ZgugbDd-9X6_iRLWYENC86i-mXtZI6pAjnTovJaGsVPyvbQx4pxcsu7VJseU_YvWJ4KM53RPOJ3l9fENg_v-GOXHq3IxHla1iwcjkm4fv0_-EzC627f47yV6WJ8lbv2rCMmSnJHC-k7-F0mkD4NmWoMjONT_rCZg75ipLI0FY0kuxCUH4aE/s320/Page 2a (3).jpg" width="241" /></a></span></span></div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: #f8f9fa; color: #202122; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">See you soon.</span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: #f8f9fa; color: #202122; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Love, Mrs Tiggywinkle x</span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></p>Mrs Tiggywinklehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18262841220840086776noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-201916595736418385.post-43529969315375142072022-01-26T15:38:00.002+00:002022-01-26T15:38:44.999+00:00Yours Grumpily<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Hello, thank you for dropping in. It has been very cold here this week, not warmer than three degrees (oo-ooh, aa-aah, precious moments, as we sing in our house), not bright, sparkling, makes-you-smile cold but dull, murky, seeps-into-your-bones-and-makes-you-miserable cold, the kind of cold which slows me right down almost to the point of torpor. Today the sun is shining which ordinarily would make me feel much more cheerful but in fact, today I am grumpy, VERY grumpy.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Earlier this month I found a second-hand copy of Jane Eyre in an online charity shop and I bought it. I read a school copy of Jane Eyre when I was fourteen and last year I decided that I wanted to read it again as, being very familiar with the novels of Emily and Anne Bronte - which is no great accomplishment as there are only three of them - I felt uncomfortable about leaving Charlotte out and apart from that, Jane Eyre is a great novel with which any woman who considers herself to be "a reader" should be familiar. I was truly tempted to buy a new copy, especially as The Crow Emporium published a beautiful, illustrated volume last year, but in the end I followed my instincts and bought this copy instead. It is a hardback, in good condition, lovely to hold in the hand and older than I am, and I polished my metaphorical halo at the thought that I had acted sustainably and supported a charity to the modest tune of £7. I am enjoying reading it very much and yesterday I reached page 204.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">An idea popped into my head yesterday afternoon: a couple of years ago my sister bought me a book written by Jennifer Barclay called "A Literary Feast, Recipes inspired by novels, poems and plays" and I thought it might be fun to marry up my novel with the appropriate recipe. I turned to page 179 and found a passage in which Jane is served seed cake by Miss Temple, the superintendent at Lowood School. Hmm. Jane had left Lowood on page 70 of my edition and I did not recognise this passage. I had a look online and discovered many references to the incident, which occurs in Chapter 8. I scanned through Chapter 8 and there was no seed cake. This morning I have reread the whole chapter and there is DEFINITELY NO SEED CAKE. I have reached the conclusion that my edition is abridged, although that is not stated anywhere, and I am mightily disappointed. I am a serious reader with a very rusty A Level in English Literature and I do not want to read an abridged version of Jane Eyre, I want to read exactly what Charlotte Bronte wrote. Harrumph. Have I made it clear enough that I am VERY grumpy? </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhacCdIuyhe65JBwvi8yIKMyDu8e5akO5WwsxXnsyLQN3w47iL1SWhVUcU2dzlPioofuH_Rftn66tmFEjyZe3VDXB75B6K5_5ywBClMiV5u96mhO8OVlsEmZ5aSRs7y7NsieD9bBkeZPD2BklI3w5ELIiHf3Mc1jGxnJVgzU03xZi13NURoc_mnL7kB=s2160" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1988" data-original-width="2160" height="295" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhacCdIuyhe65JBwvi8yIKMyDu8e5akO5WwsxXnsyLQN3w47iL1SWhVUcU2dzlPioofuH_Rftn66tmFEjyZe3VDXB75B6K5_5ywBClMiV5u96mhO8OVlsEmZ5aSRs7y7NsieD9bBkeZPD2BklI3w5ELIiHf3Mc1jGxnJVgzU03xZi13NURoc_mnL7kB=s320" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">I shall carry on reading the book because I am enjoying it (and because I never leave a book unfinished) but I think that I shall have to buy another copy. </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Yours grumpily,</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Mrs Tiggywinkle x</span></p>Mrs Tiggywinklehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18262841220840086776noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-201916595736418385.post-81670142012087322372022-01-17T20:55:00.002+00:002022-01-17T20:55:35.636+00:00Happy Birthdays<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Hello, and thank you for being here, I wasn't sure whether anyone would have stuck around and the fact that you have done has cheered me right up. As promised, I am back for a witter.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Today is 17th January and I cannot let this date pass unmarked. To begin with, Anne Bronte was born on this day in 1820. I have read both of her novels, Agnes Grey and The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, and if you haven't read them, I wholeheartedly recommend Agnes Grey which, in my opinion, is the better novel. Anne's work seems to be less well-known than that of her sisters, Charlotte and Emily, and I think she deserves better.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">In 2010 I visited Scarborough with the Best Beloved and The Teacher. We parked the car at St Mary's Church and as we were walking through the churchyard we came across Anne's grave. I had no idea that she was buried there so it was a surprise and it felt very odd to just come across her in such a casual way. Obviously I asked the Best Beloved to take a photograph.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgM7ahXE78lWgVoyuIs443eXcfalYrThGX7xSa4JzdxbQQM-6LCnDhm2OM9nk3iN5bvyym2cS-G6cWnhr-GQ01sJnBDsVXoJb-aTS823KdvVK9XhPWQhmkG9DJ1dsj59EEhwdcOzhjAsyWpH5SpVzQqrpH1XjQkiCG0Igf5sBTKUo--NNN3whzEwk7B=s3008" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3008" data-original-width="2000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgM7ahXE78lWgVoyuIs443eXcfalYrThGX7xSa4JzdxbQQM-6LCnDhm2OM9nk3iN5bvyym2cS-G6cWnhr-GQ01sJnBDsVXoJb-aTS823KdvVK9XhPWQhmkG9DJ1dsj59EEhwdcOzhjAsyWpH5SpVzQqrpH1XjQkiCG0Igf5sBTKUo--NNN3whzEwk7B=s320" width="213" /></a><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">I was pleased to see that somebody still cared enough about Anne to have laid flowers but saddened by the dilapidated state of her headstone. I know that coastal weather can treat stone harshly but I felt that the grave of such an important writer should receive some special care. Well, it seems that little can be done to conserve the headstone itself but in 2013 The Bronte Society had some work done which included the laying of a new plaque - if you are interested, you can read about it <a href="https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/entertainment-arts-22351887" target="_blank">here</a>. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">17th January is a rather special day in our family for other reasons. My great grandmother, Martha Jane Stevens, was born on this day in 1871. She died more than twenty years before I was born but I have known this photograph for almost as long as I can remember and I have a tablecloth which she worked with knitted lace around its edge; we use it at Christmas and as I unfold it and lay it on the table I think of her hands doing the same decades earlier. Martha is pictured here in 1900 with my grandmother on her lap.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh3rV5yDA-V3f6tK0e01ceZ07ZbAilfaYc4Re1nE3O4bNapBqf09CQQTisqiBP9EugXHR4VJ3Z5iqW7EWK93HFTfym1UO9zpu0xqIbu-70p0g0Yd7TAoJXrzv1ad-r7qclhZe4d78E7xwnjVp9T20K7VtJUrhdNExvCNDfqAwXZX2kTTRQ0NpGCtWVD=s1792" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1792" data-original-width="1184" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh3rV5yDA-V3f6tK0e01ceZ07ZbAilfaYc4Re1nE3O4bNapBqf09CQQTisqiBP9EugXHR4VJ3Z5iqW7EWK93HFTfym1UO9zpu0xqIbu-70p0g0Yd7TAoJXrzv1ad-r7qclhZe4d78E7xwnjVp9T20K7VtJUrhdNExvCNDfqAwXZX2kTTRQ0NpGCtWVD=s320" width="211" /></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">We have another family birthday today, too: The Mathematician has been celebrating in Guernsey while I have been wistfully remembering earlier birthdays: little girls in princess outfits, sausages on sticks and jelly, wintry weekends spent in cosy cottages, Saturday sleepovers with a houseful of excited teenagers. Here she is on her fourteenth birthday which we spent in a cottage in North Wales at her request.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgOaEFC1ekaUsFNse19zM_LV5XxtKWY4l6KH-AUPGi80Sjsp0BCuDCj_Yf1jJ0A-Ezp2HZ1LCmE74EGS33UkLAIP4i9QIwjbzzcyl_GUoBVJuGFzoVCcxcod0R4s3dWZbSoBPzWEic4qMSLu5h6C3eydauXH0qUV842mKbdP1je6-s-x0ntBfF2TFSx=s3008" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3008" data-original-width="2000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgOaEFC1ekaUsFNse19zM_LV5XxtKWY4l6KH-AUPGi80Sjsp0BCuDCj_Yf1jJ0A-Ezp2HZ1LCmE74EGS33UkLAIP4i9QIwjbzzcyl_GUoBVJuGFzoVCcxcod0R4s3dWZbSoBPzWEic4qMSLu5h6C3eydauXH0qUV842mKbdP1je6-s-x0ntBfF2TFSx=s320" width="213" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Happy Birthday to Anne, to Martha and to The Mathematician!</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">See you soon.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Love, Mrs Tiggywinkle x</span></div><p></p>Mrs Tiggywinklehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18262841220840086776noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-201916595736418385.post-52508829774498865112022-01-09T18:51:00.000+00:002022-01-09T18:51:24.795+00:00I'm Back<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Hello, Happy New Year and if you are celebrating Christmas this weekend, Happy Christmas. I am truly sorry for my prolonged absence; I succumbed to the dreaded Covid-19 in September and although I was unwell for only days rather than weeks, it left me a few unwanted gifts when it departed. These included a distorted sense of smell, overwhelming tiredness and a lack of mental clarity. I have been woolly-headed for months due to a combination of this Covid gift and some new medication. I didn't read a book for two months, I just couldn't concentrate on the words on the page, and although I have been reading blogs, I haven't felt able to conjure the words to either comment or to write here. I didn't even have the energy to feel sad about that.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">However, I feel much better now and intend to write here regularly. I have missed this little space. I am aware that blogging has largely fallen out of fashion but I have never been particularly fashionable (except for a while in the 1980s when I sported the most fabulous hair) so although I am tentatively dipping my toe into Instagram waters, this is my comfortable place. Thank you for sticking with me.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">I'd like to finish by showing you a photo which my daughter sent me earlier this week, just because I can't bear to leave without showing you a picture. It was taken on the first really cold day of the year and shows her children wearing the mittens I knitted for them for Christmas. This bright little pop of colour has lifted my spirits all week and I hope it makes you smile too. </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh06matBlRyfR250cHCWfxhzO1a0tE00MEAv-bMMhRuykLcriy0wLsNgSsW5XswaKXIXUbgNAGrAWL5yWIVsapXzZRw-1WJTZvI1lHANpwrOUzlUwtUM06dKbjB7gvHD0jbdxe6Ej32kCQck8qZaF9AhZpsTJ02kXyZw2jaso6m9UYv_nuH_L8adqxp=s488" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="488" data-original-width="448" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh06matBlRyfR250cHCWfxhzO1a0tE00MEAv-bMMhRuykLcriy0wLsNgSsW5XswaKXIXUbgNAGrAWL5yWIVsapXzZRw-1WJTZvI1lHANpwrOUzlUwtUM06dKbjB7gvHD0jbdxe6Ej32kCQck8qZaF9AhZpsTJ02kXyZw2jaso6m9UYv_nuH_L8adqxp=s320" width="294" /></a></div><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">See you soon.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Love, Mrs Tiggywinkle x</span></p>Mrs Tiggywinklehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18262841220840086776noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-201916595736418385.post-78891955141635421662021-10-11T20:47:00.001+01:002021-10-11T20:47:45.522+01:00Shrewsbury Folk Festival 2021<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">I bought our tickets for the Shrewsbury Folk Festival 2020 in December 2019, hovering over the keyboard as they went on sale and bagging them at the cheapest price - not that it's cheap at £167 for an adult weekend ticket with camping, but at least the tiny people's tickets are free so a four day break for five of us cost £501 with unlimited music, dancing and workshops and a full programme of activities for the children. When the pandemic struck the Festival was cancelled and we decided that rather than seek a refund, we would roll the tickets over and use them this year.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">It takes months to plan an event like this one so decisions had to be made in the spring when nobody could have foreseen what the covid situation would be at the end of August. In May the Festival organisers let us know that the format would be different this year and gave us another opportunity to request a refund if we didn't want to use our tickets. Firstly, all the artists would be British-based; secondly, there would be only three stages this year, two large and one small, and no marquees so everything would be in the open air and we would have to bring our own rugs or chairs. This is a big change: usually there are three huge marquees as well as the small outdoor stage and seating is provided. Thirdly, there would be no dance tent so all the dancing would be outdoors and there would be no Festival events in the town so no performances in pubs and no dance parade through the streets to the main square. Fourthly, the children's festival events would also be in the open air. We did consider asking for a refund at this stage because of the unreliable nature of our weather - we didn't want to sit in a field in pouring rain, hail, freezing temperatures or a heatwave, all of which we have experienced at the Festival over our previous eleven visits - but we decided to go ahead, largely because we just felt desperate for some live music and a return to something resembling precovid normality. We almost regretted that decision when the programmes landed on our doormat the weekend before the Festival and we saw how thin they were in comparison with previous years, so it was without my usual level of giddy excitement that we packed up the car at the end of August and headed off to our county showground.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">My fears were unfounded. The weather was kind, neither cold nor wet, and on the first evening we packed the tiny people into their wagon with blankets and pillows, picked up our chairs and walked to the stage field. We had all been asked to take lateral flow tests within forty-eight hours of attending the Festival and to keep away if those tests were positive. People were sensible about maintaining a distance from others and as The Longest Johns sang and the sun (and the wine) went down, I knew that we had made the right decision. We were with our tribe, I felt safe and my heart was singing as well as my voice; I knew that it was going to be all right.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sJNeWB2JsTM/YWSBRwAvoUI/AAAAAAAAEgY/jBWxrZTNfig1mdFND0fL5Odbl8KhWpSPgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/IMG-20210905-WA0002%255B1%255D.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="901" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sJNeWB2JsTM/YWSBRwAvoUI/AAAAAAAAEgY/jBWxrZTNfig1mdFND0fL5Odbl8KhWpSPgCLcBGAsYHQ/w225-h400/IMG-20210905-WA0002%255B1%255D.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tPEhKWAivKo/YWSC2FvQPlI/AAAAAAAAEgg/dCjUUxfQCHw7AfBuJF9Yir6cb9o6jSPhACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210827_203553.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tPEhKWAivKo/YWSC2FvQPlI/AAAAAAAAEgg/dCjUUxfQCHw7AfBuJF9Yir6cb9o6jSPhACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20210827_203553.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">And it really was all right, although the outdoor stages created a very different mood from the indoor stages we are used to at this festival. I enjoyed the relaxed mood, the space around us which meant that we could easily wheel the children in, let them dance around and then fall asleep on our laps or in the wagon. I met an inspirational</span><span style="font-family: helvetica;"> woman named Regina, at least twenty years older than me and probably more, who explained to me how she used her chair to steady herself when she stood up and then danced with one hand on it to maintain her balance. She had come to the Festival by herself and she told me that she had brought a tent for her toilet and was sleeping in her car. I think that I want to be like Regina when I grow up. On Saturday evening Show of Hands played a blinding set full of hopeful, positive songs, just what we needed eighteen months into a scary pandemic, and when they sang about people who were fleeing Afghanistan in fear of their lives and asked us to shine a light to guide them to safety we all turned on the torches on our mobile 'phones and held them aloft without feeling at all self-conscious, and we meant it, even the Best Beloved! On Sunday evening, the tiny people went to bed and The Teacher and I sat outside our tents as we listened to Seth Lakeman and watched the lights beam across the sky. The Teacher commented that she always forgets just how much she likes Seth Lakeman until she hears Seth Lakeman.</span></div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ScwCO9-Mcns/YWSOLy3YNbI/AAAAAAAAEhI/t4YSOsEL3CI5sby3UXhuLJ1GbLRd62DEQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/IMG-20210829-WA0003.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ScwCO9-Mcns/YWSOLy3YNbI/AAAAAAAAEhI/t4YSOsEL3CI5sby3UXhuLJ1GbLRd62DEQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/IMG-20210829-WA0003.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Without the large marquees the site felt strange and I found it difficult to orientate myself but the food court (once I found it!) felt the same as ever and we ate some delicious treats in the sunshine. Tom Kitten and Cottontail would like to recommend the ice cream and the Best Beloved would like to recommend the stuffed crepes.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kqJpgwQ06zs/YWSHIwaYZlI/AAAAAAAAEgo/_iPqlnJfTyAs6N8lfzkRiWv48X3MEywYwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210828_180430.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kqJpgwQ06zs/YWSHIwaYZlI/AAAAAAAAEgo/_iPqlnJfTyAs6N8lfzkRiWv48X3MEywYwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20210828_180430.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-b1Eph9LxyxM/YWSNSYQDMEI/AAAAAAAAEhA/SuQC8AZNWIQHo9NpVoxYKXDSbXorKvW2gCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210829_125755.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-b1Eph9LxyxM/YWSNSYQDMEI/AAAAAAAAEhA/SuQC8AZNWIQHo9NpVoxYKXDSbXorKvW2gCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20210829_125755.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div><span style="font-family: helvetica; text-align: justify;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: helvetica; text-align: justify;">There were far fewer dance teams than usual but no dancing in the town meant that there was more dancing on the showground and it was surprising and delightful to come across these teams and their bands unexpectedly while I was </span><strike style="font-family: helvetica; text-align: justify;">waiting for my cocktail</strike><span style="font-family: helvetica; text-align: justify;"> walking through the site. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pZ_XfRVR574/YWSIey1NX1I/AAAAAAAAEgw/NCUtEZysEgMHufkTOMmUR3fdCW44eBMEACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210829_161554.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pZ_XfRVR574/YWSIey1NX1I/AAAAAAAAEgw/NCUtEZysEgMHufkTOMmUR3fdCW44eBMEACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20210829_161554.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--k5Oz2idaLI/YWSJFuJ4B9I/AAAAAAAAEg4/Bu1XeDpGvfcAt6WzuRIwdSnjhKL9LSEtgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210829_161614.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--k5Oz2idaLI/YWSJFuJ4B9I/AAAAAAAAEg4/Bu1XeDpGvfcAt6WzuRIwdSnjhKL9LSEtgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20210829_161614.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">The Festival was small this year and felt rather subdued. I missed the buzz. Many people said that they preferred the outdoor stages and that it felt more like a "proper festival" but they obviously weren't there when it rained (every year between 2009 and 2018) and we were glad of the protection of the marquees. I really can't compare this year's event with previous years, it was such a different experience that it would be like trying to compare pears with oranges, and I like both.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">This is a small post for a small Festival but before I finish I must show you one more photograph. The Festival finishes on a Monday evening and we always stay over and leave just before midday on Tuesday. Every year I take a photograph of the camping field as we leave, before the volunteers come in to litter pick and clear the site, showing exactly how the campers have left it. I am hugely proud to be part of this community which comes together for a few days once a year and leaves the site almost without trace. Folkies are tidy.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LU6n6LgdFXI/YWSSnJxbzWI/AAAAAAAAEhQ/IGUsQ6AnCSQ060axBc6lgKJ_-SKb7tGlQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210831_120420.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LU6n6LgdFXI/YWSSnJxbzWI/AAAAAAAAEhQ/IGUsQ6AnCSQ060axBc6lgKJ_-SKb7tGlQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20210831_120420.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: helvetica;">I am sorry that it has taken me so long to bring you this post. I'll be back soon to share my covid experience with you.</span><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Take care.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Love, Mrs Tiggywinkle x</span></p>Mrs Tiggywinklehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18262841220840086776noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-201916595736418385.post-2057652155540931382021-09-05T12:59:00.000+01:002021-09-05T12:59:07.483+01:00<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Hello! Thank you for your patience. I spent August flitting here and there, unpacking and repacking my travel bag and catching up with family. It was unsettling, tiring and wonderful all at the same time but blogging fell by the wayside. I'm starting to catch up with your blogs now and I'll be back here very soon to share this year's Shrewsbury Folk Festival with you. </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Take care.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Love, Mrs Tiggywinkle x</span></p>Mrs Tiggywinklehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18262841220840086776noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-201916595736418385.post-81336614271489865792021-07-20T17:25:00.000+01:002021-07-20T17:25:05.097+01:00A Hardy Holiday<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Hello, thank you for dropping in. Here in Shropshire the weather has been sweltering hot for the last five days and I am hiding indoors with all the windows open. The heat gave me less than five hours sleep last night and I am trying my best to be patient and cheerful but it's taking a great deal of effort. I am grateful that we have not seen the torrential rain and floods which have devastated parts of Europe and I am thinking of those families who are grieving for their lost loved ones while we have been celebrating family birthdays. (Cottontail is two, how the years have flown, three-quarters of her life spent under pandemic restrictions.) I have also been remembering another sweltering July almost forty years ago.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">In 2019 I bought some second-hand Thomas Hardy novels at the closing down sale of my favourite bookshop and reading them rekindled my interest in the man and his writing. I read The Trumpet Major, The Woodlanders and The Return of the Native as well as Claire Tomalin's biography, "Thomas Hardy: the Time-torn Man", and realised that I don't own a copy of the first Hardy novel I ever read, The Mayor of Casterbridge, which I studied for A-Level English a long time ago. One evening in April I went online shopping at Oxfam and found a very nice hardback copy and a few days later, it landed on my doorstep. (Actually, that's not true, my very cheerful postman has designated a safe place in my backyard where he leaves parcels if nobody answers the door. He has to pass through my neighbour's property to reach my backyard so it's just as well that we're all on very good terms with each other.) Anyway, my very nice book arrived and was soon read for the first time since 1983. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NnbnxQbLetQ/YPbbcSehdwI/AAAAAAAAEfc/AtcJB2ZZaKkPpy0G1kDAGtaNNCL4tvdLwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/DSC_0455.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1362" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NnbnxQbLetQ/YPbbcSehdwI/AAAAAAAAEfc/AtcJB2ZZaKkPpy0G1kDAGtaNNCL4tvdLwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/DSC_0455.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><p style="text-align: justify;">Goodness, I did love that book. I must have had an English teacher who loved it too. After all our exams were finished, my best friend and I packed up her tiny car, a Fiat 126, and set off to Dorset for a five-day Hardy holiday. We camped in Charmouth, a lovely village by the sea in the west of the county. I have delved into my wooden chest and brought out a disintegrating paper bag full of treasures gathered on that holiday so that I can share them with you.</p></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3BDEk6zcyNw/YPVqiWBGqvI/AAAAAAAAEeI/gOjVheT3g-IhAXCIALQQahttp7XbZ4fPwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1536/Camping%2Bin%2BCharmouth.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1040" data-original-width="1536" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3BDEk6zcyNw/YPVqiWBGqvI/AAAAAAAAEeI/gOjVheT3g-IhAXCIALQQahttp7XbZ4fPwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Camping%2Bin%2BCharmouth.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">We visited Higher Bockhampton, the hamlet where Thomas was born on 1st June 1840 in a cottage built by his grandfather. We weren't allowed into the cottage so we stood outside and here's the photo my friend took, as pretty as the postcard and probably a lot prettier than it looked in 1840.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lwUpQRqDdRo/YPVqswytDKI/AAAAAAAAEeM/zHq1dmXE3zcCZXQrMreHZvIZlCVIw51RgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1520/Thomas%2BHardy%2527s%2Bbirthplace%252C%2BHigher%2BBockhampton.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1040" data-original-width="1520" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lwUpQRqDdRo/YPVqswytDKI/AAAAAAAAEeM/zHq1dmXE3zcCZXQrMreHZvIZlCVIw51RgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Thomas%2BHardy%2527s%2Bbirthplace%252C%2BHigher%2BBockhampton.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_tJ-YUFwKhc/YPVquBL0dSI/AAAAAAAAEeQ/6ch-oOHSJcsctZPGTFMYlYsfLzwjc9wlQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1648/Postcard%2Bby%2BJ.%2BSalmon%2BLtd%252C%2BSevenoaks.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1056" data-original-width="1648" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_tJ-YUFwKhc/YPVquBL0dSI/AAAAAAAAEeQ/6ch-oOHSJcsctZPGTFMYlYsfLzwjc9wlQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Postcard%2Bby%2BJ.%2BSalmon%2BLtd%252C%2BSevenoaks.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>This postcard published by J. Salmon Ltd. of Sevenoaks.</i></span></span></div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">I don't actually remember us visiting Dorchester but I think we must have done because Dorchester is the fictional Casterbridge in both The Mayor of Casterbridge and Far From the Madding Crowd, which I read while I was on this holiday, so it would have been an important place in our pilgrimage...and I have these leaflets (Barbara, I am thinking of you here). The Dorset County Museum holds a significant number of Thomas' artefacts and papers, including his desk in a recreation of his study.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zHJ4w_odMas/YPbaFrGxAPI/AAAAAAAAEe4/kXUdRwQCqO0mSgOyokX7bIQI8h6J5q77gCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/DSC_0445.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1362" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zHJ4w_odMas/YPbaFrGxAPI/AAAAAAAAEe4/kXUdRwQCqO0mSgOyokX7bIQI8h6J5q77gCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/DSC_0445.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">I do remember our visit to Maiden Castle, an expansive Iron Age hill fort a couple of miles outside Dorchester which features in The Mayor of Casterbridge and Far From the Madding Crowd. If you have read the book or seen any of the film or television versions you might recall the handsome Sergeant Troy flashing his sword around? That scene happened at Maiden Castle. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ePAF5LKQrnI/YPVrqEKt7RI/AAAAAAAAEeg/moCK-zCSO1cQOoeSyQDRpnV-mNsL-aTyQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1728/Postcard%2Bby%2BJudges%2BLimited%252C%2BHastings.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1232" data-original-width="1728" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ePAF5LKQrnI/YPVrqEKt7RI/AAAAAAAAEeg/moCK-zCSO1cQOoeSyQDRpnV-mNsL-aTyQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Postcard%2Bby%2BJudges%2BLimited%252C%2BHastings.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">This postcard published by Judges Limited of Hastings.</span></i></span></div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">The fictional village of Kingsbere is mentioned in both Far From the Madding Crowd and Tess of the d'Urbervilles, which I had read before we took this trip, so a visit to Bere Regis, its real counterpart, was a must. The Turberville family became wealthy and influential here in the fourteenth century and their vault is in the Church of St John the Baptist. I'm sure you can see the similarity between Turberville and d'Urberville and the church features in this novel. In Chapter 52, Tess and her family have nowhere to stay and set their bed in the churchyard, against the wall of the church.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><i><span>"</span><span style="background-color: #fffcf6; color: #333333; text-align: left;">Tess listlessly lent a hand, and in a quarter of an hour the old four-post bedstead was dissociated from the heap of goods, and erected under the south wall of the church, the part of the building know as the d'Urberville Aisle, beneath which the huge vaults lay. Over the tester of the bedstead was a beautiful traceried window, of many lights, its date being the fifteenth century. It was called the d'Urberville Window, and in the upper part could be discerned heraldic emblems like those on Durbeyfield's old seal and spoon."</span></i></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IuV_U9vjDVM/YPbabA1jSpI/AAAAAAAAEfA/eLLKy-3B6jEZiNuNsjIx0kzF74dKvViTACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/DSC_0449.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1362" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IuV_U9vjDVM/YPbabA1jSpI/AAAAAAAAEfA/eLLKy-3B6jEZiNuNsjIx0kzF74dKvViTACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/DSC_0449.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: x-small;"><i>This postcard published by Judges Limited of Hastings.</i></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Adjoining Bere Regis is the parish of Wool. Tess and Angel Clare spent their wedding night at Woolbridge Manor, renamed Wellbridge House in the novel, the home of the Turbervilles, some of whom are buried at The Church of the Holy Rood. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-n-VFkd6amRc/YPbakJ7uA0I/AAAAAAAAEfE/AIDUqJf745MjyQmZC1L-Kleq2xP7VlQegCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG_20210720_0001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1370" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-n-VFkd6amRc/YPbakJ7uA0I/AAAAAAAAEfE/AIDUqJf745MjyQmZC1L-Kleq2xP7VlQegCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/IMG_20210720_0001.jpg" /></a></div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><p style="text-align: justify;">Thomas Hardy died at his home, Max Gate, near Dorchester, on 11th January 1928. He wished to be buried in the churchyard at Stinsford where his grandparents, parents, sister and first wife, Emma, already lay but his friend and literary executor, Sydney Cockerell, felt that he should instead be buried in Westminster Abbey because he "belonged to the nation" and persuaded Thomas' family to agree. The Abbey insisted that it could not inter Thomas beneath the floor but said that if he were cremated, they would be able to accommodate a small urn containing his ashes. The vicar of Stinsford suggested to the family that Thomas' heart could be cut out and buried in his churchyard before the cremation and on 13th January a doctor, surgeon and nurse went to Max Gate and performed that operation. The rest of Thomas Hardy was cremated the following day and both funeral ceremonies took place on 17th January, one in sunny Dorset and the other in rainy London. So my pilgrimage ended at St Michael's Church in Stinsford, less than two miles from Higher Bockhampton.</p></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0KqmwlMaP2Y/YPba3r6gMtI/AAAAAAAAEfU/8F-GTCoK-bodsN-iyekpnJNJV5mRHo-RQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/DSC_0451.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1362" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0KqmwlMaP2Y/YPba3r6gMtI/AAAAAAAAEfU/8F-GTCoK-bodsN-iyekpnJNJV5mRHo-RQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/DSC_0451.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">This postcard published by J. Salmon Ltd. of Sevenoaks.</span></i></span></div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2IVaRPBjoIs/YPVsAIPJBiI/AAAAAAAAEeo/DIsryguPhc0w2kUeBtAhjmnw-fIKNVyEACLcBGAsYHQ/s1536/Thomas%2BHardy%2527s%2Bheart%2Bburied%2Bin%2BStinsford%2Bchurchyard.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1040" data-original-width="1536" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2IVaRPBjoIs/YPVsAIPJBiI/AAAAAAAAEeo/DIsryguPhc0w2kUeBtAhjmnw-fIKNVyEACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Thomas%2BHardy%2527s%2Bheart%2Bburied%2Bin%2BStinsford%2Bchurchyard.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">West Dorset really is lovely and we visited other places too, spending time on the beach and at Barney's Fossil and Country Life Experience in Charmouth and visiting Durdle Dor and Abbotsbury Subtropical Gardens. I considered showing you some of those photographs but decided against it because the main focus of the holiday was our Hardy Pilgrimage. We also went to Wyke Regis and paid a surprise call on my aunt and uncle who kept a pub there. I returned to Charmouth for a holiday with my family twenty-six years later and I telephoned my aunt and suggested we meet up. She asked where I was staying and when I replied she said, "You've stayed there before." I think it might be time for another visit, and perhaps another Hardy novel.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">See you soon, and do take care.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Love, Mrs Tiggywinkle x</span></div><p></p>Mrs Tiggywinklehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18262841220840086776noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-201916595736418385.post-42173852291802278652021-07-11T12:53:00.002+01:002021-07-18T16:48:29.368+01:00A 1995 Weekend with the England Men's Football Team<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Hello, thank you for popping in. We're getting excited here about the Euro 2020 final this evening - I'd really like to be in my cousin's house because her husband is Italian and whatever the result, there will be a celebration! I keep telling the Best Beloved that football is "only a game" but he doesn't believe me. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aFu1_SwRGDI/YOrTP9A_4kI/AAAAAAAAEdg/dwqUVvuo8lMOO2EDqQeHy5pMe8e_ukdqQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/img303%2B%25281%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1399" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aFu1_SwRGDI/YOrTP9A_4kI/AAAAAAAAEdg/dwqUVvuo8lMOO2EDqQeHy5pMe8e_ukdqQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/img303%2B%25281%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><p style="text-align: justify;">In June 1995 my youngest sister got married and the day before the wedding we discovered that the England men's football team were staying in the same hotel while they were participating in a friendly international tournament at Wembley. I wanted to share some of the stories from that weekend here so yesterday, I asked my family to send me their memories. I'll begin with one of mine: we arrived at the hotel in the morning and it became apparent that the staff were so busy dancing attendance on the footballers that they were overlooking their other guests. I ordered a pot of tea and had to wait for forty minutes before it appeared. As my name means "grumpy until I have a cup of tea" this was tricky, even more so as I was ten weeks pregnant, full of hormones and had just spent almost three hours travelling so I really needed that soothing pot of tea and forty minutes felt like four days.</p></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">I was walking through the hotel with my sister, mother and grandmother, who was 83 years old and walked slowly and uneasily, when David James walked out of the gym and started following us. When we reached the bottom of the stairs, three of us stood back to allow the sprightly Mr James to go up ahead of us as my grandmother's pace was so very slow but she was oblivious and began climbing them anyway. Mr James was an absolute gentleman, he ushered us up behind her and brought up the rear at our snail's pace, waiving away our apologies. I loved him for that and have held a fondness for him ever since.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">One of my sisters took my 6 year-old daughter to the hotel's swimming pool and saw a young chap in the weights room as they walked past. The Best Beloved joined them a little later, VERY excited because he had just seen Alan Shearer in the weights room. "Who's he?" asked my sister. After their swim, the Best Beloved went into the male changing room and found most of the team in there, half-naked, and was enjoying chatting with them until he realised that our daughter had followed her daddy in there. He sent her out to join her aunt and carried on chatting.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Lots of our stories happened in the evening, after the ceremony and the wedding breakfast, when the team and their managers appeared in the hotel bar. Some people were a bit starstruck and Terry Venables (Team Coach) and Bryan Robson (Assistant Coach) were gracious in signing autographs and having photographs taken but there were security staff there to ensure that we didn't take any photographs of the players, so this photograph of a card game shows only my sister and my cousin and omits the other players, David James (you can see his legs!), Jamie Redknapp and Steve McManaman, but her signed order of service proves that they were there. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fOPaUpxTJO8/YOn11I0F9hI/AAAAAAAAEcw/zPltekjk_R4q2ok_jD9Ck-IXjwkcRusZACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/img302.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1375" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fOPaUpxTJO8/YOn11I0F9hI/AAAAAAAAEcw/zPltekjk_R4q2ok_jD9Ck-IXjwkcRusZACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/img302.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hfFG6Nqjl6Q/YOn1250lDII/AAAAAAAAEc0/1ByKT_u-Yd0dq-JZF_KuLWyl9YZIDr4dwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/img304.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1520" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hfFG6Nqjl6Q/YOn1250lDII/AAAAAAAAEc0/1ByKT_u-Yd0dq-JZF_KuLWyl9YZIDr4dwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/img304.jpg" /></a></div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">The page boy was ushered up to Bryan Robson by his grown-ups and held out his new football for an autograph. "What's your name, son?" asked Mr Robson. "Luke," mouthed the child as no sound came out of his mouth. He was completely overawed. The lovely Mr Robson signed the ball and then took it away so that the whole team could sign it, too. The bride and groom later varnished that ball to preserve the signatures. My 19 year-old cousin also wanted a signed football and about a fortnight later he received one in the post, also signed by the whole team.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">During the evening the bride and groom quietly took themselves outside for a walk in the hotel gardens and some peace and quiet. While they took a turn around the lawn, Paul Gascoigne joined them and chatted to them about the bad press he was receiving. A minder followed them the whole time. My sister recalls that Gazza was "sober and very pleasant" and when he congratulated the newlyweds, he shook the groom's hand, kissed the bride's cheek and asked them to ensure that the party didn't go on too late or too loud! Gazza also had a quick, friendly word with my 85 year-old grandfather, a lifelong football fan, and made his day.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">The team had a coach to transport them to and from Wembley and my daughter and the page boy were very excited to be invited onto it. They were each given a chocolate bar from the fridge and a copy of the team's new official magazine, called "ENGLAND". My sister couldn't resist the opportunity to sit in the driver's seat.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RarRhdiTbPQ/YOn2UjZOjRI/AAAAAAAAEdA/yShGdih0EhUWLnD_BcaRCmUPTHi0wiQyACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/img300%2B%25281%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1364" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RarRhdiTbPQ/YOn2UjZOjRI/AAAAAAAAEdA/yShGdih0EhUWLnD_BcaRCmUPTHi0wiQyACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/img300%2B%25281%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">Our most memorable story involves Bryan Robson (again). Here he is with two of my sisters and me, wearing a t-shirt bearing the name of the tournament sponsors. </span></p></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-r1sbNGyl73U/YOn3GjK0zEI/AAAAAAAAEdI/EltSQeQb020uW9jnlQak5jKNpNpXNj-pACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/IMG-20210709-WA0002.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-r1sbNGyl73U/YOn3GjK0zEI/AAAAAAAAEdI/EltSQeQb020uW9jnlQak5jKNpNpXNj-pACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/IMG-20210709-WA0002.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Later, he was bare-chested in the bar so I asked him what had happened and he replied that my aunt had his t-shirt! She still has it - she sent me this photo yesterday. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ROErsyviF_k/YOn3P2T1nII/AAAAAAAAEdM/WSyKua6vAgk88WqJLMJFIbvG6oWFDkK_QCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/IMG-20210709-WA0004.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ROErsyviF_k/YOn3P2T1nII/AAAAAAAAEdM/WSyKua6vAgk88WqJLMJFIbvG6oWFDkK_QCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/IMG-20210709-WA0004.jpg" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">And I still have the ENGLAND magazine.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Lgi0Z09Q-Jo/YOrK3xUmplI/AAAAAAAAEdY/qqqfLKNPz8EdjTR2fKZpmU8IhxWR96M8gCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210711_114014.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Lgi0Z09Q-Jo/YOrK3xUmplI/AAAAAAAAEdY/qqqfLKNPz8EdjTR2fKZpmU8IhxWR96M8gCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20210711_114014.jpg" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Understandably, I think my bridal sister was a bit disappointed when she learned that the England football team would be staying in the hotel for the weekend of her wedding because with so many football fans in the family, she was worried that they might be more interested in the team than in the wedding. However, twenty-six years later, although we have our stories and our souvenirs, when we think of that weekend and recall the anecdotes, we always refer to it as her wedding weekend and thoughts of her and her husband are always at the forefront of my mind. She still has him, too.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-URc_Kk57Pzc/YOrcdIToahI/AAAAAAAAEdo/2Go2OeEVecgOk4BIdcEockDDtpbAQUQJgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/img301.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1392" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-URc_Kk57Pzc/YOrcdIToahI/AAAAAAAAEdo/2Go2OeEVecgOk4BIdcEockDDtpbAQUQJgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/img301.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><p style="text-align: justify;">The morning after the wedding the football team was training on the hotel lawn and one of my sisters leaned out of her bedroom window and took this photo (please don't tell anyone, it was strictly against the rules and we might get into terrible trouble!). That afternoon, they boarded their coach, found two chocolate bars missing from the fridge and went to Wembley where Brazil beat them 3-1.</p></span><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">See you soon.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Love, Mrs Tiggywinkle x</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></p>Mrs Tiggywinklehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18262841220840086776noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-201916595736418385.post-30172013216188334032021-07-06T20:43:00.000+01:002021-07-06T20:43:09.622+01:00The Sock That Didn't Want To Be Knitted<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Hello, thank you for popping in to read my musings. I was away again over the weekend, staying with family in Wales and being well and truly looked after. My diary is beginning to fill up - actually, it's not, there are only eight events planned betweeen now and the end of August but after so many months of staying at home that feels busy and it's making me feel a bit anxious. I shall have to pull up my big girl pants (Kay, that's knickers, not trousers!) and be brave. In the meantime, there will be some soothing domesticity at home to keep me grounded. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">So here is the tale of a sock which didn't want to be knitted. I knitted the first one without any problems at all but as my needles were weaving the yarn and the sock grew I realised that it was a long pattern repeat and that matching up the yarn for the second sock might be difficult. I do like socks to match each other, although I know that some people are not as bothered as I am if they don't, and even though these socks were a gift for somebody else I needed them to be identical twins. Had I known how difficult this would be with this yarn I wouldn't have bought it, although I love this colour and I am almost (but not quite!) wishing that I had bought some more of it for myself. This is Drops Fabel 672 and the colour is called Bourgogne.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Having finished the first sock, I started winding yarn off the second ball until I reached the place where the colour matched the first and I could begin. I wound and I wound and I kept on winding. The colour change was subtle and I couldn't be sure of the exact point at which to stop. Eventually I found it, at least I thought I had, and I cast on. After knitting sixteen rounds of the cuff I realised that I had not found the right point so I pulled out my needles, undid all my work and began winding off more yarn until I found what I thought was the right place to cast on again. This time I had found the exact point and as the leg emerged it matched the first sock beautifully. Hooray! </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Everything was going well until my yarn became tangled up so tightly that I had to cut it. That wasn't really a great problem as I made a beautiful, invisible Russian join and spliced the two ends together...except that I joined the ball of yarn to the tail at the top of the cuff instead of the working end! Grrr. I cut the yarn again and made another invisible join, this time using the right ends. Off I went again, around and around the needles.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">I finished the leg and began to knit the heel flap over thirty stitches. I made a serious mistake at this point: I did this while I was at my daughter's house and after knitting six rows I set the sock aside and went upstairs to read her children a bedtime story. I really should have known better. When I came downstairs and picked up the needles again there were only twenty-nine stitches! I counted several times, in horror, in the hope that my counting spell would cause the missing stitch to reappear but alas, there really were only twenty-nine stitches and I couldn't work out where the missing one had gone. There was nothing for it, I had to pull out the needle, take back those six rows and start again. Harrumph! This time I ensured that I was at home, by myself, with no distractions as I counted every stitch, and after thirty-five rows I still had thirty stitches. Phew! However, it was apparent that the pattern on this knitted heel flap did not match the pattern on the first sock; I must have knitted one row short on the leg and although it didn't show up when I finished it, knitting the heel flap over only half the stitches made the difference glaringly obvious. Again, there was nothing for it, I had to pull out the needle, frog those beautiful thirty-five rows and knit one more row on the leg of the sock. I was, to put it mildly, quite frustrated! The third time I knitted that heel flap, at home, by myself, with no distractions, I was successful but I was beginning to curse the sock.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Once the heel flap is complete I always feel that I am on the home straight with a sock, unless it needs to fit a very large foot, in which case I have sometimes been on the verge of losing the will to live, and I was able to complete that sock without any further mishaps. The pair of identical twins were duly wrapped and posted off to Scotland, where the weather allows woollen socks to be worn for many months of the year, and their new owner reported that they were a perfect fit and she was beyond delighted. I think that makes all the splicing, frogging and reknitting worth it - but only just!</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"> </span><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AUx14fy-IdQ/YG4I2y4WeyI/AAAAAAAAET8/UnLpdRdyjBwVFctRoc6mf1VlPqF8tGlggCLcBGAsYHQ/s1820/Sept%2B2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1601" data-original-width="1820" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AUx14fy-IdQ/YG4I2y4WeyI/AAAAAAAAET8/UnLpdRdyjBwVFctRoc6mf1VlPqF8tGlggCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Sept%2B2.jpg" width="320" /></a></p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Some of you may have struggled with some of the terms I have used in this post, and I have never met a non-knitter who knew that socks have gussets!</span><div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">See you soon.</span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Love, Mrs Tiggywinkle x</span></div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></span><p></p></div>Mrs Tiggywinklehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18262841220840086776noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-201916595736418385.post-76699014214594998882021-06-29T09:41:00.000+01:002021-06-29T09:41:29.989+01:00Craftivism<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Hello, thank you for dropping in. I had the most wonderful weekend: I went to a family party, held to celebrate the 21st birthday of a nephew. A carefully managed invitation list meant that we fell just within the thirty person limit on garden gathering numbers and double vaccinations meant that there was a lot of hugging. It was wonderful to be together again for the first time in more than eighteen months but there was also sadness as we were not <i>all</i> together: The Mathematician is still stuck on Guernsey and watching my sisters and cousins with all their children around them emphasised the black hole in my family. Also missing were a significant aunt and uncle, kept away from the rest of us by illness, the elephant in the garden. Apart from those absences, there was everything I love about our family gatherings: lovely chat, reminiscence, music, singing, great food, plenty of fizz and a super duper cake. I have been basking in a warm glow ever since, but it's time to come back down to earth.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">"Craftivism" is a word I heard for the first time only a few months ago when I watched a documentary fronted by Jenny Eclair. (I have a great soft spot for Jenny Eclair because before she became famous she came to my college and performed in the student union bar. I had never seen a female comedian before and I had never found any comedian so funny before. I completely connected and it was a revelation.) Craftivism is a portmanteau of the words "craft" and "activism" and it's a form of gentle protest in which craft skills are used to advance social causes. I have some basic craft skills and I always wanted to change the world so the documentary was right up my street. Afterwards, I searched around the internet and found </span><a href="https://craftivist-collective.com/" style="font-family: helvetica;" target="_blank">this website</a><span style="font-family: helvetica;"> and its social media pages and I began to get a bit excited.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">A couple of weeks ago we landed in Cervical Cancer Awareness Week. Smear tests can prevent 75% of cervical cancers from developing but UK attendance rates are lower than they have been for more than twenty years and the campaign aims to address that and encourage women to book and attend tests. Apparently, some women don't attend tests because they feel that they are not sufficiently "well-groomed" and the We Are All Smear Ready campaign addresses that myth in an attempt to overcome barriers caused by embarrassment and negative body image. The campaign invites people to craft tiny pairs of pants and leave them in public places with an information label - at least, that's what has happened in the past, but for the last couple of years the craftivists have been asked to simply photograph their tiny pants and labels and share them on social media. I decided that if Jenny Eclair could do it, so could I.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Cath Kidston (the company, not the person) sent me a letter a fortnight ago printed on very pretty paper which I immediately realised would make some lovely tiny pants and even better, the envelope was similarly patterned but its other side was red. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IcDfn97mlgE/YNUnMWCWtCI/AAAAAAAAEcI/lIy2vgTX0Rg2zc0f_sYaxj3dcUXnxny7ACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210614_135307.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IcDfn97mlgE/YNUnMWCWtCI/AAAAAAAAEcI/lIy2vgTX0Rg2zc0f_sYaxj3dcUXnxny7ACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20210614_135307.jpg" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Armed with a template, scissors and glue I watched a Facebook makealong at the beginning of Cervical Cancer Awareness Week and fashioned that pretty paper into several tiny pairs of pants, decorating each pair with some lace and a teeny, tiny bow. They were so pretty that I wished they were real pants that I could wear. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LApDYzRzAyg/YNUnVCKwtpI/AAAAAAAAEcM/PLVzW-4wF9gRTU5lRAcQC5i_BXAr26X1wCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210614_212213.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LApDYzRzAyg/YNUnVCKwtpI/AAAAAAAAEcM/PLVzW-4wF9gRTU5lRAcQC5i_BXAr26X1wCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20210614_212213.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">The following day I went out to meet some friends at a tea room with my tiny pants and a label in my bag. At an appropriate moment I took my bag into the ladies' loo, trying very hard to look nonchalant. I had intended to stick my handiwork onto the inside of the cubicle door, thinking that it would be the perfect place as women always sit down and look at the door when we are in a cubicle, but the door was made of wood and very beautiful and I was worried that my sticky tape would spoil its lovely surface so instead, I stuck it on the tiles (easily wiped) next to the mirror. Luckily there was nobody else around so I was able to take my photo carefully before sauntering out of the door in a casual manner as if everything were perfectly normal and I hadn't just performed my first act of guerilla craftivism. Inside, I was flying and I felt tremendously liberated. Go me! I really did feel as if I should have been wearing sunglasses, a large, floppy hat and a turned-up collar. I fully expected the staff to remove my tiny pants at the end of the day but if one person saw it before that happened, it was worth it (although I feel a tiny bit sad at the thought of those beautiful, tiny paper pants being thrown away). Later that day I posted my photo on Instagram and another on Facebook and I know that people have seen them. I did it, I raised awareness and I am a craftivist!</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Dq8cq2A2a0o/YNUniMp2FhI/AAAAAAAAEcU/hto98Uz1jp0fZKjs5SSTe3qrwwhiVAqxACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210615_135753.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Dq8cq2A2a0o/YNUniMp2FhI/AAAAAAAAEcU/hto98Uz1jp0fZKjs5SSTe3qrwwhiVAqxACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20210615_135753.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RZDVIFHhcq4/YNUniKQiMwI/AAAAAAAAEcQ/Pssu6jjD4BEnCuD9XPV6RufvHU9AmZCQwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210615_135838.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RZDVIFHhcq4/YNUniKQiMwI/AAAAAAAAEcQ/Pssu6jjD4BEnCuD9XPV6RufvHU9AmZCQwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20210615_135838.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Craftivism: Making A Difference is still available on the BBC iPlayer if you'd like to know more. I'm working on my next project.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">See you soon.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Love, Mrs Tiggywinkle x </span></p>Mrs Tiggywinklehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18262841220840086776noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-201916595736418385.post-81809329365247797692021-06-25T00:58:00.000+01:002021-06-25T00:58:40.860+01:00On Midsummer Day<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Hello, thank you for calling in. Is all well? Yesterday was the first day this month that I failed to get outside to commune with nature but while I was indoors I read some of A Midsummer Night's Dream - after all, it was Midsummer Day - and I reckon that counts because of all its references to plants. Here's a rather lovely quote:</span></p><p style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #454545; font-family: "Open Sans", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 20px 30px; text-rendering: optimizelegibility;"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><em style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-rendering: optimizelegibility;">Over hill, over dale,</em></div><em style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-rendering: optimizelegibility;"><div style="text-align: center;"><em style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-rendering: optimizelegibility;">Thorough bush, thorough briar,</em></div></em><em style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-rendering: optimizelegibility;"><div style="text-align: center;"><em style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-rendering: optimizelegibility;">Over park, over pale,</em></div></em><em style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-rendering: optimizelegibility;"><div style="text-align: center;"><em style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-rendering: optimizelegibility;">Thorough flood, thorough fire,</em></div></em><em style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-rendering: optimizelegibility;"><div style="text-align: center;"><em style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-rendering: optimizelegibility;">I do wander everywhere,</em></div></em><em style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-rendering: optimizelegibility;"><div style="text-align: center;"><em style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-rendering: optimizelegibility;">Swifter than the moone’s sphere;</em></div></em><em style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-rendering: optimizelegibility;"><div style="text-align: center;"><em style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-rendering: optimizelegibility;">And I serve the Fairy Queen,</em></div></em><em style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-rendering: optimizelegibility;"><div style="text-align: center;"><em style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-rendering: optimizelegibility;">To dew her orbs upon the green:</em></div></em><em style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-rendering: optimizelegibility;"><div style="text-align: center;"><em style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-rendering: optimizelegibility;">The cowslip tall her pensioners be;</em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-rendering: optimizelegibility;">In their gold coats, spots you see;</em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-rendering: optimizelegibility;">Those be rubies, fairy favours,</em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-rendering: optimizelegibility;">In those freckles live their savours:</em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-rendering: optimizelegibility;">I must go seek some dew-drops here,</em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-rendering: optimizelegibility;">And hang a pearl in every cowslip’s ear.</em></div></em><p></p><p style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #454545; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 20px 30px; text-align: justify; text-rendering: optimizelegibility;"><span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-rendering: optimizelegibility;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">It's rather lovely, isn't it? The next time you see a cowslip, have a look inside the yellow flowers and you will find those rubies, and while I'm on the subject, if you look inside the flowers of a white deadnettle you will find the golden dancing slippers which the fairies wear to balls. Honestly, you will. Please don't say that you don't believe in fairies because if you do...well, if you are familiar with Peter Pan, you know what will happen!</span></span></p><p style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #454545; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 20px 30px; text-align: justify; text-rendering: optimizelegibility;"><span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-rendering: optimizelegibility;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-o55V3yPNi4A/YNUZZLwtV4I/AAAAAAAAEcA/yZJvxamCk3Q6LIFCduwBbNknVPAYBDYxwCLcBGAsYHQ/image.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="538" data-original-width="600" height="240" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-o55V3yPNi4A/YNUZZLwtV4I/AAAAAAAAEcA/yZJvxamCk3Q6LIFCduwBbNknVPAYBDYxwCLcBGAsYHQ/image.png" width="268" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /><div style="text-align: center;">See you soon.</div></span><p></p><p style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #454545; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 20px 30px; text-align: center; text-rendering: optimizelegibility;"><span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-rendering: optimizelegibility;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Love, Mrs Tiggywinkle x</span></span></p>Mrs Tiggywinklehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18262841220840086776noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-201916595736418385.post-34492948589980538122021-06-21T05:56:00.001+01:002021-06-21T05:56:09.065+01:00Summer Has Arrived<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Hello, thank you for calling in and thank you for the kind comments left on my last post. I am slowly catching up with your blogs. The weather here has improved and June is turning out to be much drier, warmer and sunnier than May. We were forecast rain on Wednesday and it finally arrived on Saturday evening, very light rather than the expected storms, but persistent and the ground was wet when we woke up on Sunday. The garden is grateful. I have kept up my intention of spending some time outdoors every day and every buzzing bee and trilling bird has been a delight. During one exciting day I saw both a skylark and a red kite! I have never seen a skylark before but the Best Beloved says that the song of a skylark is the sound of his childhood springs and early summers so I identified the distinctive sound easily after watching the bird rise over the field and flutter its wings furiously as it hovered. I was also very happy to hear that the swifts are back - I always hear them before I look up to see them and I know that summer is almost here when I do. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FZXJvuaPZfM/YNAaQny9k1I/AAAAAAAAEbQ/f0-ImPyf0Mop5-BfWMSWNqA_1yuCi-LmwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210615_172541.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FZXJvuaPZfM/YNAaQny9k1I/AAAAAAAAEbQ/f0-ImPyf0Mop5-BfWMSWNqA_1yuCi-LmwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20210615_172541.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-K4d_FsKk-_E/YNAaQpu-beI/AAAAAAAAEbM/PA-IwCbdjMsybvPW_ghqlY5f9YXJ--U0wCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210615_172550.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-K4d_FsKk-_E/YNAaQpu-beI/AAAAAAAAEbM/PA-IwCbdjMsybvPW_ghqlY5f9YXJ--U0wCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20210615_172550.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Y5l8FUifz7M/YNAaQvVsjLI/AAAAAAAAEbU/YBeEyAPxl0k_QVSzvher4X6OdFSfvPlawCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210615_174009.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Y5l8FUifz7M/YNAaQvVsjLI/AAAAAAAAEbU/YBeEyAPxl0k_QVSzvher4X6OdFSfvPlawCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20210615_174009.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--wTqP7gM3S4/YNAaRuvrtgI/AAAAAAAAEbY/rk7zPJRTvz8JPoq9lBfZYgYZUcIDeULaACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210619_181057.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--wTqP7gM3S4/YNAaRuvrtgI/AAAAAAAAEbY/rk7zPJRTvz8JPoq9lBfZYgYZUcIDeULaACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20210619_181057.jpg" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">For the first time in several years we have foxgloves in the garden and the bumble bees are thrilled. They had to wait longer than usual for the geraniums and weigela they love to flower this year, presumably because of the cold weather in April and May, and for the first time ever the mock orange blossom is flowering at the same time as the weigela so the garden looks different, as if she is wearing all her best clothes at the same time. Its scent almost knocks me out in the evenings, I think the philadelphus is my favourite June flower.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SwlVmJQ32yI/YNAanhtW4bI/AAAAAAAAEbo/-IkechGVDj8G3PXe7n2kzQZSJqLu4zT1wCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210621_042806.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SwlVmJQ32yI/YNAanhtW4bI/AAAAAAAAEbo/-IkechGVDj8G3PXe7n2kzQZSJqLu4zT1wCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20210621_042806.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ihlm3td6DwQ/YNAaq7v0XjI/AAAAAAAAEbs/-R0sALEX8VIoDxQ5puQT8L5u77hpLOl2wCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210621_044728.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ihlm3td6DwQ/YNAaq7v0XjI/AAAAAAAAEbs/-R0sALEX8VIoDxQ5puQT8L5u77hpLOl2wCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20210621_044728.jpg" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">So here we are on 21st June, the longest day of the year, and I set the alarm early so that I could watch the summer solstice sunrise. The temperature was eight degrees and I noticed that there was a touch of frost on the cars as I sat on the front doorstep and listened to the dawn chorus which was almost deafening, although the only bird I saw was a crow which flew down the street. In the distance, a cockerel was crowing, greeting the summer. </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">See you soon.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Love, Mrs Tiggywinkle x</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></p>Mrs Tiggywinklehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18262841220840086776noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-201916595736418385.post-82025412648968298822021-06-08T22:44:00.000+01:002021-06-08T22:44:22.293+01:0030 Days Wild - Week One<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Hello! I didn't mean to stay away for so long but May got on top of me and I retreated. However, I have come home from a half term camping trip feeling relaxed, revived and ready to face the world again.</span> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6ot4GVyRJGs/YL_iBH5bwoI/AAAAAAAAEXs/TR3j8PBn_VIaG4HPV6F1VDw_tuqn1DdSwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210530_182656.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6ot4GVyRJGs/YL_iBH5bwoI/AAAAAAAAEXs/TR3j8PBn_VIaG4HPV6F1VDw_tuqn1DdSwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20210530_182656.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ois_R9GDZKY/YL_jOGNGldI/AAAAAAAAEYw/xf695jmIYQEunTMFCEfULJO47Xt4splywCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210604_173420.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ois_R9GDZKY/YL_jOGNGldI/AAAAAAAAEYw/xf695jmIYQEunTMFCEfULJO47Xt4splywCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20210604_173420.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--y9tXU3VYVU/YL_jZQdwcwI/AAAAAAAAEY0/Wb6dCT3zpUAbbO0cmVqznRbtLsCPARpZwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1880/20210603_174356%2B%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1879" data-original-width="1880" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--y9tXU3VYVU/YL_jZQdwcwI/AAAAAAAAEY0/Wb6dCT3zpUAbbO0cmVqznRbtLsCPARpZwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20210603_174356%2B%25282%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-L10HI3rOvfY/YL_jhNzDmiI/AAAAAAAAEY4/O6L9TmFLXkwBMs1yFAZnpxQpQeVYNDtlACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210603_174411.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-L10HI3rOvfY/YL_jhNzDmiI/AAAAAAAAEY4/O6L9TmFLXkwBMs1yFAZnpxQpQeVYNDtlACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20210603_174411.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-o2LJseU2qBU/YL_jk8K9zlI/AAAAAAAAEY8/RMjgFgDQkYQliKQcdhE9_a39jdy_NB3aQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210604_194314.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-o2LJseU2qBU/YL_jk8K9zlI/AAAAAAAAEY8/RMjgFgDQkYQliKQcdhE9_a39jdy_NB3aQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20210604_194314.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QONOQUE9Oxc/YL_ju7kMGSI/AAAAAAAAEZA/SLSJ6jvtpYY63-Lst7o226BP9Idxe6xOgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210602_143824.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QONOQUE9Oxc/YL_ju7kMGSI/AAAAAAAAEZA/SLSJ6jvtpYY63-Lst7o226BP9Idxe6xOgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20210602_143824.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ACF6KeHBFZo/YL_jxzIgmCI/AAAAAAAAEZI/x8ylY-346bcNeCR0t7bDMp3aRq7s6tCXACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210604_180204.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ACF6KeHBFZo/YL_jxzIgmCI/AAAAAAAAEZI/x8ylY-346bcNeCR0t7bDMp3aRq7s6tCXACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20210604_180204.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9oqWnjKCmmc/YL_jy560xGI/AAAAAAAAEZM/RNJikCpryy4tDYjkpKQ-S7GV23ShyNgfgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210601_193018.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9oqWnjKCmmc/YL_jy560xGI/AAAAAAAAEZM/RNJikCpryy4tDYjkpKQ-S7GV23ShyNgfgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20210601_193018.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wI112peuN5o/YL_j4A7MqLI/AAAAAAAAEZU/5e4QC1FUOaoAXPwxVnwzQddS8cw8gWYYgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210604_164229.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wI112peuN5o/YL_j4A7MqLI/AAAAAAAAEZU/5e4QC1FUOaoAXPwxVnwzQddS8cw8gWYYgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20210604_164229.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KqeXs0CdoCQ/YL_j6ZS_6dI/AAAAAAAAEZY/jbPtHRPwmIcg2KuBhh05JvnlXiCapjagQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210604_164133.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KqeXs0CdoCQ/YL_j6ZS_6dI/AAAAAAAAEZY/jbPtHRPwmIcg2KuBhh05JvnlXiCapjagQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20210604_164133.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">I have decided to have another go at 30 Days Wild, the annual campaign run by The Wildlife Trusts which encourages us to do one wild thing each day during the month of June. I have participated in this before but never completed it, rain usually defeating me, but so far, it's going well. This year, 123,129 people have registered with the campaign, doing something to put themselves in touch with the natural world every day.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">We were camping on The Lizard in Cornwall last week which made it easy. The campsite is rural with lovely mature trees and hedgerows, reached at the end of a mile-long, single-track lane through the Gwendreath Valley. Each morning I awoke to clamouring birdsong and stepped outside the tent, barefoot, onto grass which was still wet with dew. I watched the daisies open out their petals as the morning sun touched them. One morning, an unfamiliar butterfly landed on my t-shirt and sat there for a while (I think it was a fritillary but I don't know which one). One evening I spent quite a long time examining the lichens on the trees around our pitch. At night, an owl hooted. Campers are very aware of the weather and on the hot, sunny days we went to the beach, watched the light change over the water, lay in the warmth of the sun and listened to the rhythm of the waves as they landed on the shore. I paddled in the shallows of cool, clear water and poked about in rock pools. On the day the sun didn't shine, we noticed the mist over the water and watched it thin out. I spent some mindful minutes contemplating all this every day, although most of the time I simply enjoyed it.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Returning home, my acts of wildness require more effort. On Day 6 I visited my friend in the local hospice and stepped outside when staff needed to attend to her. The garden is beautifully planted in a cottage style and I sat and watched great tits and dunnocks on the bird feeders while a grey squirrel scampered around on the ground, picking up the dropped seeds. Now that I have no cats, perhaps I will set up a bird feeding station? I didn't want to do it before because it didn't seem fair. On Day 7 I met with two other friends in a garden. As we drank tea and listened to the birdsong I told them about 30 Days Wild and one of them slipped off her shoes to feel the grass beneath her feet. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">These acts of wildness don't need to be grand. I couldn't go to a beach today but I could take a mug of tea into my garden, listen to the birds, watch the bees and think about my relationship with the natural world. I could sit down, slip off my shoes and read a book. If it rains tomorrow, I could sit in the summerhouse with the doors open, listen to the raindrops and smell the petrichor. It's all about connexion.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">See you soon. Take care and stay safe.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Love, Mrs Tiggywinkle x</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>Mrs Tiggywinklehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18262841220840086776noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-201916595736418385.post-55871525365416000262021-04-30T14:58:00.002+01:002021-04-30T14:58:47.432+01:00Puss and Books<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Hello! Thank you for calling in, expecially as I have been so sporadic in posting. I am happy that you are here. Here we are on the last day of April, a month which, until the last few days, has been full of sunshine but very cold, with frosty mornings and even snow. The other thing which has been abundant is blossom. April has been white, pink, frothy and beautiful, although we haven't smiled all the way through as we lost both of our cats: Lyla was almost fifteen and rather frail, having suffered a dreadful poisoning when she was eighteen months old, and she went out one day and hasn't come home, while her daughter, Pippin, died peacefully in a basket in the kitchen one evening after a short illness. For the first time in thirty-two years there are neither cats nor children in the house and the atmosphere feels unnaturally still. There is a new grave in the garden.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hhJukIq-MFA/YIwJ7kIQOYI/AAAAAAAAEV8/tNMfybN-7GUZxw4f8kJTGHoQDG_1imgKACLcBGAsYHQ/s1304/IMG-20210410-WA0001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1304" data-original-width="1199" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hhJukIq-MFA/YIwJ7kIQOYI/AAAAAAAAEV8/tNMfybN-7GUZxw4f8kJTGHoQDG_1imgKACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/IMG-20210410-WA0001.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;">Pippin and Lyla</span></div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Before we bid farewell to April I thought that I really should show you the books I read in...March. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZXWfE565Y44/YIwKRi0_88I/AAAAAAAAEWE/OHrnfIvBG7QT9gC0QAxTrjdf9Ci_pBGbQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210403_152928.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZXWfE565Y44/YIwKRi0_88I/AAAAAAAAEWE/OHrnfIvBG7QT9gC0QAxTrjdf9Ci_pBGbQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20210403_152928.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">I am still trying to make my way through the unread books which are already in the house but almost as soon as I had finished A Suitable Boy at the end of February my mother sent me <b>The Children Act</b> <b>by Ian McEwan</b> with her highest recommendation so I set to straight away. The book is about a judge in the Family Division of the High Court who has to make a judgement in a case involving a teenager who requires a blood transfusion to save his life but is refusing it for religious reasons. At the same time, the judge's marriage is in crisis. I haven't seen the film but I can imagine that Emma Thompson was perfectly cast as Fiona, the judge. I thought this book was brilliant and, at only 213 pages, I read it quickly. I, too, give it my highest recommendation. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">The next book I read was <b>The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho</b>, and I'm aware that I'm arriving late to this party. I was browsing a second-hand book stall a few years ago when the other browser, a stranger, picked this book out, showed it to me and asked if I had read it. I was a little taken aback by his direct manner and answered that I had not. "You should do," he said. My face must have given my thoughts away as I hesitated because he then said, "Really, I mean it. You should buy this book." So I did, and it has sat on my To Be Read shelf waiting for its turn. This book is even shorter than The Children Act at only 161 pages and if you are unfamiliar with it, it's an allegory about finding your destiny, I have even seen it described as "a self-help book", but that doesn't mean that it's to be dismissed. I enjoyed it, it's given me food for thought and I am glad that I read it. "Finding your destiny" is the kind of phrase which would usually put me off, and if I had known that this book was about that I might have put off reading it for even longer, but if I rephrase that as "working out what you really want to achieve" it feels more pragmatic. The next time a stranger accosts me at a bookstall I shall be more trusting.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">The third book I read last month was <b>Life of Pi by Yann Martel</b>. This was another second-hand purchase which I bought because it had won the Man Booker Prize and I thought I ought to read it, but that was a long time ago and I just didn't really fancy it. This is also another film I haven't seen (there are a lot of them!) and all I knew about it was that it's about a boy who is cast adrift on the sea in a boat with a tiger. My conceptions about this novel were all wrong and in fact, I loved it. I expected it to be a rather philosophical text but it isn't, it's simply a wonderful book and I am not going to spoil it for you by telling you why. If I ever see it on a second-hand bookstall, I shall be pressing strangers to buy it. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">I shall save my April reading for another post. Tomorrow is May Day. When I was a child in the 1970s I skipped around a maypole on the school playground wearing bluebells in my hair but I shan't be doing that tomorrow. However, I may get up early and wash my face with the dew - unless it's frosty! </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">See you soon. Stay safe and take care. </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Love, Mrs Tiggywinkle x</span></p>Mrs Tiggywinklehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18262841220840086776noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-201916595736418385.post-67071694055392849872021-04-17T18:13:00.000+01:002021-04-17T18:13:01.192+01:00Unlocked and Uplifted<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Hello, thank you for calling in. I have something exciting to share with you: for the first time since 2019 I HAVE BEEN AWAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eWLXx0hmgV8/YHmKNEyNX1I/AAAAAAAAEUY/jkARH6217nE6CAeQP7o95x6ZVw8aas9rwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210413_122613.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eWLXx0hmgV8/YHmKNEyNX1I/AAAAAAAAEUY/jkARH6217nE6CAeQP7o95x6ZVw8aas9rwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20210413_122613.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YOSjPHpwS-c/YHmKPXxRQ5I/AAAAAAAAEUc/yqN-vrGCG1oLdYbi71PScfARzn9CvyndACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210413_141648.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YOSjPHpwS-c/YHmKPXxRQ5I/AAAAAAAAEUc/yqN-vrGCG1oLdYbi71PScfARzn9CvyndACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20210413_141648.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Fv6HcQPhrPg/YHmKR-zOu0I/AAAAAAAAEUg/MMm50CBay6URKEGSNPXaIuZ-Fkr2Msy8gCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210415_123401.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Fv6HcQPhrPg/YHmKR-zOu0I/AAAAAAAAEUg/MMm50CBay6URKEGSNPXaIuZ-Fkr2Msy8gCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20210415_123401.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qQ0NGpgF558/YHmKT9ABWEI/AAAAAAAAEUk/CTp4pv0CcVwJbBlYXf4eetmgDjFElsg8wCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210415_123450.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qQ0NGpgF558/YHmKT9ABWEI/AAAAAAAAEUk/CTp4pv0CcVwJbBlYXf4eetmgDjFElsg8wCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20210415_123450.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1vVZzQd3y1U/YHmKW02M64I/AAAAAAAAEUo/TF84sFcJERIFsnHgJbIh_bZuJiTYuTd_ACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210415_123534.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1vVZzQd3y1U/YHmKW02M64I/AAAAAAAAEUo/TF84sFcJERIFsnHgJbIh_bZuJiTYuTd_ACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20210415_123534.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">T</span><span style="font-family: helvetica;">his is the second week of our Easter school holiday and as the covid restrictions were due to relax a bit on Monday the Best Beloved and I planned to take a few day trips but on Tuesday last week, when the Welsh government confirmed</span> <span style="font-family: helvetica;">that the border would be opened to visitors from outside Wales on Monday 12th April, the Best Beloved suggested we go to Anglesey for a few days. I got straight onto our favourite glamping site and booked us in for two nights. </span></div></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">We began the day with breakfast in the park because the cafe was putting out tables and chairs for the first time this year. To be honest, I was a little disappointed as there was no china or table service so it was basically operating as a takeaway with seating, but the sun was shining, the food was good and my spirits were high at the thought of going to the seaside. Whoop whoop! We went back home and I threw a few things into my bag: knickers, woolly socks, gloves, sunglasses, book, map, crochet project, fairy lights...what else does a girl need for a couple of nights away?? We decided to drive the scenic route and enjoy the journey, and it was a treat: the sky was blue, the mountains were snow-capped and the fields were green and full of lambs, lots and lots of lambs, possibly thousands of lambs. We arrived on the island at about 2pm and drove straight to Waitrose to buy some provisions - not our usual grocer but we wanted to indulge ourselves after so many months at home. (This branch of Waitrose used to be a Co-op but Waitrose took it over...after Prince William and Catherine Middleton moved there in 2010!) We arrived at the glamping site at 3pm, as arranged, and settled in to our pod.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">On Tuesday the sun shone again and after a leisurely breakfast of poached eggs and smoked salmon on toast we drove out to Traeth y Gribin where we stayed for the afternoon. After a walk along the strand line with my head down (seaweed, little dead crabs, cockle shells, limpets and painted top shells) I sat down to watch the light on the water change as clouds drifted across the sky, read my book and watch the birds. As the tide receded, mudflats were revealed, punctuated by the small rocky ridges which give the beach its name as "gribin" means "serrated ridge", and to my delight, wading birds appeared. Meanwhile, the Best Beloved went for a longer walk and then took a nap. It was a perfect afternoon, even though I was wearing my big coat, a scarf, gloves and a hat. This is exactly what I had been longing to do for months, you can stick me on a beach in almost any weather and I'll be a happy bunny for hours. That evening we had fish and chips for dinner and watched the sunset through the glass doors of our warm and cosy pod. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Owc_jdHdOto/YHmWsnpc1MI/AAAAAAAAEVE/6v0S5s6RWJAaJSyr3PsHRT3aiQK6S1s7gCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210413_205503.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Owc_jdHdOto/YHmWsnpc1MI/AAAAAAAAEVE/6v0S5s6RWJAaJSyr3PsHRT3aiQK6S1s7gCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20210413_205503.jpg" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"> </span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">We left the pod at 10am the following morning. The owners allow five hours between each occupancy to enable the pod to be thoroughly cleaned and we were asked to strip the bed and leave the doors and window wide open. The communal kitchen is closed but a toaster and microwave oven had been added to the pod, which already had a kettle and a fridge, and we took a small, portable camping stove with us. We were entirely self-contained and I felt very safe. If you'd like to have a look, <a href="https://www.llanfairhall.com/" target="_blank">click here</a> to see where we stayed. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Before leaving the island we went to another beach. Again, the sky was intensely blue and so was the water but it really was too cold to sit out so we sat in the car for an hour or so and enjoyed the view, carefully storing the memory in my mind because I don't know when I'll get to the sea again.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HtVYKT9Kj4M/YHmTzwQnRBI/AAAAAAAAEU8/mB7WsHGBsUQGLAswy_B32YYRv72z5nIkwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210412_144532.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HtVYKT9Kj4M/YHmTzwQnRBI/AAAAAAAAEU8/mB7WsHGBsUQGLAswy_B32YYRv72z5nIkwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20210412_144532.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">I really needed this break. I was feeling very low beforehand, almost as flat as a pancake, finding it difficult to drum up enthusiasm or energy for almost anything at all. This lockdown has significantly depleted my mental reserves but Anglesey air has blown the cobwebs right away and cleared the fog from my brain. I was sad to leave the island behind but I have brought home with me a spring in my step, a smile on my face and some beautiful memories. I am ready to face whatever the next few weeks bring. </span></div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">See you soon. Stay safe and take care.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Love, Mrs Tiggywinkle x </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></p>Mrs Tiggywinklehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18262841220840086776noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-201916595736418385.post-67176251423915056422021-04-07T20:21:00.000+01:002021-04-07T20:21:40.680+01:00A Happy Easter<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; text-align: left;">Hello, and Happy Easter, whenever you are celebrating! According to the Anglican church, Easter is a season rather than a weekend and lasts for about seven weeks so my greeting isn't late at all, and some of you may not have celebrated Easter yet if you follow a different church tradition, but I'd like to share with you how I spent the weekend itself.</span></div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FNzbn_CJIFo/YG4BtxK3xhI/AAAAAAAAETM/Z7m9_RXjfVQh1hr6yAGma4baVKE24p6dwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210407_155342.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FNzbn_CJIFo/YG4BtxK3xhI/AAAAAAAAETM/Z7m9_RXjfVQh1hr6yAGma4baVKE24p6dwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20210407_155342.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Good Friday is alternatively known as Hot Cross Bun Day in our house. I ADORE those sweet, spicy, fruit-studded buns but I never eat them </span><span style="font-family: helvetica;">before</span><span style="font-family: helvetica;"> Good Friday, when I shamelessly eat as many as I can get away with. When I was young my father used to go to the bakery first thing in the morning and bring home a bag of them for our breakfast, still warm from the oven. Mmmm! When I was first married I expected the Best Beloved to do the same but it turns out that he doesn't like them so I was disappointed. Frankly, HXBs are so important to me that it's amazing we are still married. I made them myself once, more than thirty years ago, but there seemed little point in all that kneading and proving if he wasn't even going to try one so we reverted to shop-bought buns and later, the children and I would eat them for breakfast before going to the Hot Cross Bun Service at church and eating one or two more. For many years now we have watched Jesus Christ Superstar during the afternoon of this holy day, it's the perfect day for it, and a tear or two has usually been shed. We have the 2000 film version on dvd and I find it emotionally draining to watch, it's really quite harrowing. I need the comfort of another toasted hot cross bun afterwards.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">This year I discovered that my friend would be leading a digital Hot Cross Bun Service during the afternoon of Good Friday, preceded by an online hot cross bun bakealong during the morning, and having read many bloggers saying that homemade HXBs are so much better than shop-bought, I decided to join in. We began at 10am and my friend had cleverly chosen a recipe which requires no kneading and only one prove - you'll find it <a href="https://www.bbcgoodfood.com/recipes/easy-hot-cross-buns" target="_blank">here</a> if you fancy it. So we measured and mixed while she told us the bible story of the day and we chatted about our own Good Friday traditions. I enjoyed it, and at the end of the session I had eight bun-shaped balls of dough on my baking sheet. All I had to then was leave them to prove and another friend had given me a tip: she told me to turn my oven on to any temperature, leave it on for thirty seconds, turn it off and then pop the dough in. I was scared that thirty seconds wouldn't be enough so in fact I left it on for sixty, but I shall do thirty next time. An hour and a half later my balls of dough had risen into glorious buns. I piped the crosses onto the top, baked them and glazed them as soon as they came out of the oven. I felt as pleased as punch. I am desperately trying to avoid using the word "smug" because it's not very nice. At 2pm I split one of those buns, buttered it and joined the online service. That bun was delicious. I may never buy HXBs again. Afterwards, the Best Beloved and I settled down and watched Jesus Christ Superstar and while it was on my Guernsey daughter sent me a photo of a packet of HXBs with the message that she was just about to watch the film too. We hadn't discussed it in advance, she just wanted to maintain our family tradition. I cried even more than I usually do. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">On Saturday I ate a couple more hot cross buns. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">On Sunday I got up very early and went to my friend's garden. I think the sunrise service on Easter Day is my favourite church service of the year but as no local churches were holding one we had decided to celebrate together in her garden. We lit a fire, the traditional symbol of the triumph of light over darkness, read some verses aloud (quietly, so as not to disturb her neighbours), drank tea and ate hot cross buns and chocolate mini eggs. It felt just right. The birdsong was louder than our voices and Mrs Blackbird kept travelling through the garden to an ivy-covered wall just beyond with beaksful of nest-building materials. A buzzard wheeled overhead. As I drove home I noticed the blossom-covered trees, swathes of daffodils lining the roads and a sweet grey squirrel on the verge. The sky had turned blue.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0lHK6IQwopA/YG4B6xC-UdI/AAAAAAAAETY/swHWDxEwoJMXv2q1yEWAkxLQ4es8gLXrwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210404_082742.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0lHK6IQwopA/YG4B6xC-UdI/AAAAAAAAETY/swHWDxEwoJMXv2q1yEWAkxLQ4es8gLXrwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20210404_082742.jpg" /></a></div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">The Best Beloved and I spent the rest of the day alone. The sun shone and in the afternoon he mowed the lawn while I was indoors as he, the non-lover of HXBs, had asked me to bake him some scones. As I carried them out to the summerhouse I looked up and saw a heron flying over. We ate the scones still warm, with cream and jam and accompanied by a pot of Earl Grey tea, while we watched a few bees hovering in the sunshine. </span> <span style="font-family: helvetica;">He was very happy and I felt all caked out, although it felt really good to be living outdoors again. My day was made complete when the Best Beloved told me about the evidence of fresh hedgehog activity which he had cleaned off the patio earlier!</span></p></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-refVV8qTNoc/YG4FWgWRAyI/AAAAAAAAET0/D7YbC11uBL4m5SanFClPf6wg9HTFIWCEQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20210407_155305.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-refVV8qTNoc/YG4FWgWRAyI/AAAAAAAAET0/D7YbC11uBL4m5SanFClPf6wg9HTFIWCEQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20210407_155305.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><p style="text-align: justify;">On Monday it snowed! I sorted out the squares I had crocheted during Lent and packed them up ready for the Best Beloved to take to the Post Office. They are on their way to Woolly Hugs, a charity who will turn them into blankets for people who are unwell. </p></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZIrFDmpEAdU/YG4DiBt9paI/AAAAAAAAETs/DwZWjvLBqlUgG1ugtpYAdNpRCeIU0Tb4QCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210405_094144.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZIrFDmpEAdU/YG4DiBt9paI/AAAAAAAAETs/DwZWjvLBqlUgG1ugtpYAdNpRCeIU0Tb4QCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20210405_094144.jpg" /></a></div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><p style="text-align: justify;">May I just mention the weather? You know how I like to. A week ago the temperature here was 26 degrees and I had to cover the tiny people in suncream and jam sun hats onto their heads before we went into the garden. I almost melted. On Easter Sunday the temperature was 16 degrees in the sunshine and today it is 6 degrees. Snow fell on Sunday, Monday and Tuesday and my grandson is confused because he thought that winter was over and he is too young to have worked out that April can be capricious. Here is the view from his window this morning. This is why British people talk about the weather!</p></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FCVNATk96hM/YG4CIXVDgwI/AAAAAAAAETg/Wnl996Ue1xs8PnKbVh8lI2wEd7WVrAYxQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/IMG-20210407-WA0000.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FCVNATk96hM/YG4CIXVDgwI/AAAAAAAAETg/Wnl996Ue1xs8PnKbVh8lI2wEd7WVrAYxQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/IMG-20210407-WA0000.jpg" /></a></div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">See you soon. Please stay safe.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Love, Mrs Tiggywinkle x</span></p>Mrs Tiggywinklehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18262841220840086776noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-201916595736418385.post-23220753251403867172021-03-19T11:04:00.000+00:002021-03-19T11:04:43.374+00:00A Moment of Brightness<p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Hello, thank you for calling in. I don't write anything for weeks and now there are two posts in four days! I have something which I find I am bursting to share with you. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I had an unexpected doorstep visitor last Saturday: the new vicar called to introduce himself and to give me a posy of daffodils for Mothering Sunday. The parish church always gives out these posies at the Mothering Sunday service but as the building is currently closed, the church apparently decided that its men would deliver them across the parish to all the women on the electoral roll as well as some others.</span> <span style="font-family: helvetica;">Isn't that lovely? I was surprised to have been included as I left the church more than four years ago and have no intention of returning.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">I was also touched that the vicar wanted to meet me. He took up the post last summer, the previous incumbent having left in 2018. Said incumbent was a bully who spent as little time as possible with his parishioners, taking Saturday as his day off and so legitimately avoiding most of the church's social and community events. A few months after his arrival in the parish in 2013 he wrote on Facebook, "Can anyone unstick me from this fracking church?" and later, after he had driven out a significant number of people, he wrote, "I am an ecclesiastical enema removing the blockages in the Church" and as he hadn't enabled any privacy settings, the whole world was able to read his opinions of us. It was a damaging experience and I hope you can see how an unexpected visit from a vicar who wanted to meet me and bring me some flowers was surprising, charming and a moment of brightness during lockdown. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YhUg_TsfJSc/YFSD-iaXWuI/AAAAAAAAESc/LVa6EqIogC8bCksojR3OGfXdgZnDUNdOwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210319_064849.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1565" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YhUg_TsfJSc/YFSD-iaXWuI/AAAAAAAAESc/LVa6EqIogC8bCksojR3OGfXdgZnDUNdOwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20210319_064849.jpg" /></a></div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></p>I think I'll leave it there. There is much more I could tell you but I think that's enough for today. </span><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Please stay safe and take care, coronavirus hasn't gone away.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Love, Mrs Tiggywinkle x</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></p>Mrs Tiggywinklehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18262841220840086776noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-201916595736418385.post-71305021494542093782021-03-16T00:53:00.003+00:002021-03-16T00:53:28.765+00:00So That Was February<p style="text-align: left;"><span _msthash="351455" _msttexthash="92913626" style="font-family: helvetica;">Hello, thank you for dropping in here, you are very welcome, as ever. I haven't been here for more than a month, for which I am sorry, but really, I didn't think I had anything interesting to share with you; I certainly haven't been anywhere interesting. However, this week I suddenly have lots of things I want to write about so I thought I should start with February and when I looked back over the month it seems that some things did happen.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><b _msthash="351456" _msttexthash="114231">Birthday</b></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span _msthash="351457" _msttexthash="833681030" style="font-family: helvetica;">I celebrated my birthday at home with the Best Beloved and a bit of a tear in my eye because the day marked a whole year since the last time I saw my younger daughter. The Best Beloved did his best to make sure that I had the best possible lockdown birthday: he gave me smoked salmon with a poached egg on toasted homemade bread for breakfast, we had croissants for elevenses and he went to Marks & Spencer's food hall to buy a treat for dinner. I made myself a birthday cake because he's really not up to that. During the afternoon we lit the fire and watched a film together, a rare occurrence because we don't like the same kind of films, but I was allowed to choose (gasp!) so we watched The Dig, a film about the discovery of the Anglo-Saxon treasure at Sutton Hoo. (Some of you may have read Simon Stone's novel on which the film is based, but I haven't.) We both enjoyed it, him more than he expected to. In the evening I really enjoyed a video meeting with my sisters and parents, during which I wore a tiara and drank champagne - after all, it was my birthday! The following day was a babysitting day and I was able to celebrate all over again with The Teacher, Tom Kitten and Cottontail and even though I had to cook the dinner myself this time, it was super duper to be with them. They had even made me a cake, which was a big deal because The Teacher doesn't enjoy baking and she had borrowed the equipment from a friend, which of course made it all the more special. She's a good girl.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Yz3pQxT937Y/YE_8JNkxm5I/AAAAAAAAESQ/tmN5iX3ZTWAny569v64GVoPd0UXB0BDggCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210209_194258.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Yz3pQxT937Y/YE_8JNkxm5I/AAAAAAAAESQ/tmN5iX3ZTWAny569v64GVoPd0UXB0BDggCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20210209_194258.jpg" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><b _msthash="351458" _msttexthash="239824" style="text-align: left;"><p style="text-align: justify;"><b _msthash="351458" _msttexthash="239824" style="text-align: left;">Valentine's Day</b></p></b></span><p></p><p _msthash="351459" _msttexthash="467131717" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">The Best Beloved really isn't interested in Valentine's Day so I gave up hoping and bothering several years ago. However, I did receive a card - from somebody else. The Mental Health Collective organises a card exchange several times a year and this is the third time I have participated - I was given a name and address and somebody different was given mine. </span><span style="font-family: helvetica;">We are asked to send a card or letter with encouraging words to our recipient, that's all, and t</span><span _msthash="138148608" _msttexthash="145735941" style="font-family: helvetica;">he theme this time was Love, goodwill rather than romance. It's not terribly onerous but I really believe that it can make a big difference to the recipient. I received my card a couple of days early, before the posting date, and I was bowled over because the sender had obviously spent some time and effort making it, even though I am a complete stranger to her. I wanted to pass on that kindness in a similar way so I set aside the card I had bought and instead spent an afternoon making a card to send. Here is the card I received. It's still on my mantelpiece.</span></p><p _msthash="351459" _msttexthash="467131717" style="text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Njzv24gMhVQ/YE_6WTk3AdI/AAAAAAAAERo/zkP2jf_EMKYcW_Y0vLKrNc7l6OHZSdQOwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210215_151015.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Njzv24gMhVQ/YE_6WTk3AdI/AAAAAAAAERo/zkP2jf_EMKYcW_Y0vLKrNc7l6OHZSdQOwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20210215_151015.jpg" /></a></div><p></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><b _msthash="351460" _msttexthash="232557">Shrove Tuesday</b></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span _msthash="351461" _msttexthash="320416330" style="font-family: helvetica;">Well, I didn't go to be shriven of my sins but I did eat pancakes. I had decided that this year's pancakes would be Scotch rather than traditional or American so I made up the batter before we ate dinner, ready to cook afterwards. The Best Beloved then decided that he wanted to do the cooking - I don't know why, this task always falls to me and I'm not sure that he has ever cooked a pancake of any variety before, but he was quite sure. He went into the kitchen, instructed me that I was to stay outside and closed the door firmly. Well, obviously I couldn't help myself and I quietly crept in and snaffled this photo without him realising. I couldn't stop laughing - it's the smallest pancake in the world! He told me that it wasn't his fault, that my batter was too thick (how very dare he!) and would not accept any advice or information about the niceties of pancake batter.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-g9uq1_MgKYs/YE_6gg8ascI/AAAAAAAAERs/HgjgO6phnNY3n3bVvJ5UgGsw5XegRNdKACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210216_182529.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-g9uq1_MgKYs/YE_6gg8ascI/AAAAAAAAERs/HgjgO6phnNY3n3bVvJ5UgGsw5XegRNdKACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20210216_182529.jpg" /></a></div><p></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span _msthash="351462" _msttexthash="16528512" style="font-family: helvetica;">I was <strike>shoved</strike> sent out of the kitchen, the door was firmly closed again and a little while later he presented me with these. I was very polite and appreciative (and stifling laughter).</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IG0KMAWwOe0/YE_6yiS4SiI/AAAAAAAAER4/AbrSoP3qy4opCt52XeXfwEHAawNQf4cJACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210216_183504.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IG0KMAWwOe0/YE_6yiS4SiI/AAAAAAAAER4/AbrSoP3qy4opCt52XeXfwEHAawNQf4cJACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20210216_183504.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><b _msthash="351463" _msttexthash="206830">Vaccinations</b></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span _msthash="20488" _msttexthash="285977458" style="font-family: helvetica;">My 'phone rang one afternoon and even though the call was from an unknown number, I answered it, which is unusual. I am very glad I did because the call was from my GP surgery, offering me a covid vaccination two days later. I was very surprised, accepted the invitation and asked if the Best Beloved could also be vaccinated at the same time as we fall into the same category. We were given consecutive appointments and two days later, the deed was done. I was very impressed with the whole set-up, we were given appointments in May for the second dose and neither of us suffered any side effects. The Best Beloved was relieved because it meant that by the time he would return to the classroom, he would be almost three weeks post-vaccination, long enough for it to provide him with some protection.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><b _msthash="351464" _msttexthash="91897">Reading</b></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span _msthash="351465" _msttexthash="221578500" style="font-family: helvetica;">I finished reading A Suitable Boy on 26th February, so it took just over seven weeks. I smile when I think about this book and I miss it already because I enjoyed it very much, all 1,474 pages of it. James Wood reviewed it in The Guardian as "vast and amiably peopled" and that's one of the things I liked about it, almost all the characters are likeable. I also found it very visual - the clothes, jewellery and gardens are vividly described and painted beautiful pictures in my head. This book isn't difficult to read, it's all storytelling and there's no need to read between the lines, it's just long, but hey, we're in lockdown, I had little else to do but read, and I am glad to have read this.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TenBgfRqYTo/YE_6-wD_KbI/AAAAAAAAER8/GNKJjFx4oJ8VqQv99UM-eQciDoOzrCCxgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210201_144820.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TenBgfRqYTo/YE_6-wD_KbI/AAAAAAAAER8/GNKJjFx4oJ8VqQv99UM-eQciDoOzrCCxgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20210201_144820.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><b _msthash="351466" _msttexthash="115934" style="font-family: helvetica; text-align: left;"><p style="text-align: justify;"><b _msthash="351466" _msttexthash="115934" style="text-align: left;">Knitting </b></p></b><p></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span _msthash="351467" _msttexthash="136849050" style="font-family: helvetica;">I am still slowly working on Tom Kitten's jumper but at the beginning of February I discovered that my cousin, a teacher, has to spend all day at work with the windows and doors open (to reduce the risk of covid infection) and that by the time she gets home she is frozen so I knitted her a pair of woollen socks to keep her feet warm. She has very dainty feet so they didn't take as long as usual and I used some lovely Drops Fabel in Salt and Pepper (shade 905). I was very pleased with them and so was she, it is lovely to be able to make people happy.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-p0ie4KFAHW4/YE_7Jce4-FI/AAAAAAAAESE/nDHsSf8bYFIKcbARopXl9VZkpWK24LBOwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210305_140826.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-p0ie4KFAHW4/YE_7Jce4-FI/AAAAAAAAESE/nDHsSf8bYFIKcbARopXl9VZkpWK24LBOwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20210305_140826.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span _msthash="351467" _msttexthash="136849050" style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span><p></p><p _msthash="20489" _msttexthash="215483385" style="text-align: left;"><span _istranslated="1" _msthash="351467" _msttexthash="212174690" style="font-family: helvetica;">Now here we are, halfway through March and less than a week away from astronomical Spring. The Best Beloved returned to work when the schools reopened to all pupils a week ago and on the Sunday evening he had a shave, ironed a shirt, polished his shoes and put his face shield, mask and hand sanitiser into his briefcase. The following morning I wondered aloud if I should take a photograph of him on the doorstep, the way we used to do when our children returned to school on the first day of the new school year, because that's how I felt. I am now allowed to meet one friend in a public place for a chat so that's what I am planning to do on Thursday and I can't bloomin' wait. The world is still turning.</span> </p><p _msthash="20489" _msttexthash="215483385" style="text-align: center;"><span _msthash="7645" _msttexthash="914914" style="font-family: helvetica;">Take care, stay safe and see you soon.</span></p><p _msthash="20489" _msttexthash="215483385" style="text-align: center;"><span _msthash="7645" _msttexthash="449007" style="font-family: helvetica;">Love, Mrs Tiggywinkle x</span></p>Mrs Tiggywinklehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18262841220840086776noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-201916595736418385.post-5967957778095495522021-02-05T15:52:00.002+00:002021-02-05T15:52:41.332+00:00Imbolc, Brigid-tide and Candlemas<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Hello, thank you for dropping in. Firstly, I'm sorry that the font changes halfway through this post, I know that it's annoying but I have tried and tried but I can't do anything about it.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Everything here feels very wet. We have had a lot of rain over the last couple of weeks - the Best Beloved says that he has never seen so much rain - but we have also had sunshine and snow. Fortunately we live far enough away from rivers that we have not been flooded but our weekly drive to The Teacher's house takes us past lakes where fields should be and rivers which have burst their banks. (I should explain that the lockdown rules allow us to form a childcare bubble with her family so we go to her house when she and her husband are both working and need essential childcare, usually once or twice a week.) We are glad to have had snow, it feels like a real winter.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">In ancient times the Celts celebrated Imbolc on 1st February. Halfway between the winter solstice and the spring equinox, with longer, lighter days and the birth of the first lambs, they regarded it as the first day of spring and honoured the goddess Bride. When the Christian church took over the pagan celebrations it gave the day to St Brigid of Kildare and her story became entwined with that of Bride. In the sixth century the Byzantine Emperor Justinian I declared that Candlemas should be celebrated in churches on 2nd February, forty days after Christmas Day, which meant that celebrations began on the evening of 1st February.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span>In the church calendar this date became The Feast of the Purification of the Blessed Virgin Mary and remembered the day when the infant Jesus' parents took him to the temple so that Mary could receive the ritual of purification and the baby could be presented to God. Although I have read that this is a Jewish tradition I'm sure that the purification is also a Christian tradition as a few weeks after my elder daughter was born my friend's mother, who was born in Yorkshire in the 1930s, was surprised to hear that I had been out before I had been "churched", which should have been when the baby was six weeks old. The old Churching of Women service has been replaced in the Church of England by a service of Thanksgiving for the Gift of a Child and quite right too as far as I'm concerned, I find the notion that a woman needs to be purified after giving birth to be repugnantly misogynistic. After the Reformation, the Protestant church shifted the focus of the day from Mary to Jesus and it became the day to celebrate </span><span>The Feast of the Presentation of Christ in the Temple. </span><span>Anyway, to return to this story, an old man called Simeon recognised Jesus as the son of God and declared him to be </span><span>"</span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; text-align: left;">a light for revelation to the Gentiles,</span><span class="indent-1-breaks" style="font-size: 0.42em; line-height: 0; text-align: left;"> </span><span class="text Luke-2-32" style="font-size: 16px; position: relative; text-align: left;">and the glory of Your people Israel.” </span><span style="font-size: 16px; text-align: left;">From this text Jesus is described as the Light of the World and so it became the day on which people would bring their candles to church to be blessed alongside the candles which the church would use over the forthcoming year. So, as far as the Church is concerned, it's all about light and candles but the people still celebrated in their homes and had a bit of a party, placing lighted candles in their homes and giving candles as gifts on this day.</span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span class="text Luke-2-32" style="font-size: 16px; position: relative; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">More than any other year, I wanted to celebrate Candlemas this year and I'm not really sure why but as I read more about it I felt the attraction of lighting candles to dispel the metaphorical darkness of living in a global pandemic, using them as a symbol of hope now that the vaccination programme really is underway in this country. Reading about the ancient practices, I really understood the longing for spring - please don't misunderstand me, I'm an astronomical kind of gal and I know that spring will come with the equinox in March, but half the winter is behind us now and I am ready to look ahead towards the spring. My celebration would have to be something I could do by myself and looking around the internet I found a Forest Church video entitled "An Outdoor Celebration for Brigid-tide and Candlemas". It looked just right for me.</span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span class="text Luke-2-32" style="font-size: 16px; position: relative; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The introductory video told me that I would need a bonfire to burn my Christmas tree, a candle in a lantern or jam jar and a wassail - a warm, mulled drink of beer, cider or apple juice. Well, this might have put me off because for the first time EVER, the Best Beloved chopped up our Christmas tree and put it out with the recycling weeks ago and he informed me last weekend that both our garden incinerator and fire basket disintegrated at the end of last summer. Harrumph! Secondly, I did not have any of said beverages to mull. However, I decided that as I was a Girl Guide in my youth, I know how to be resourceful. I found a small foil tray in the kitchen cupboard and put some tealights in it to make a substitute bonfire and I poured the last of my homemade blackberry vodka into a jug with a cinnamon stick and heated it up in the microwave. I was ready.</span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span class="text Luke-2-32" style="font-size: 16px; position: relative; text-align: left;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="text Luke-2-32" style="font-size: 16px; position: relative; text-align: left;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Gv6Slum3YRg/YB1lc84NNpI/AAAAAAAAEQg/fK3eVoqEs0UrrvsnK2UjC4aKiyIEHaiEACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210204_144412.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Gv6Slum3YRg/YB1lc84NNpI/AAAAAAAAEQg/fK3eVoqEs0UrrvsnK2UjC4aKiyIEHaiEACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20210204_144412.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span class="text Luke-2-32" style="font-size: 16px; position: relative; text-align: left;"><span>I sat in the garden by myself and played the video. I lit my tealights and fed my little fire with dried stems of lavender pulled from the bush. At this point I realised that I shouldn't have used so many tealights because with such a lot of melted wax, the fire blazed and grew and I almost burned down the wooden table. Almost. I sang loudly and merrily. I lit my candle and in the absence of fruit trees or bushes, I drank my blackberry vodka and wassailed the lavender. </span></span><span style="font-size: 16px; text-align: left;">I sat quietly and looked around at the new, living green shoots. It began to rain but I stayed outside until the film, and my celebration, was over. I came indoors feeling more connected to nature, to the rhythm of the seasons and to God. I also felt more hopeful and more myself. I think my equilibrium has been restored.</span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4SaQ6n6SkkA/YB1ljFTkeEI/AAAAAAAAEQk/fuwDEF6l4w0TdHqFI5H6aEq1R05rr2oEACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210204_151445.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4SaQ6n6SkkA/YB1ljFTkeEI/AAAAAAAAEQk/fuwDEF6l4w0TdHqFI5H6aEq1R05rr2oEACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20210204_151445.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 16px; text-align: left;">While reading about Imbolc in preparation for writing this post I discovered that the bramble is sacred to St Brigid and that its leaves and fruits are used to attract prosperity and healing, so my blackberry vodka wasn't out of place, after all. I shall have to make some more this year because I would like to celebrate Brigid-tide and Candlemas next year in a similar fashion...but with other people and a bit of a party. </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 16px; text-align: left;">Stay safe and take care.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 16px; text-align: left;">Love, Mrs Tiggywinkle x</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: 16px; text-align: left;"><br /></span></p>Mrs Tiggywinklehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18262841220840086776noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-201916595736418385.post-43616845259958939592021-02-02T01:45:00.000+00:002021-02-02T01:45:59.250+00:00So That Was January<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Hello, I hope you and yours are all safe and well. The rates of infection are running so high that I fear you may not be. These are scary times.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">I am not coping as well with this lockdown as I did last year. Last March the Best Beloved and I found a good routine within a few days but this time it's harder, largely because we can't use the garden. It's simply too cold and if it's not too cold, it's too wet. He has been furloughed so we are both at home together, indoors, and I have flumped about in a listless fashion, drifting from one thing to the next in an unstructured way which really doesn't suit me. January is a month in which we usually celebrate several family birthdays and the fact that we can't get together at the moment has been hard to bear. This unhappiness was compounded by the fact that I have spent a large part of the month trawling through eighty years of family photographs and remembering wonderful family holidays and parties, which really rammed the point home, although I continue to find something positive in every day which really is saving my sanity. So, here is most of what I have been doing this month.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><b>Lighting up</b></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mhIh9qh4iSI/YBirRvjAPSI/AAAAAAAAEPk/lRV6_R8vwtoRgH_z8rms0wXNQbIn12byQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210130_001918.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2027" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mhIh9qh4iSI/YBirRvjAPSI/AAAAAAAAEPk/lRV6_R8vwtoRgH_z8rms0wXNQbIn12byQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20210130_001918.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">January really is a month for being cosy indoors so every evening I light up the candles and lanterns on the mantelpiece and enjoy the glow. All over social media people seem to be looking for spring but it's not spring, it's winter, and I learned a few years ago that if I accept that fact and embrace it I'm going to feel much better about it. In a few weeks' time I shall be looking for daffodils on the mantelpiece but right now, candles are what I want.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><b>Reading </b></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-o5kPccCX6wk/YBirY-NFinI/AAAAAAAAEPo/gkyddgAjT480_x6M8Q-MnacDdW9YAIRNACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210201_144820.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-o5kPccCX6wk/YBirY-NFinI/AAAAAAAAEPo/gkyddgAjT480_x6M8Q-MnacDdW9YAIRNACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20210201_144820.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">At the top of my stairs, in the small space we rather grandiosely call "the landing", there is a bookcase and A Suitable Boy by Vikram Seth has been glaring at me in a challenging manner from the second shelf for about fifteen years. Every time I climbed the stairs it reminded me that it was waiting for me. This book is 1,474 pages long which is why it has been on the To Be Read shelf for so long, I'm not a fast reader and I simply couldn't face it. When I decided to read longer books in 2019 I planned to build up to this one towards the end of that year but my resolve crumbled when I got there. However, at the beginning of January I decided that I felt ready to tackle it and if it's the only book I read this year, that will be fine. I started reading it on 2nd January and I am enjoying it very much. I'm more than halfway through and hoping to finish by the end of half term on 21st February but if I don't, I shall just carry on enjoying it until I reach the end. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><b>Knitting</b></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dS7xj59EAs8/YBirhJonZEI/AAAAAAAAEPs/MHrgeP_7R3YnUDiD0cunP735lIg7i3YwQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210201_145355.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dS7xj59EAs8/YBirhJonZEI/AAAAAAAAEPs/MHrgeP_7R3YnUDiD0cunP735lIg7i3YwQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20210201_145355.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">I am knitting a jumper for Tom Kitten. It won't fit him until next winter so I'm not working to a deadline and I'm really enjoying the relaxed pace. It's ages since I've knitted anything like this and I'm not the best knitter in the world but the yarn is a merino and cotton blend which is a dream to knit with (I bought it in a sale last summer). I have remembered that I like knitting cables.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><b>Making</b></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-P7IzbNDkLwY/YBir18SKSWI/AAAAAAAAEP8/9fyupRxg358UKJkO8F2V7j31rC9lo6nJwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201224_140935.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-P7IzbNDkLwY/YBir18SKSWI/AAAAAAAAEP8/9fyupRxg358UKJkO8F2V7j31rC9lo6nJwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20201224_140935.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">I have made some gift tags out of the Christmas cards. It's a very simple but very satisfying thing to do. When I was young my sisters and I used to sit around the dining room table together doing this, with pinking shears if my memory serves me right, as my mother crossed the senders off her own Christmas card list and this is the first time I have done it for many years. With something good on the radio to keep me company I spent a very happy afternoon. I am also enjoying the eco-virtuous glow of upcycling. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><b>Baking</b></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-veZfIUHU4yI/YBisW_QlJwI/AAAAAAAAEQE/J-aEUaerkvEsPRd9JWdt85keB2icvxWpgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/IMG-20210126-WA0001.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-veZfIUHU4yI/YBisW_QlJwI/AAAAAAAAEQE/J-aEUaerkvEsPRd9JWdt85keB2icvxWpgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/IMG-20210126-WA0001.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">I very rarely bake these days but the baking tins came out twice this month. Firstly, I decided that it was time to introduce my Salopian grandchildren to their county dish, fidget pie. It went down very well and Tom Kitten was delighted to see that I had adorned the pie with their initials. Obviously, he had to have a slice with the T. Cottontail wolfed hers down in about five seconds flat and I shall definitely make it for them again. The second bake was a special cake, a streusal layer cake, my father's favourite baked in his honour because on Sunday we were</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><b>Celebrating Dad's 80th Birthday</b></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zR4JycDWeXw/YBisiNYiFkI/AAAAAAAAEQI/XvvQMYIZ6JgSfWGIV2n1kQJyXM-BiNOLQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210131_161458.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zR4JycDWeXw/YBisiNYiFkI/AAAAAAAAEQI/XvvQMYIZ6JgSfWGIV2n1kQJyXM-BiNOLQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20210131_161458.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Lockdown birthdays are difficult but Dad assured me that he had a lovely day. During the afternoon thirty-four of us gathered on Zoom to celebrate with him and my mother - all of his children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, nieces, nephews and associated in-laws as well as my aunt and uncle. Some of us had baked birthday cakes and made special desserts, there was fizz and one of his grandsons had prepared a quiz. I felt very emotional afterwards because we should all have been together physically rather than digitally and I may have had a little cry. I also ate cake, and I have eaten cake again today. It is a delicious cake.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">So that was January. Yesterday morning I woke up feeling strangely energetic and I put away my crib and Christmas decorations. Today is Candlemas, the midpoint between the winter solstice and the spring equinox and I have a little plan to mark the day. </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Take care and stay safe.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Love, Mrs Tiggywinkle x</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><b><br /></b></span></p>Mrs Tiggywinklehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18262841220840086776noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-201916595736418385.post-79620623790698076532021-01-11T16:32:00.000+00:002021-01-11T16:32:10.600+00:00Epiphany Traditions<p style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: helvetica;">Hello, thank you for dropping in. Well, it's been a bit of a week, hasn't it? On Sunday 3rd January I watched the Prime Minister on television telling us all that the primary schools would definitely be reopening the following day, and secondary schools would be open to all pupils a fortnight later, so that evening the Best Beloved ironed a shirt, got his "uniform" ready and set the alarm for 6.30am in case his services would be required. The following evening, after many pupils and staff had spent a day in school, sharing whatever they had caught from the people they mixed with during the holiday, I watched Boris on television as he told us all that we were going into lockdown again and that schools would only be open for vulnerable children and the children of keyworkers. Here we go again. Later that evening the Best Beloved suggested that we leave the Christmas tree up until Candlemas on 2nd February! I was very surprised as I've been light-heartedly proposing this for the last eight years or so, ever since I discovered that it was traditionally proper, and he's always dismissed the idea out of hand. We usually take the tree down on 5th January but this year, we didn't. I was delighted - and at a bit of a loose end, locked down and with little else to do, but we spent the day talking things through and trying to formulate a plan to help us through the coming weeks.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Wednesday was 6th January, Epiphany, the day to celebrate the visit of the magi to the holy family, and I duly placed my little wooden figures in the crib and we chalked the door.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pOudo4AbR6k/X_x2InRaTUI/AAAAAAAAEOM/XOv-PSrmsqcAhXPPXoU980DUQQTbgHzAwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210106_143655.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pOudo4AbR6k/X_x2InRaTUI/AAAAAAAAEOM/XOv-PSrmsqcAhXPPXoU980DUQQTbgHzAwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20210106_143655.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Do you know about chalking the door? I didn't until three or four years ago. I did it for the first time last year and I felt that it placed a satisfying full stop at the end of Christmas. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ClQuLXDWeeE/X_x2QJWhfTI/AAAAAAAAEOQ/daAGEk3HH8ICTd94T2Z24S9WZHUSyioDgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210106_143148.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ClQuLXDWeeE/X_x2QJWhfTI/AAAAAAAAEOQ/daAGEk3HH8ICTd94T2Z24S9WZHUSyioDgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20210106_143148.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #283037; text-align: left;">The letters CMB have two meanings: they are the traditional initials of the magi, Caspar, Me</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #283037; text-align: start;">lchior and Balthazar, and they also abbreviate the Latin phrase </span><em style="background-color: white; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #283037; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: start; vertical-align: baseline;">Christus mansionem benedicat</em><span style="background-color: white; color: #283037; text-align: start;">: “May Christ bless the house.” The “+” signs represent the cross, and the “20” at the beginning and the “21” at the end mark this year. The format is the same every year and once I had written the figures, I said a short prayer asking Christ to bless those who live in or visit our home throughout the coming year. In some churches, sticks of chalk are blessed during the service on the Sunday before Epiphany and given to the congregation to take home and use to chalk their doors but I've never been to a church which does that and I thought that God wouldn't mind if I used unblessed chalk. According to a report in The Telegraph there has been a rise in the practice this year and I wonder if that's because we feel more in need of blessings during the pandemic?</span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #283037; text-align: start;">During the afternoon I made a willow star using a kit I bought online just before Christmas. It felt appropriate for Epiphany. All I needed to supply was a pair of scissors and a bit of sticky tape and I spent a very enjoyable hour or so at the kitchen table. Once I'm ready to take it down it can be easily dismantled and packed away ready for next year.</span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-V5CVDakmv00/X_x7pvhNO6I/AAAAAAAAEO8/pJXrkqKVpgsVUv2v7LG9-l6ntM_pybZJACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210106_150820.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-V5CVDakmv00/X_x7pvhNO6I/AAAAAAAAEO8/pJXrkqKVpgsVUv2v7LG9-l6ntM_pybZJACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20210106_150820.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zeI4Ec5SIuQ/X_x2WC_foTI/AAAAAAAAEOU/gvatJNHVx_IMamyJqljO1y_WJvarIn76QCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210106_202727.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /><img border="0" data-original-height="1672" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zeI4Ec5SIuQ/X_x2WC_foTI/AAAAAAAAEOU/gvatJNHVx_IMamyJqljO1y_WJvarIn76QCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20210106_202727.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #283037; text-align: start;">On Saturday we decided that the Christmas tree really couldn't stay up until Candlemas because it had become very dry and with an open fire in the room, it was a fire hazard. I took a fond photo. One of my favourite things to do at Christmas is to sit in this room in the evening with a glass of wine and watch something good on the television in the glow provided by fairy lights, firelight and candlelight.</span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WvgJyajiC3w/X_x2_dgQ3xI/AAAAAAAAEOk/d7Wziz9hOpo7SQZO2_6Do3hjdrrnFrYHACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210110_002207.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WvgJyajiC3w/X_x2_dgQ3xI/AAAAAAAAEOk/d7Wziz9hOpo7SQZO2_6Do3hjdrrnFrYHACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20210110_002207.jpg" /></a></span></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #283037; text-align: start;">On Sunday I slipped out of bed while the Best Beloved was sleeping and began to take off the decorations and pack them away. Surprisingly, the task didn't make me feel as sad as it usually does. I had been very half-hearted about this tree from the outset, the Best Beloved had bought it by himself, ignoring my request and buying a tree which was bigger than I wanted, and I resented the tree a little for its size. More than that, I hadn't placed The Mathematician's own, special decorations on the tree because she was unable to come home for Christmas and I couldn't bear to have them up without her being here, although then I missed those decorations and the tree felt incomplete without them. I mean, how can it really have been Christmas without the Christmas Dragonfly she made when she was a Brownie, or the silver snowflake she made in a D&T class at school???</span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-a6lwnS6tlTk/X_x5-HmrwvI/AAAAAAAAEOw/mnqhlzA0OPIRD96uLbl6eEaomQQc_dNAQCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/The%2BChristmas%2BDragonfly.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-a6lwnS6tlTk/X_x5-HmrwvI/AAAAAAAAEOw/mnqhlzA0OPIRD96uLbl6eEaomQQc_dNAQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/The%2BChristmas%2BDragonfly.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Things feel a little strange today. The front room feels bleaker without the Christmas tree, although we have kept out all our tealight holders and lanterns so there is still plenty of Christmas cheer, and the willow star is shining. Perhaps some wise men will turn up? I think our Prime Minister could do with their help.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">I wish you all a happy and hopeful new year.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Love, Mrs Tiggywinkle x</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p>Mrs Tiggywinklehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18262841220840086776noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-201916595736418385.post-30096333083365010192020-12-31T15:38:00.006+00:002021-03-16T00:58:29.654+00:00This Year's Books - 2020<p style="text-align: justify;"><span _msthash="348621" _msttexthash="169362128" style="font-family: helvetica;">Hello. Here we are at the end of 2020. These days at the end of the year are usually deliciously languid, relished after the hustle and bustle of Christmas and its preparations. This year, however, I have found them too long, probably because there was so little hustle and bustle preceding them and because I haven't seen another human being apart from the Best Beloved since Christmas Day. I haven't been unhappy, we have had two beautiful snowfalls this week and I have eaten mince pies and drunk wine, knitted and watched films, but I am ready to move on now and leave this horrible year behind.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-usaPzW8knP0/X-oKcOWnY8I/AAAAAAAAEMk/qpWGmgtBstovDkx9_Ot5wEdEGnhq6XTnwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/DSC_0266.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1362" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-usaPzW8knP0/X-oKcOWnY8I/AAAAAAAAEMk/qpWGmgtBstovDkx9_Ot5wEdEGnhq6XTnwCLcBGAsYHQ/w214-h300/DSC_0266.JPG" width="214" /></a></div><p _msthash="348622" _msttexthash="322536604" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">It's time to show you the books I have read this year. I'm not a fast reader so I was amazed that I read four books in January (although let's face it, the weather was horrible so I didn't really go out anywhere) and thought that I would have no problem hitting my target of twenty books by the end of November. Four!! The first was a Christmas gift, </span><i style="font-family: helvetica;">Grandmothers </i><span style="font-family: helvetica;">by Salley Vickers. Nothing much happens in this book but it perfectly encapsulates how I feel about being a grandmother. I read a disparaging review of it in The Guardian and it was obvious to me that the critic wasn't a grandmother because she just didn't understand the relationships in the book. I enjoyed it, and I also enjoyed the physical presence of the book: it's a comfortable size in the hand, beautifully bound and has a ribbon bookmark. What more could I want?</span></p><p _msthash="348623" _msttexthash="80857842" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Having finished Grandmothers in four days, I was prompted to reread <i>Miss Garnet's Angel </i></span><span style="font-family: helvetica;">by the same author. I first read this novel when it was published in paperback in 2002 and considered it one of my favourite books. Eighteen years later I still loved it and perhaps understood and appreciated it even more with the benefit of those eighteen years of life experience. It's certainly staying in the house.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span _msthash="348624" _msttexthash="67407197" style="font-family: helvetica;">My next book was <i>Burial Rites </i>by Hannah Kent<i> </i>which<i> </i>fictionalizes the true story of the last woman to be executed in Iceland, in 1829. I've been to Iceland and its landscape, architecture and way of life are intrinsic to the story. I loved it and tried to pass it on to The Teacher but she pointed out to me that she had already read it and lent it to me so it was, in fact, her own book! </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span _msthash="348625" _msttexthash="98365956" style="font-family: helvetica;">January's final book was <i>Agnes Grey </i>by Anne Bronte. I've read this before too, but that was more than thirty years ago and I couldn't remember it. It's a wonderful novel, if you are put off by the idea of reading "the classics" I recommend this as the style is easy to read and it's only 180 pages long. I polished it off in three days and was left outraged and saddened by the way young governesses were treated by their employers in the nineteenth century. </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span _msthash="348626" _msttexthash="253055894" style="font-family: helvetica;">So, I thought I should read Miss Bronte's other novel, <i>The Tenant of Wildfell Hall</i>. To be quite honest, it's not as good as many people proclaim it to be and I spent weeks mired in it. I think my biggest problem with it was that I didn't sympathise with the narrator, although there's also the fact that while The Tenant is supposed to be an independent woman, she's ultimately reliant on her family's financial and practical support and she makes an annoying marriage choice. I'm trying not to spoil it for you in case you want to read it yourself but really, don't bother, read Jane Eyre instead. This paperback book has now fallen apart, having been used for serious study twice and reading "enjoyment" twice more so out it will go.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span _msthash="348627" _msttexthash="99396817" style="font-family: helvetica;">After trudging through that one I moved on to <i _istranslated="1">The Scent of Water </i>by Elizabeth Goudge<i _istranslated="1">. </i> I picked this up from a free stall because I read The Herb of Grace by the same author three years ago and enjoyed it very much. This one started off well but I was a bit disappointed by the end. I thought it was a bit old-fashioned, but that doesn't usually put me off a book, I like old-fashioned, so it must have been something more. However, I'm glad I read it and it can leave now.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span _msthash="348628" _msttexthash="72637708" style="font-family: helvetica;">That one took me up to the middle of April and I read two more books that month - we were in lockdown and I still couldn't go out anywhere. The first was <i>The Music Shop </i>by Rachel Joyce<i>.</i> This is the second of her books which I have read and enjoyed. It is about music but it's really about people and relationships and community, subjects in which I am very interested, and it's very well-written.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cf9R4xvbrOk/X-oNQ2jgJQI/AAAAAAAAEMw/nvMrPWKll_Q19fXnmOC3dIsFuTAB6GENgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/DSC_0268.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1362" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cf9R4xvbrOk/X-oNQ2jgJQI/AAAAAAAAEMw/nvMrPWKll_Q19fXnmOC3dIsFuTAB6GENgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/DSC_0268.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><p _msthash="609050" _msttexthash="119295631" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; text-align: left;">Next came </span><i style="text-align: left;">Station Eleven </i><span style="font-family: helvetica; text-align: left;">by Emily St. John Mandel</span><span style="font-family: helvetica; text-align: left;">. I really shouldn't have read this but it was so good that I couldn't help myself. In the opening chapter, a virulent new strain of influenza appears and eventually wipes out 99% of the world's population. Do you see why I shouldn't have read it? It's a marvellous novel about memory, loss and the importance of art and if we weren't in the middle of a global pandemic I would be urging you all to read it but it's a bit too close to the bone for these times.</span></p></span><p></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span _msthash="348629" _msttexthash="495759212" style="font-family: helvetica;">In May I read <i>Holy Fools </i>by Joanne Harris. I have read a few of her books and enjoyed them and this one didn't disappoint. However, after I finished it I decided that I needed to give myself a good talking to. There's always something dark in her novels and, on top of Station Eleven, it really didn't do my mood any good. There was enough darkness in the real world without escaping to it in books so I decided that my next book shouldn't be one of the serious novels lining my To Be Read shelf but instead it should be something light and comforting. So when Martin Jarvis began reading <i>Just William </i>by Richmal Crompton every morning on Radio 4 I reached my dusty paperback down from the shelves which hold the books I have had since I was a child and, for the first time in more than forty years, opened the cover. It was perfect. Actually, Martin Jarvis was perfect, even the Best Beloved enjoyed listening with me and he actually allowed me to read chunks of my book aloud to him! Amusing, light and comforting, it was just what I needed.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span _msthash="348630" _msttexthash="73964267" style="font-family: helvetica;">In June I continued in the same vein and read <i>What Katy Did </i>by Susan M. Coolidge. Again, it is more than forty years since I read this, and it provided a good escape from reality. This cheap copy was not mine, it must have come into the house for one of my daughters, and when I found the first spelling mistake I knew that it would have to go as soon as I finished it. I cannot abide spelling mistakes.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span _msthash="348631" _msttexthash="146830645" style="font-family: helvetica;">I had really slowed up by this point. I tried several grown-up novels and cast them aside before I had a brainwave and fished out <i>The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry </i>by Rachel Joyce. I know that I'm a bit late to the party with this one but honestly, please read it if you haven't. Again, it's about the healing powers of relationships and community and it's beautifully written. Like The Music Shop, this one was passed on to me by my mother so Ma, if you're reading, please would you like to lend me The Love Song of Miss Queenie Hennessy, the companion novel?</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span _msthash="348632" _msttexthash="314207452" style="font-family: helvetica;">I completed Harold's journey on 6th July and I didn't pick up a book for another two months. My brain just wouldn't settle down and let me become absorbed in a novel. However, in the middle of September we went away to the seaside for a long weekend and I wanted to take a book with me, just in case. I scanned the shelf and spotted <i>Coastliners</i> by Joanne Harris, another novel which has been sitting waiting for more years than I care to remember, and I thought that as I would be by the coast, this book might be suitable as I do find that reading a book in some context enhances my enjoyment. It was indeed suitable. Ms Harris always crafts a fine story and I enjoyed it very much, sitting on the beach in the sunshine, until the denouement, which I thought was rushed and so lacked credibility. However, I am glad that I read it.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span _msthash="348633" _msttexthash="95200638" style="font-family: helvetica;">Next came <i>Ballet Shoes</i> by Noel Streatfield, another of my childhood books, this one dating from the 1970s when a Puffin paperback cost 25p. I love this story SO much, before I wanted to be Jo March I wanted to be Pauline Fossil. Reading this book again was easy, calming, comforting and really quite delightful and I didn't choose anything else for a while afterwards, not because I didn't want to read but because I wanted to keep living in this one.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span _msthash="348634" _msttexthash="64981033" style="font-family: helvetica;">Book number fifteen was a properly grown-up book, <i>The Other Side</i> by Mary Gordon. I didn't like it. I stuck with it because I hoped that it would get better and because I always finish a book once I start it but it didn't get better and with one exception, the characters didn't become more likeable. This book was passed on to me and I shall now be passing it out of the door.</span></p><p _msthash="348635" _msttexthash="61442459" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Reading</span><i style="font-family: helvetica;"> My Dream of You</i><span style="font-family: helvetica;"> by Nuala O'Faolain brought me to the end of November. This was passed on to me by my bookish aunt who was interested in our family's Irish heritage and it's about a middle-aged woman who returns to Ireland after living in London for all of her adult life to research a nineteenth century mystery. I enjoyed it and I am glad that I read it. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wBgLrdyPNVc/X-yRmLr1JOI/AAAAAAAAENI/prCKItLVuFYqi5wJNhXwOD2-JbLvqrbwQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/DSC_0267.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1362" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wBgLrdyPNVc/X-yRmLr1JOI/AAAAAAAAENI/prCKItLVuFYqi5wJNhXwOD2-JbLvqrbwQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/DSC_0267.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span _msthash="348998" _msttexthash="89302564" style="font-family: helvetica;">That brought me almost to the end of November. There are only sixteen books here so I missed my target of twenty but I'm not really disappointed because <i>I have read sixteen books</i>, which is fourteen more than I read in 2017, and there was a point this year when I thought that I may only read eleven, and let's not forget that I slogged through The Tenant of Wildfell Hall and The Other Side, for which I deserve some sort of endurance award.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qkE3Y_vH0xw/X-3sChGbrWI/AAAAAAAAENU/1b-vC7NfwqQfJkkupRV08DE5njNaa0uQwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/DSC_0302.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1362" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qkE3Y_vH0xw/X-3sChGbrWI/AAAAAAAAENU/1b-vC7NfwqQfJkkupRV08DE5njNaa0uQwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/DSC_0302.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span _msthash="242723" _mstmutation="1" _msttexthash="560398696"><span _mstmutation="1" style="font-family: helvetica;">At the beginning of December I pulled out these books to dip into through the month. Nigel Slater's </span><i _mstmutation="1" style="font-family: helvetica;">The Christmas Chronicles</i><span _mstmutation="1" style="font-family: helvetica;"> was new last year and Jostein Gaarder's </span><i _mstmutation="1" style="font-family: helvetica;">The Christmas Mystery </i><span _mstmutation="1" style="font-family: helvetica;"> was new the year before. Each of them is a bit like an Advent calender, with a short chapter to read each day. They are relatively new friends but I intend them to become old friends. New for this year was </span><i _mstmutation="1" style="font-family: helvetica;">Yuletide</i><span _mstmutation="1" style="font-family: helvetica;">, which is great if you are at all interested in British customs, traditions and folklore, and </span><i _mstmutation="1" style="font-family: helvetica;">Dorothy Wordsworth's Christmas Birthday</i><span _mstmutation="1" style="font-family: helvetica;">, which is a poem written by Carol Ann Duffy and beautifully illustrated by Tom Duxbury. I like to read my battered old copy of The Tailor of Gloucester every Christmas as that is when it is set, and you already know that I like to read a book in context if it's possible. Growing up I found this story quite creepy, all those mice scurrying about behind the skirting boards and being trapped under teacups by Simpkin, ready for his dinner, but I like it much more now and find it heartwarming. Beatrix Potter claimed that this was her favourite of the Tales.</span></span><p></p><p _msthash="367718" _msttexthash="355833933" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Now, all this dipping was fine and festive BUT I found myself wanting to read something longer, a proper story. I wasn't sure quite what because I didn't want anything completely immersive when there were Christmas preparations to be made, and I really wanted something seasonal, but what to choose? Then I had a lightbulb moment: I remembered that my mother had told me about an article in The Telegraph at the beginning of December which stated, </span><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><i>"A warm November with Christmas decorations up early has led to a reverse Narnia, where it is always Christmas and never winter." </i>Narnia! I took out of its slipcase my precious copy of <i>The Lion, The Witch & The Wardrobe</i> by C.S. Lewis. It made a perfect December read, particularly for this year - ice and snow, Father Christmas, spring emerging to bring hope and the triumph of good over evil. I'm sure you can see the metaphor.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IlW_DwyM1vA/X-3s3cgvEpI/AAAAAAAAENc/7Vs9MYerexwO7ayvZ2elLQ9IEBNRG7wawCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/DSC_0298.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1362" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IlW_DwyM1vA/X-3s3cgvEpI/AAAAAAAAENc/7Vs9MYerexwO7ayvZ2elLQ9IEBNRG7wawCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/DSC_0298.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span _msthash="367719" _msttexthash="75440352" style="font-family: helvetica;">My last December read was a gift from Father Christmas (whose handwriting is identical to my mother's - isn't that funny?). This is not my first copy of A Christmas Carol but it is the first one which is new to me and it is a beautiful edition, sitting well in the hand and with a good-sized font, which is increasingly important to me as the years pass. I read it over a couple of days after Christmas.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JRcPuXOrT4E/X-3t5T3STdI/AAAAAAAAENo/lbRr0nStTnwRfgut0xsBizql6PmmAJpnACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201231_145754.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JRcPuXOrT4E/X-3t5T3STdI/AAAAAAAAENo/lbRr0nStTnwRfgut0xsBizql6PmmAJpnACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20201231_145754.jpg" /></a></div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><p _msthash="633958" _msttexthash="89555401" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">So, that was my year in books. It has been the strangest year of my life and I know that some people embraced the opportunity afforded them by lockdown and read dozens of books but I found myself unable to do that </span><span style="font-family: helvetica;">and at times when I felt that the ground was always shifting beneath my feet I found stability, comfort and relief in reading books I loved when I was a child and </span><span style="font-family: helvetica;">novels about the importance of caring human relationships.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span _msthash="633959" _msttexthash="4631120" style="font-family: helvetica;">Tonight we shall light fire and candles, eat, drink and be merry, just the two of us, as usual. </span> </p></span><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span _msthash="367720" _msttexthash="280761" style="font-family: helvetica;"> See you next year. </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span _msthash="367721" _msttexthash="449007" style="font-family: helvetica;">Love, Mrs Tiggywinkle x</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></p>Mrs Tiggywinklehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18262841220840086776noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-201916595736418385.post-31712267738103573702020-12-28T16:28:00.001+00:002020-12-28T16:28:29.773+00:00Merry Christmas 1990<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Happy Christmas! I know that many people start taking down their decorations now but I keep a traditional Christmas and today is the fourth day. Nobody has sent me any colley birds but it will be Christmas here until Epiphany on 6th January, when my three little magi will arrive at the crib. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Something rather special happened on the day I wrote my last post, 23rd December. The daughter of a dear friend sent me a message which said, "Quick! Look on your doorstep," so I did, and there I found a shallow, blue Wedgwood box bound with satin ribbon. I brought it inside, out of the rain, opened it and found a lovely plate, this lovely plate, which is now sitting in the middle of my dining table - </span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EIq9Sgn3mL4/X-oCopLsabI/AAAAAAAAEMY/SFUDAiO3BmQFoyT3UykETmhevDnIRD3VwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/DSC_0294.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1977" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EIq9Sgn3mL4/X-oCopLsabI/AAAAAAAAEMY/SFUDAiO3BmQFoyT3UykETmhevDnIRD3VwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/DSC_0294.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Along with the plate there was a card which says, "In commemoration of the year we met and the amazing memories that followed." The card is next to me on my desk right now. I felt quite overwhelmed. My friend is a quiet, shy person and we see each other infrequently - and not at all this year - but we have shared some wonderful and some dreadful experiences over these thirty years, the kind of experiences which form strong bonds. I wept as those memories filled me up but I wasn't just weeping for the memories, I was weeping because at a bleak time when my emotional health has really been stretched, somebody had put time, money and energy into showing me that they love me and care about me. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">I intend to learn from this experience. You don't always know how other people are coping and a small gesture can make a big difference. I want the people who I care about to know that they are important to me. But that's for next year, right now I am enjoying these quiet days between Christmas and New Year with good books, mince pies and crochet. This morning we watched the snow fall for a couple of hours, covering the view from the window with a pure white blanket for a few hours, although it has gone now. Right now, things seem as they should be.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">See you soon.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Love, Mrs Tiggywinkle x</span></div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></p>Mrs Tiggywinklehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18262841220840086776noreply@blogger.com18