Keeping It Brief

I'm still harbouring my germs and am utterly shattered but have spent tonight watching the season finale episodes of both The Walking Dead & My Mad Fat Diary.

The Walking Dead response as the credits rolled was "what the hell? That's it? meh"
Also, where in the hell is Carol? I need to know!
But still, I had a list of characters that I didn't want killing off and they did get to live.
After all this much is understood:

And as the credits rolled for My Mad Fat Diary? My heart was happy, I contained a whoop of joy. Excellent ending. I am joyous. Excellent. Super. Fabulous. Great!

And now to bed.
Tomorrow is April 1st, end of my self-imposed blogging challenge, we'll ignore the fact that it's officially after midnight, but I only missed 1 of 31 posts, so I'm giving myself a pass.

 

Veggie Love

As I'm a vegetarian, I love vegetables, but it's wonderful to see that they love me back:

Isn't that adorable?!
I had a heart shaped mushroom once too. 
But I ate it.

Dream Weaver

An evening of willow weaving was held in my village hall, I popped along and had a splendid evening, we all had a go at weaving an obelisk and all went home with a willow wreath.
I'd wanted to try it for so long and I was thrilled to have a chance, and then our tutor, Jess, announced she was going to start a willow group, where we'd be able to get together, suggest things we'd like to make and do a new project every month.  It was perfect & I signed up, in the time since we've made all sorts of different things.

A woven heart that sits in my garden:

A corn dolly style dragonfly:

Either side of my garden swing seat sit some woven obelisks that my sweet peas grew up and around last year, I made these from memory of what we'd been taught at the evening, so I'm looking forward to doing them again with supervision!

And another obelisk at the other side of the garden, they weren't perfect but for a beginner they worked just fine...

And we made hurdles too, I'm going to make some more of these and have them all around the edges of my beds, they'll give support to the plants that start to fall forward, as they lean, keen to grab each and every ray of sun that they can

It was bloody hard to take a photo of the flower I made last year, but the centre of the flower is the same as the way you start off a basket, not that I can ever quite remember how it's done, but I do love how intricately pretty it is..

And here's Bogart, my hare, one of the things I most wanted to make when I had the chance to learn willow weaving was a hare, so I am utterly, utterly thrilled with him, he's so adorable!  Look at him! Look at how goddamn adorable he is!
I might be somewhat proud of Bogart, I'm not sure if I made that clear... ;)

 At one of the sessions last year we were making a bottomless basket, that you could put around a plant pot to make it more decorative, it's safe to say I did not find French randing easy to pick up. I was flummoxed, so by the end of the session, my basket was quite small as I'd been incredibly slow in my weaving.  I wasn't sure what to do with it, and I hadn't even cut off the excess rods and correctly finished it, I'd just put it straight in the garage until I could decide what to do with it.  Well, this weekend I decided I'd let it be an obelisk, so I purchased a large enough pot, filled it with compost, planted a climbing fuschia and added the makeshift obelisk.  I'm actually really pleased with it and it's now sitting right by my front door:

It's somewhat annoying that a bird pooped on the boards outside my house and all I can see is my obelisk and a blob of white bird poop.  But here's the thing, how did it poop at such an angle? Did it come in sideways for a direct hit? I possibly live in the vicinity of acrobatic poopers. And there we have a sentence that I never thought I'd utter.

My current project is a large basket, which is actually taking three sessions to complete, and it means I'm back to French randing again, but it's actually going mostly okay.  As it's going to be a lot taller than the few inches in the photo above, it should prove to be excellent practice and I might finally get my head around this weaving technique!

I've also made a woven Christmas tree and a wee angel.  Well, actually a wee wonky angel.  She has a definite lilt when she stands, but she'd do fine on the top of a huge Christmas tree!  Not that she'll ever make it to a Christmas tree, she'll just have to remain a lilting angel!

Overall I'm just thrilled that I finally got the chance to learn a new skill. 
Also, as I have problems with both anxiety and depression, it's been a huge challenge for me to go out and do something social in a group with new people.  I've come to feel really comfortable there, Jess is lovely and my fellow weavers are a wonderful, it's been a hugely positive thing in my life, with far more benefits to me than simply beginning to learn a new craft.
Thanks are definitely due to Jess for her patient tutoring & splendid company, and also for sharing my mild obsession with ribbon and fonts.

Lyrics

I got a new tattoo last year:

It had been a while since I'd indulged my love of ink so it was time.
These words come from a song by Frank Turner, the whole lyric is "If that's your road then take it, but it's not the road for me"
The first time I ever heard the song and that line, it really spoke to me, to be honest the entire song is filled with lyrics that speak to me, like "I'm happy and I'm settled in the person I've become" and then there's "And I won't sit down, And I won't shut up, And most of all I will not grow up".  I feel like parts of it are about me, but isn't that often the way with music?
We find songs that speak to us, songs that appear to accurately reflect our lives, songs that seem as though the writer was talking directly to us.

If that's your road then take it but it's not the road for me...I like how that infers that we all get to do what we want to do and it's okay if we don't want to do the same thing, we get to live our own lives, making our own choices. It all boils down to live and let live in it's simplest sense.

In a deeper way it speaks to me about how, during my journey of body acceptance & feminism, I'm learning to be non-judgemental. 
Somehow we're all taught to judge things that just aren't important...they shouldn't be wearing that, their make-up is wrong, that outfit isn't flattering, they must be an idiot to be reading that book, that's a terrible tattoo, that's a boring hobby to have, they're too fat, they're too thin, the list goes on and on.
I've spent so many years making those judgements that I still do it sometimes, but I catch myself in my mind and make myself consciously accept that someone else's choices do not have to mirror my own, and good on them for living their life the way they want to.  I find myself silently celebrating it every single time.
The knock-on effect has been that I'm happier in my own skin, if I don't judge others harshly, I don't judge myself harshly and let me tell you, that's a far happier way to live!

Just a few words, arranged on my back, that I wanted with me forever, to remind me of a happier way to live.

Pizza Time

So I've wanted a pizza oven in my garden for so very long.
In 2012 my niece and I built a clay oven.
As we completed the dome I squealed that we should give it a face, and thus the cat pizza oven was built:

Unfortunately all did not go well for kitty, rain made her sad and there was a collapse before a single pizza was cooked.  Lesson learned, she had not been fired adequately.
So in 2013, the mission was again to build a pizza oven, the clay was made ready and the dome created, but this time no kitty!
No, for smoke & flames shall spill forth from the mouth of the pizza oven, so it clearly had to be a dragon:

Pretty damn cool eh?  We were beyond thrilled with it!

I even named it, Colin Falstaff.
And better than that - look at it in action. Look at him eating pizza!

 Look at my pizza, look at my damn delicious pizza before I stuffed it all in my face.

Colin Falstaff worked like a dream, he cooked up the pizzas to perfection.
But this is not a story with a happy ending.
Colin Falstaff did not survive the winter.
So now there has to be a mission for 2014, the pursuit of a pizza oven that lasts.  
I suggested using bricks to make a dome, my niece pointed out we don't know how to do bricklaying, which indeed could prove to be an obstacle.
There must be a way!

Random Rounding Up

Last year I contemplated hacking my fringe off. I neglected to update and say I had done just that, look see:

So here's the thing. I decided I would just go for a just-above-eyebrow length fringe, to start with and work up to a super short one.
So, I concentrated hard to make a straight line.
Then I relaxed my face to see how it looked.
Apparently I'd massively raised my eyebrows in concentration and my fringe? Much shorter than I'd intended.
I spent the rest of the week flattening it down and unconsciously pulling on it.
I'm not sure I'd have cut it so short if not by accident, but I've come to like it. It's makes my face squarer and I just don't care. We care a jot too much about what we should and shouldn't wear, what does and doesn't suit us. What the hell, I'm going to cut my hair any way I jolly well like.

What I didn't foresee was the amount of people stopping me to talk about my hair, some physically grabbing me to say how they liked it. And what surprised me more than anything was the age of the complimenter, the vast percentage being well past retirement age.
I'd wondered if my new, visible, tattoos combined with my bright hair would make people quick to judge me, but that hasn't been the case at all.
Not that I have any idea what people are saying behind my back of course!
But then, I'd have to care about what was being said!

I spent the entirety of August unwell. I got Croup. My younger sister refers to it as my baby disease. There was no recommended treatment for adults, because adults don't get it. Hmph.
Let me tell you, it's a horrible thing. It's like flu, with a cough that is antagonised by every single thing you do. Want to talk? That'll make you cough. Want to sit upright? Why that'll make you cough too. Want to buy milk in the shop? Yup, that'll make you cough. Not just any kind of cough, the one that makes people threaten to call the Sea Lion rescue centre. The kind that makes your ribs feel like they'll explode. Couple that with the extreme fatigue and it's just wonderful. I kept saying that I was sure I'd be fine, whilst all the time thinking it was the most unwell I could remember feeling for years and years.

Prior to the miserable croup I was at Cambridge Folk Festival, which was super this year. I had a wonderful time, the croup made its appearance on the Sunday evening, I was aware I was starting to feel unwell but made it to the end and dutifully sang along with Show of Hands as the closing act. Actually, I would like to thank the croup for waiting until after the festival to put in an appearance.
Anyway, despite a little rain, I really had a fabulous festival indeed, come along next year, all of you, I'll befriend you!

In other news, I'm getting an allotment. Oh yes. I rang the lady, I should have my plot of land in a matter of months.
She told me the plot is approximately 40m by 10m.
Well put me down for half a plot says I!
Then I go away and think about it, suddenly 20m by 10m starts to sound smaller and smaller.
If I had a full plot I could have a dedicated asparagus bed, and a globe artichoke bed, room for masses of my beloved peas, a polytunnel!
I rang back, please make it a full plot dear lady!
Because I have OCD I have created a scale plan of the area.
Holy hell 40m by 10m is a big space. What the hell was I thinking?
Digging anyone?

I have decided to do an Open University Degree, with Honours no less.
It came about after reading a lot different blogs online, reading peoples ideas, their opinions and realising that I really needed to go back to learning, that I needed something extra in my life and that maybe, for the first time I can ever remember, I really wanted to study.
I wanted to learn more about Feminism.
My attitude towards myself and my environment has altered so dramatically over the past couple of years that I wanted to add more fuel to that, to the discovery.
After some trawling through prospectus after prospectus, I'm going to do an Open Degree, I like the freedom that gives me. I can study some Social Sciences, some Criminology and Psychology, do some Environmental Studies and also try to take on some of the History courses over the years.
I wonder if my long held love of folk music and my growing interest in the English tradition has led to my desire to learn more about England and our/my heritage.
It's exciting and it's nerve racking.
I hated school. With the exception of seeing my friends, there was nothing about it I enjoyed.
I had this overwhelming feeling of not fitting in. I knew there was something a bit weird about me, I knew I had desires veering towards the eccentric, but I didn't know anyone else like that and I caved to peer pressure. I did my GCSEs, and despite zero revision, I did pretty well. Then, as all my friends were doing it, I progressed to A Levels. I didn't want to, but my paralysing terror of the big wide world was worse. I didn't revise for my A Levels either and fluffed one of them totally. My friends were heading to University. I really didn't want to go to Uni but what the hell was I supposed to do? I didn't want to work either. Not through laziness, but through fear of all those new people to meet.
I look back now and see the social anxiety but back then I just knew I had to do everything I could to avoid actually getting out there.

So I went to night school to get a different A Level, and after that, then I would go to Uni.
It goes without saying I fluffed the night school A Level too. I hated the topic.
Suddenly, all choices were gone. Work was looming. I had to get a job.
I did. And you know what? It wasn't nearly as bad as I'd imagined, not only that, I made new friends and whilst the job was crappy, I had fun!
I'm never studying again I thought to myself.
I've always said I'm just not academic. I'm just not made that way. I'm not good at essays. I can't write that way.

But now? I just think that nothing piqued my curiosity, I wasn't actually interested in learning. I couldn't find subjects that I was passionate about. It's taken almost 2 decades but I've found the things that pique my curiosity. I've found the passion for learning.

I think it all started with my discovery of the Body/Size/Fat Acceptance movement. Reading what those ladies had to say was inspiring. It challenged my beliefs, it made me challenge things generally. As an intelligent woman I'm almost surprised at how willing I was to just believe everything I heard & read as the truth.
Then the feminism started to creep in and my desire to read more grew and grew. I feel like my eyes are opening wider and wider day after day. I feel like there are people out there with whom I share a common ground. That maybe they didn't fit in either all this time.

It feels like a time of discovery is on my horizon.

Duck Squatters

Sometime last week, seven of the village ducks decided to pop by for a visit, the following day they were back again, and the day after that and after that. You get the idea. So, somewhere between 4 and 5pm every day they'd show up, quacking away and I'd try and find some remaining bird seed to feed them with.

This morning I was out relatively early getting everything watered before another hot day set in and the ducks arrived, before 8am. Definitely ahead of schedule!
It is now almost 1.30pm and they're still here.
I just popped down the garden and there they are, a couple hiding in the shade under the picnic bench.

And the others were hiding in the shade of the swing seat, until they saw me and assumed grub was coming their way. Alas, they were wrong.
However, I had just tweeted that I felt guilty for not having a pond, so I decided to improvise. Plus I figured, they had to be thirsty by now. It's a hot day out there people!

The seven ducks are Mum and her six ducklings, it's getting harder and harder to tell them apart, but Mum is a little more slow to get involved, she likes to keep her beady eye on me.

Anyway, they don't seem to mind that it's a poor excuse for a pond, they jumped on in, although it's strictly only 2 ducks at a time in the pool.

They have made attempts to disobey this rule, but attempts are usually scuppered when one falls out head first into the grass. Which, it has to be said, has yet to fail to entertain me!

West Keal & Old Bolingbroke

On Saturday Rachael and I headed out for a spot of walking, just a bit over six miles, although I firmly believe that you get extra credit for walking uphill!
Or maybe the bonus for walking uphill is getting to see the stunning views. Never let it be said that Lincolnshire is really flat.
We started off at West Keal, although were somewhat unnerved to discover that it wasn't even on the map. I made the fairly safe assumption that if we headed to East Keal (which was on the map) that West Keal couldn't be too far away!

I love old churches, I just do, although I'm sure these little gargoyle fellows were crossed with owls.

I'm such a sucker for old things even the lantern looked pretty to me.

I think my camera favours bad weather though, it's somehow managed to make it look stormy out there and although it was pretty windy on occasion, it was a lovely warm day and not in the least stormy, don't believe the grey clouds!

We had ourselves a picnic lunch with this view:

I'll admit it doesn't really look that impressive, but this is Bolingbroke Castle, the birthplace of King Henry IV and to be fair, I'd be fairly ruined if I'd been created in 1220.
However, the walls are carved with the name of a different King:

I like to believe that I can really imagine how it was when this was all moat, when they got to pull up the drawbridge and keep out those damned marauding invaders.

Is it just me or does anyone else find those vintage petrol pumps really attractive? I have no idea what it is, I just really love them. At least I don't have room to start collecting them...

The Wolds are an area of Outstanding Natural Beauty. Goes without saying really doesn't it?

Okay, so I love vintage petrol pumps and I love tree stumps.

This walk marked the virgin expedition of my foraging bag, superbly created by my Mum so that I could collect fruits and nuts easily. It swings over my shoulder, sits on my hip and I can slip all my bounty in there and carry it off home with me.
As we walked I spotted a lovely little apple tree on the side of the road. The apples were quite small but I decided that they looked so good I had to risk it.
I did the gentle lift and twist and they came away in my hand, ripe and ready.
However, aforementioned tree was at the top of a gentle slope populated with nettles, I was scarcely balanced, holding one end of a branch as I picked a few apples. I had not chosen well, the branch I was relying on for support was past its best and decided to leave the rest of the tree. Or rather the twig part I was holding on to gave up and headed for greener pastures, trying to encourage me to join it.

I did that classic arm windmill in a desperate effort not to become one with the nettles, regained my balance, glanced at Rachael and decided that maybe it was time to move on and leave the rest of the apples just where they were.
See how shiny and red it is though?
See how easy it was to be tempted?

For me, the nicest thing about a good walk is when you get to the end and you're not ready to fall over, when you feel invigorated. You've seen the countryside. You've seen it up close, picking those nuts and fruits and you've seen it far off in the distance when the skies are clear, the sun is shining and you can see for miles and miles.
I've realised I'm not a group walker, I want to walk at my own pace, sometimes quickly and sometimes just sauntering along, looking at the butterflies, flowers, grasshoppers and trees. I want to sit on the hillside, eat an apple I picked just moments ago and appreciate the beauty of where I am.

It's A Soapbox Moment

Yesterday morning Mifford woke me at 3.30am. That would be bad enough, except she woke me up by throwing up. In the bed.
Ah, you have to love having pets.
I thought that surely had to be a bad omen, but actually it wasn't a wholly bad day at all.

Later on when I logged into twitter the number one Trending Topic was "fatpeoplearesexier".
I was immediately suspicious and wondered what sort of piss-take was going on, but was really pleased to see that most of the tweets were positive. People agreeing or relishing something that wasn't negative being said about overweight people.
Obviously there were exceptions. What was refreshing was that they were in the minority.
They were still of the mindset that it's ok to be ignorant and rude.
There's an old saying that if you don't have anything nice to say, then don't say anything at all.
Maybe you shouldn't jump at any opportunity that presents itself to be offensive.
This is lovely "gent" is one such example.
Apparently you have to BE fat to find anyone who IS fat attractive.
I guess those men who are thin and going out with fat women are unable to think for themselves.
But wait, he goes on to say, you can only be sexy IF you're not fat any more. He's a great guy.
Then Miss Cherry Pie steps into the mix. She's ever so funny. See what she did here?
She made a whale joke.
That's one of the funniest things I've ever seen.
It's never been done before.
Oh the originality.
Sigh.

I actually feel a little sorry for them. If you don't have some body - that the media/fashion world has defined as perfect, then you cannot be attractive.
One must be thin to be pretty.
What utter bullshit.
And yet, people like the example below, again, have been brainwashed into believing it to be true.
It's sad to me.
This isn't what defines you.
Your weight doesn't define who you are as a person.
To my mind, your actions define you.
What kind of person thinks it's nice to mock others? For any reason, be it weight, colour, religion, disability, musical preference, whatever major or minor thing.
What kind of person finds outright insults amusing? I just don't get it.
How anyone functions with a mind so small is beyond me.

The vaguely amusing point is that the whole hashtag trending topic thing, started out because of this guy, Shane Dawson, and his video:

The whole point was that he doesn't understand why people are mean and narrow minded. As if to prove the exact thing this guy is talking about people have to jump on, what they assume to be, an offensive bandwagon but in the process make themselves look foolish.

While I'm on the soapbox...

I drove home from town last night, the traffic was nose to tail as we moved through traffic lights and I spotted in my wing mirror a large van driving quickly up to the merging point. All other cars were in the inside lane as there was clearly no room to overtake anyone. This van got his nose just in front of my car, indicated and pushed his way in, forcing me to literally stand on my brakes to avoid a collision. I may have gesticulated in anger, just a little.
A moment or two later the road bears to the left, it's a pretty serious bend, you can't see beyond it.
The van? It has decided the appropriate road placement is in the other carriageway, directly facing any possible oncoming traffic. Not just nosing over the line, hell no, his entire vehicle in the oncoming lane. I like to talk to myself and yelled "that's a bend you idiot!" Once clear of the bend he overtakes, I suspect there was just enough room, I also suspect that the car in that lane had to brake rather to allow the van time to make its pass.
I travelled along, at the speed limit, watching this van accelerate away from me, clearly breaking the speed limits.
I felt that satisfaction that every road user feels when I realised he was stuck behind some slower moving traffic with no chance of overtaking.
However, a few minutes later there is a very brief short stretch of road, before a sharp right hand bend. He chose this spot to overtake, rather brilliantly this is also where a large, bright red sign has been erected, warning about the dangers of this road.
My route from home to town is known as a red route, it denotes a dangerous road, this year it would probably average out to nearly a death a week on that road.
This guy is driving dangerously, endangering the rest of us.
You know the worst part?
Guess what it said on the back of the van?

POLICE. COLLISION INVESTIGATION.

I'm composing a letter of complaint to the Chief Constable later today.
That's actually not my nature, but seriously, if we can't get away with driving like that, why in the hell should they?
Especially when there are no sirens and no flashing lights.
Were it an emergency we'd all have let him pass, I just object to him being the one in danger of causing the emergency.

Definitions

The defintion of hard work:

That's a lot of hedge right there, let me tell you - and this is the second phase of cutting it down. I'm knackered!

The defintion of full to capacity:

The defintion of unlikely allies:

The definition of pretty:

Cambridge 2009

Thursday rolled around and it was time to pack the car, tick things off the list and make our way to Coldhams Common, put up the tent and make a home for the weekend.
Typically the rain kicked in just as we started to knock tent pegs into the ground, I hid under the Jeff's boot lid (my car, for them what is not in the know) waiting for it to ease off a bit. Until the rain started to come in sideways and then I took refuge in an already erected tent.
Once the tents were up, beds made we had our wrist bands attached and headed to the festival site. I had my traditional Nachos Grandee for tea, the sky looked like this:Yet I managed to get rained on whilst eating, so there I sat, gnome-like under an umbrella, keeping those lovely nachos nice and dry.
I seem to remember very little of Thursday night, I know I saw or heard a little of Mumford & Sons. I know I decided that the purchase of a poncho would be a wise investment, in fact it came in very useful when it came to having something to sit down on as I waited for Ruairidh Macmillan to come on to Stage 2. It was also useful to the man next to me who seemed to wipe white paint off onto it and I thank him for that from the bottom of my heart.
We headed off to Stage 2 to catch Adrian Edmondson & The Bad Shepherds, who were great and are playing in Lincoln in the not too distant future so I will be getting myself a ticket for that gig I reckon. Their rendition of All Around My Hat was superb, in fact I'm going to see if a video of it exists for your pleasure. Here it is - go watch!

End of the night meant heading back to the campsite, grabbing a hot chocolate and sitting to listen to a few folk at the Coldhams Common stage. I think this is the first festival that I've sung along to Tie Me Kangaroo Down.

Friday means heading down to Sainsburys for a cooked breakfast before heading to the festival site to get a nice spot to enjoy the music from.
This is where things get ugly at the festival.
I wrote last year about the whole space issue. Some people want to sit on blankets, some people don't. Which is fine, so long as we can have a little live and let live. Have your blanket but don't be greedy with your space. Have only as much as you need to sit down. These days I don't have a blanket. I have a roll mat which I fold in half and is perfectly ass-sized. It stops the cold from the ground coming up and I take up only the same amount of space as I would without it, but I somehow feel guilty about it.

I don't want to repeat myself, but I really feel that people seem to enjoy the festival in two ways. There are the people that want to choose a spot and pretty much stay there all day, be that Stage 1, Stage 2, The Guinness tent or wherever. Then there are the people that want to wander, roam from stage to stage, catch different acts. I can't honestly say that either is better than the other. I tend to fit into the former group to be honest, which is what suits me. I'm sure it might be frustrating to some people but I don't always want to stand to watch an artist. Take the wonderful Cara Dillon, I absolutely love listening to her, but I don't need to be able to see her. I am prone to sit, eyes closed, just listening and I do so want to know why that's frowned upon!

Anyway, a spot was found on Friday, the festival opened with Genticorum, wonderful Quebecois music. A nice way to ease us into the day. Then The Shee, who I'd seen previously at Big Session in Leicester and enjoyed. Nice to see a harp on stage!
Then it was the turn of Edward II. I adore this band. Back in 1999 watching their farewell gig I could only dream that they'd come back and tour again. Here we are, ten years later and my dream is fulfilled! I danced and danced and danced some more. Absolutely brilliant!
The Waterson Family were on next and have more talent than is entirely fair for one family. I can't even play the tin whistle. It's not right I tell you!

I grabbed up my stuff and decided to head back to the campsite to dump most of it off in the tent as there was a ceilidh due to happen on Stage 2 and I do have such a love for ceilidhs. I didn't get to dance, although I did remember exactly how to do the Boston Tea Party, so that's two ceilidh dances I can probably get through without injury now! I caught Hayes Carll's set and loved it, checking my programme I saw he was doing the second set on Saturday on Stage 1 so had that to look forward to. Everyone else was hanging around Stage 1 so I wandered around the stalls, then headed to the Internet cafe, then off to the duck ponds for some quiet time, although ended up being stalked by a pair of swans. It was a little unnerving it has to be said!I finally decided to head back to the tent where I could still hear the festival. I just didn't really have any interest in seeing The Zutons.
When I got to the festival on Saturday morning I overheard numerous mumblings that people felt The Zutons shouldn't have been part of the line-up, although from the cheering I could hear I'm sure that there are plenty of people that would disagree with that.
Saturday kicked off with Crooked Still who were great fun and Mum ended up hitting the CD sales to purchase one of theirs later in the day.
Next up was Hayes Carll and I enjoyed him all over again, although I was disappointed not to get a second listen of She Left Me For Jesus, the youtube comments would indicate that it's felt to be a little blasphemous by some and I apologise for that, but my goodness it made me laugh.
To carry on with a really fabulous day, Jim Moray was up next and was superb but I swear the "Bless you, bless you.." chorus is going to be stuck in my head for months and months. I was also a little amused by the reaction of the people surrounding me to his song Lucy Wan which I adore, but some of the traditional folkies were clearly totally unsure as to what to make of it. Excellent, you know you're pushing the boundaries when that happens!
The afternoon set was finished off with sets from Cara Dillon and Blazin' Fiddles. Bloody brilliant both!

The evening set started with Martin Simpson and as he's also playing Lincoln this year I'll be having to find some cash for tickets for that too. We decided to have a move and see what else was going on, ending up at Stage 2 just in time to get ourselves under cover before the rain started. It was heavy for a while and I could almost feel the mud starting to develop.
Diana Jones was playing and I really liked her voice, she was down to play Stage 1 on Sunday so I was looking forward to catching her again and making a mental note to add one of her Cd's to my collection. Then we watched Mairtin O'Connor, Cathal Hayden & Seamie O'Dowd who again should pass off a little of their talent to me, it's the right thing to do. Actually I'd settle for just being able to sing a bit to be honest!

For some reason we were wiped out and decided a hot chocolate was the order of the day. Not just any hot chocolate. Oh no. I'm talking hot chocolate, with marshmallows, whipped cream and a flake. It's chocolate heaven.

Sunday showed the toll that the rain had taken on the festival site.There was plenty mud and a big truck with a giant vacuum sucking up all the water that it possibly could.
We headed back to Stage 1, Bella Hardy opened, wonderful voice and possible CD purchase.... Then Mairtin O'Connor, Cathal Hayden & Seamie O'Dowd were on again and just as good as the night before, followed by Diana Jones who did a song that I absolutely have to own - If I Had A Gun. I'm not sure there's a woman on this earth that song doesn't resonate with, as it was written during a conversation with girlfriends about ex-husbands and ex-boyfriends.
I watched most of the set by Lau before heading off for a brief wander to stretch my legs, check out the Internet cafe (which by the way needs much better organisation - I was hassled three times by staff whilst the woman to my right who was there when I arrived wasn't hassled at all, ranty rant.) I got back in time to see Jim Moray and once again enjoy Lucy Wan and ensure that "Bless you, bless you all of the pretty girls" was well and truly stuck in my head for eternity.

Made my way back to Stage 1 just as Eddi Reader was finishing, despite having seen her a number of times, I'm just not a fan and I don't know why as she has a lovely voice. Weird.
I did rather like Oumou Sangare though, and their dancers were superb. We'd met up with Geoff again from last year and he and I attempted the occasional mimic of some moves seen from the stage, none of which seemed to work well for us!
Then a few of us made our way to Stage 2. I had heard good things about Imelda May and decided to watch her instead of Paul Brady. For me, I absolutely made the right choice, we danced until we could dance no more. We danced so much a lady joined us just so she wasn't dancing alone. When some poor man ended up standing amongst us she scolded him that this was the dancing quarter and if he wanted to remain there, dance he must. And dance he did.
She was absolutely superb, we screamed for more, we couldn't help it, when faced with this, how could you not want more?!
I was also surprised after the gig, when I wasn't looking my sweaty best by a fellow Twitterer who had recognised me, turns out the red hair is more noticeable at a festival than I ever realised!

Spent the next while having a good old gossip and a fine old time with another lovely Twitterer (is that even the right terminology? Twitteree?) before finally heading to Stage 1 to catch The Treacherous Orchestra. I didn't know anything about them until Geoff told me they were made up from guys that had worked with Martyn Bennett and with The Peatbog Faeries, which instantly made them unmissable. I cannot begin to tell you what an absolutely fabulous time I had.
I had on my dancing wellies:
I rocked those wellies let me tell you. We jumped and bounced and danced and laughed and got hotter and hotter, sweatier and sweatier. It was the absolute best end to the festival. I could literally barely walk afterwards from all the leaping around, even now, on Wednesday, my legs are still sore, going up and down stairs is a slow process!
Do one thing - go here and have a listen - then tell me if that's what you imagine when you hear the term 'folk music'? Just make sure your volume is up as far as you can manage. That's my kind of folk music, where I can dance until I'm absolutely exhausted but so incredibly happy!

For the record I never got to use my poncho! Could have spent that money on a CD!

When I got home I had to thank my neighbour for looking after Mifford, so I made cupcakes, I had a few leftover. Cupcake anyone?
Oh wait, I have one more little tale to share. On Monday night I decided to upload the few photos I'd taken from my camera to the pc so I could do this blog entry. Except my camera wasn't in my bag. I pulled everything out, but there was definitely no camera. Shit. Shit. Shit. I went out to the car, you know, in case it had fallen out. No.
Tuesday morning rolls around, Mum takes my car keys and conducts a thorough investigation. No camera.
I have to go out and do some jobs but on my return, I ring the box office, they give me a number to call. I call said number, but lady I need to speak to is busy. An email address is given and an email is duly written and sent off.
Mum is away at this point, collecting my Step-Dad, Tim, from the airport. He's flown in from France and has brought with him Mum's old digital camera for me to use. In doing so apparently he made catching the flight a close call. So, my photos are gone but I am not without a camera.
I sit down on a footstool by my TV, I turn my head to the right, what is that silver flash I see?
Ooops. That would be my camera. Which has been sitting in front of the TV the whole time.
Do I email the lady again and confess to being an idiot? Or do I just hope she's really bad at her job and never gets back to me?

When To Defrost?

On Sunday I helped my niece move house.
As we put her stuff away in the kitchen I pointed at the freezer and commented that it was the same make as mine and opened it to see if it was the same inside.
It was rather iced up and I chuckled about it, commenting that it was a good job that my niece was going to swap that freezer for hers.
She looked at me and said I hadn't seen anything yet.
Reaching for the fridge door she opened it and what I saw inside made me literally speechless.
I have never, never seen an icebox that is actually just ice. Or rather like the world's biggest snowball.
I mean really, this deserves a place in the Guinness Book of Records, right?
Holy Moly that's the mother of all ice balls.
I like the way it seems to be glowing.
Even in the desert that sucker would take the best part of a year to defrost!