Imperfections

I went to Horncastle yesterday. The town has a huge number of antique and junk shops. I'm quite the fan of the junk shop, so I can't go to Horncastle and not visit The Old Co-op. Junk is piled literally to the ceiling. I am always drawn to all the old crockery and all the bits and pieces. I wanted some tablespoons to go with my recent re-introduction to cookery. So I picked up some spoons, for the princely sum of 50 pence. For five. A bargain was had.

The thing is, I love those old things. They're imperfect. I like it when they have some imperfections. A small crack, or chip, maybe a dent. There's a story behind every one of those marks.
I like Ikea, I do, I love the storage and I love the marketplace and fabric. But for furniture? It's not really me. I want something that has been here for decades already. Maybe a century. I want it to be imperfect and most likely desperately unfashionable.

I love the trunks that sit in my conservatory, they sport a few dents, a little bit of rust on the outside. But where have they been? What made the dents, when did they get damp to become rusty? So many stories.
The chairs in my lounge, who sat there before me?
My display cabinet; before it was home to my Droopy memorabilia obsession what was displayed in there?
Which books lived in my book slide?
What was in the vintage suitcases that form my bedside 'table'?

All of these items carry a little bit of damage and I love them all the more for it.

Song Of The Week XX

This is a strange one. Not the song, the song is beautifully delicious.
I saw these guys live and didn't like them. I don't know why but they just didn't touch me somehow.
Some months later I was in a charity shop and saw their album and bought it.
I have no idea what possessed me to do so when I didn't like them, but I took it home, played it and it became one of my all time favourite albums. I can listen to it and concentrate on it, or I can have it as background music during dinner.
The voices work so well together, the instrument and voices just feel as if they were always meant to be together, musical soul mates.

The Be Good Tanyas - The Littlest Birds:

For My Own Pleasure

This is here for no reason other than the fact I found it on my PC this morning and it absolutely kills me.
I know, I know, I'm puerile. I can't help it.
But damn, it's funny.

St Georges Day

I've lost St. George and the Union Jack

It's my flag too and I want it back

- Roots by Show of Hands

Today is St Georges Day.

Not that you'd really know it. I'm not really very political but I do sincerely believe that it should be a national holiday. I'm English and I'm proud to be so. It seems such a shame that we don't celebrate it.
I was over at StGeorgesDay.com and I added my vote to the count.
As I voted yes the current results came onto screen, over one million people want it to be recognised. Approximately 45,000 don't. I'd love to know why not.

Upon reading a little today about St Georges Day, I noted that it used to be a day of major feasting, not unlike Christmas. So what happened?

Come on, the dude slayed a dragon. Let's give him some respect!
But seriously, as the song Roots up there at the beginning talks about, we do need to know about our roots; where we came from.
I am currently reading a biography of Boudica and it's fascinating, but it has brought about in me a deeper dissatisfaction for the education system. Not nearly enough is taught about our history, or at least it wasn't in my schooldays and I think that's a terrible shame. We have so much history, going back so many thousands of years and it is being neglected.
It saddens me.

I'm on a mission to, slowly, learn more. Boudica has been fascinating. And obviously the fact she was a strong red haired women doesn't hurt in endearing her to me.

So... Happy St Georges Day!

Think Before You...

...do almost anything.

I should live by this. Unfortunately I'm more of the school of acting now, thinking later. This doesn't work for me and yet I never change.

Last week I sat doing my friends nails. I was doing a silk wrap on all her nails, it's been quite a while since I attempted such a thing, but dug out my resin, resin activator and silk. We were ready for action.
Only the resin didn't seem to be flowing. I shook it. Nothing much happened. I removed the tip and it looked as though the top of the resin bottle didn't a little cutting off.
So, instead of reaching for the scissors, I put it in my mouth.
You see, this is where the thinking before acting would have been useful.
So I bit, with my molars, the tip of the resin bottle.
The resin is not unlike superglue, the activator serves to sort of make it set instantly.
Anyway, there I am, biting the tip of the resin bottle. I noticed a strange taste and sensation.
I had partially glued my tongue to my teeth. And created quite a lump of resin on my teeth.
I'm a genius me.
I managed to detach my tongue (without any pain miraculously) and then proceeded to pick at the lump of resin, which had flowed in between my teeth, to both sides and along the biting edge. I can't tell you how tempting it is to tell about the occlusal, distal and mesial aspects of my teeth that were affected.
I picked and picked and only tiny pieces of resin parted. I found my floss, which had little effect. I went and brushed my teeth. Nothing.

I'm free of the resin now, and my teeth are once again smooth.
The only thing is, I'm left with this feeling that I haven't learnt my lesson.

On the upside, I did finish the nails and they weren't half bad!

Acid

I'm wondering what would happen if someone ever slipped me some acid.
My world is so surreal without assistance that I can only be vaguely terrified at the very idea.

Last night I dreamt I was teaching these llama-esque creatures how to avoid a lion attack, using an old stocking and a tennis ball.
Seriously.
I wish I could have seen my own face when I woke up from that dream. The look of confusion must have been priceless.

The creatures were really cute though.
They had llama heads but no necks, with thick llama coats and they were really dark brown. I'm not entirely sure how they were able to understand me. Or even if they could as I appeared to be repeating myself a lot.

I've just realised this is about my fourth dream featuring an attack by a big cat - although, as a bonus, I was no longer the target. Cute llama thing was.

I'm weird right?

Song Of The Week XIX

I really, really love the Levellers.
I love getting to dance like mad, jumping around and singing along and just having a brilliant time.

However, they are also responsible for the worst gig of my life. Not because the music was bad (I'm doubting, for me, that it ever could be!) but the sheer number of people there and the ensuing crush. I've been to a good number of gigs and of course folk festivals, but never anything like this. The thing with folkies is that we're a pretty respectful bunch, if we bump when we're jumping or dancing then apologies are generally profuse. So, I felt quite safe standing at the front for the gig. I'm generally to be found near the front as I like to be in the thick of it, the atmosphere is a world away to that when you stand at the back. I can't explain it. Anyway, there Gary and I stood. More and more people piled in. Gary repeatedly asked if I was ok, I was. He was concerned there'd be a rush when the band came on. I said it would be fine. We stood through two appalling support acts. I actually can't express how bad. But the second was bombarded with bottles and allsorts, it was horrible to watch.
Then the Levellers came out. Gary was right, there was a rush. Or rather a surge, everyone pushed forward and I found myself standing at a 45 degree angle, unable to either straighten up because of the pressure of people behind me or even move or breathe properly. I thought it'd ease when the song started. But instead everyone started jumping, which I expected, I'm normally one of the throng leaping around, only this time, I was what they hit on the way back down from the jump. I got an elbow to the collar bone and momentarily thought I'd been really hurt. I wailed quite loudly and a random bloke yelled if I was ok and sweetly stood sideways on to the crowd so the man with the dangerous elbow wasn't able to get me again. After a song or two I went into blind panic, desperate to get out. Gary had to jump up and physically throw himself backwards into the crowd to force people back so I could get out.
Even he was genuinely frightened by crushing feeling of all those people leaning on us.

So, whilst that goes down as the worst gig of my life, I can still be found near the front jumping around with everyone else. And it's never been like that again.
I love that the songs are something you can feel passionate about and really sing along and feel the lyrics mean something. We all love a good protest song.

Levellers - Dirty Davey:


Dirty Davey has to be up there as one of my favourite tracks, although there really are so very many that I love. I think that's also something I love about seeing them live - knowing so much of it.
The last time I saw them, I was exhausted from dancing when the started playing 'What you know', I was busy bouncing along when they started the fiddle part and Mark started screaming "Faster" into the mic. I leant towards Harriet and advised her that I thought I might die. Then he yelled "Faster" again, and I believe I begged for no faster!

In fact, so you can understand my pain - here is that very song. I jumped the whole length of this and check out the speed you need to keep up... I need to work on my fitness. Either that or I sincerely hope that anyone leaping around for a couple of hours would be as equally knackered as I was!

A Guffaw

To add to the plethora of posts today I have to add this.

Following a 'conversation' about this scene, I had to post it, it makes me laugh so hard in a manner not dissimilar to that seen here.
Many moons ago, when I was a nanny, the kids referred to it as my donkey laugh.
Which is just as attractive as it sounds.

Dakota Jamming

On Tuesday night I trotted along with the boys to their jam session at Metheringham Music Factory. As I have absolutely no talent - musically, I obviously sit on the sofa and observe. Seriously, some years ago I was given a tin whistle, after thirty minutes of instruction was advised to put it down, keep it as an ornament and never play it again. It's that bad. And as for my singing. It gives you shivers, in the worst way possible.
Anyway, there I sat being sung and jammed to. It's like a private party!
I had the task of taking photographs of the boys with one or two of the cameras present and discovered the video option.
The result of my film-making is below, and I'm sure you'll agree I have a future in the film industry. Ahem.
However, this was my Tuesday evening:


They have yet to decide on a band name, and quite frankly, are taking longer than a woman choosing shoes.
They're sounding good together so it's time for a name boys!

Flood

I had a dream. A strange one. Funny that.
I was sitting in my lounge, or rather I was sprawled on my floor. I have no idea why!
I spotted, from the corner of my eye a slow drip near the door frame. I watched it for a moment and pointed it out to the friends who materialised on my sofa. Then I looked up and noticed, from the low wooden beams in my ceiling, water was running onto the floor. (They are low too! My ceilings are so low I can touch them and I'm 5'1!) I ran up my stairs and into my bathroom. Somehow the room had flooded because the bath had been left running, but instead of flooding out the door and down the stairs it was standing in the room about a foot high.
For some reason, my bed was also in the bathroom. (I have a big bathroom but my big bed definitely wouldn't fit!)
I then dropped to my knees, sat in the water and cried. A moment later a friend came up the stairs and gave me a hug.

What the hell?

Actually I think a friend relating a story of electrocuting himself refitting a light after a burst pipe might have affected my dream world, but why was my bed in the bathroom? I love my bed where it is. In my bedroom!

Faces

Some years ago, well a lot of years ago, probably a couple of decades in fact, I was on holiday with my Dad. We were down in Cornwall, which I absolutely love. I don't remember exactly where we were visiting, but I have this crystal clear recollection of walking into a small shop, probably a craft centre of sorts, and there being a working artist.
On display were a few of his pieces which were ok, none of the grabbed me.
Until I saw one entitled 'Cliff Faces'.
It was simply a painting of a cliff face, but as you looked at it you could see it was so much more. Each crag and crack on that cliff face revealed the features of a rocky face. Eyes, nose and mouth appeared. Then another and another and another. The entire cliff face was covered with this almost imperceptible faces, until you took the time to look.
I got lost in that painting.
I wanted, more than anything, to take it home with me.
To this day I wonder where it is and who eventually got to take it home with them.
I'm not sure what reminded me of that painting this morning, I think of it relatively frequently and always wonder if, one day, I'll come across it again.

&#%@^$@&£#*£&^*@#

Bleep.
Bleep.
Bleep.
Today my Sky died. Completely. Not a single channel remains. Damn it.
So it's £65 thank you very much to get it repaired. Shit!
And again! Shit!
I decided to watch a movie to calm myself.
Except my DVD player decided to whirr so loudly it drowned out the TV.
So I decided to give my DVD recorder a whirl.
Yeah right, that decided I hadn't actually inserted a disc at all.

I know I said I wanted some adventure or drama.
But not this.
I'm going to go and curl up in a ball now and bemoan, to myself, the lack of technology.

Song Of The Week XVIII

This is another Cambridge first, a lot of my music seems to come from acts I've seen live there. I tend to really rate an artist by how good they are live, which is one reason I spend little time listening to the radio - other than the fact, my taste in music is so sparsely catered for. Serves me right for being weird I guess!

Shemekia Copeland - Wild Wild Woman:

She rocks!
I just love this song. Sadly there was no video available for her song Big Lovin' Woman, which is a damn shame as that one is excellent!

Floral Accents

So, when I rule the world I've decided that there will have to be a weekly delivery of flowers to every home. They lift the spirits.

I'm left in charge of watering and attempting not to kill the plants at Mum & Tim's house whilst they enjoy France. What this also means is that I'm free to pilfer the flowers found in the garden (as found here - some way down), now there's a surfeit of flowers and it's hard to choose. I've managed to fill three vases! Well ok, I've filled one vase and two posy vases, but the thought is the same. I love the posy vases because all those little flowers that you don't feel able to pick do at last have a home in the house.

They're pretty huh?
Now I just need to work on my camera skills.
Or live in a house that isn't so dark inside.

Adventure

There is a distinct lack of adventure in my life.
I'm bored.
I know that I usually have a reasonable amount of drama to tide me over but even that has calmed down.
Hmm, unless this is the calm before the much heralded storm?
I am restless, something will have to be done....

Winning

Not really. As if we'd ever win the legendary Tap & Spile pub quiz. Although we didn't do too shabbily and didn't come last either. Although it would have been tough to beat the 4 1/2 points by the guys on the table next to us. We only had 70 more than them.

I heard two lads complain about not being alive in 1985 and how were they supposed to know anything about Live Aid if they weren't even born. Damn them. They were very funny actually as were the shit scorers!

Rachael and I were talking on Saturday - when we were in the Tap - I do seem to spend rather a lot of time in there it would seem! Anyway, she was questioning whether Lincoln was a friendly, sociable town. I asserted that it definitely was, but it depended a lot on where you went. If you go to the Tap, or the Brewer, even The Still, then absolutely it's friendly. People talk to one another, random chats occur for no reason other than conversation. If you hit the "High Street" pubs then I think the atmosphere is so vastly different, people aren't as interested in chatting for the sake of conversation, which is probably why you'll never find me there. I don't think that the Tap could ever be described as anything but friendly.

The table to the right of ours this evening was home to a young lady wearing a huge 21st badge, apparently waiting for some friends. A couple came along and asked if they could share the table, she nodded and they sat down. Within moments they were together as one team in the quiz. I'm just not sure that would happen in those High Street pubs. Similarly, Rachael and I did the general quiz and absorbed a woman who was waiting for friends into our team. It just makes your evening so much more enjoyable!

On an unrelated note... A number of the fields on the road approaching my wee village are full of daffodils, so as you drive down the road there are seas of yellow. A few days ago as I drove home, a fine mist of rain was falling and I watched a rainbow start to develop, apparently bursting straight from a daffodil field. I watched as the arc grew and grew, then the other end became visible and the two ends stretched to meet, high in the sky and I remembered my wonderment on rainbows when I was younger. I always imagined that rainbows would be tangible, that if you were able to get close you would be able to feel them and that they'd feel like the softest of blankets. I dreamt that you would be able to slowly climb the arc and then slide down again, cushioned within it. I always imagine riding rainbows every time I see them, never fails to make me smile.

More Tiles & Magic

I'm just home from another night in town. I've discovered that this being teetotal lark can really make for a very cheap night.
Ha! I AM a cheap date!

Once again I could be found installed in The Tap & Spile. Not that I'm predictable or anything. We stood at the bar and ordered drinks. (I just typed drunks by mistake, imagine ordering drunks, what would you do with them? Other than laugh, obviously! No wait, you'd be laughing AT them, not WITH them.) Whilst being in relatively flat shoes, I still cast my eye around for a place to sit and noticed three gents sitting in a corner and hoarding two apparently empty chairs. I made my way over...
"Is anyone sitting here?" I politely asked.
"Yes" replied the middle gent, "You!"
Hurrah, a seat to rest my (not) aching feet.

Walter appeared again, the local elderly magician. He made his way over to our table and proceeded to entertain us with his magic. I still don't understand the card tricks, the gents at the table suggested the cards were marked, but I didn't see that! Walter leant in, asked me to keep the bed warm and grinned. I gave him a wink and promised I'd do just that. He stood up straight, looked at the gents and announced he was on a promise. He then leant in again and enquired as to whether I was on the pill and would we be ok? If only he didn't use the same lines on all the women in the pub I might feel special!
We all dropped coins into Walter's collection tin and off he went to the next table. Although he did return later to ask me if I was ready to go and nodded his head towards the door. I pulled!

A couple of the gents headed out to the smoking area and we chatted to the remaining gent, who advised us they were largely retired RAF guys, once stationed in Texas (one of the three was definitely sporting an American twang) and we swapped tales of Texas, although he appeared only to be a fan of the bargains to be had in Walmart, not the place itself!
He leant in a little and said conspiratorially that they'd never actually been to the moon. I felt the world of the conspiracy theory open in front of me. I'm quite the fan of conspiracy theories, but I may just have spent too much time reading Fortean Times in years gone by.

I had a really splendid evening, in fact I had a splendid evening last night and a super day today. Splendid and super all round. Hurrah old chap what ho!

I went to the auction today and didn't spend a penny. Not one. Despite the fact that three pieces of Sylvac sold for £8 and I had to sit on my hands.
And, they were three pieces I don't already own.
AND they were green.
And breathe.
I love Sylvac I do.

As a total aside. I wish someone could tell me the mathematical equation for figuring out the radius or diameter of a circle when you only know the circumference. I'll just have to Google it, but I actually woke up this morning thinking about it. I couldn't get Pi out of my head but could only remember it was 3.14, not how it related to anything. That'll serve me right for saying I'd never need to use it.
This is what comes of trying to make a skirt with no pattern. Maths is needed. Damn it.
However, I've just realised it's almost 1am and trying to remind myself of mathematical equations is a really bad idea. Actually it's a bad idea at any time of day.

Song Of The Week XVII

I felt like something a little different this week and I absolutely adore this band, it's a bit different to the norm to say the least, but that can only ever be a good thing.
I actually prefer the album version with the chap doing his part for scaring the living crap out of me, but this is good 'n' creepy too.

Varttina - Aijo

Tell me what you think....

Tapioca

I was standing with my sister, Gin, earlier today, trying to relate one of my favourite Whose Line Is It Anyway moments and decided that I just had to link to it here.
It's absolutely hilarious - well to me anyway.

It's so unusual to see Ryan Stiles completely lose it as he does here and never fails to make me giggle wildly.

Tell me you didn't chortle!