True Colours

What a bleak week for news; predictions of a winter of discontent, racism rearing its ugly face yet again on the football terraces, the Queen voicing her concerns that leaders are all mouth and trousers (I'm paraphrasing), and terrorism in Norway and on home turf, resulting in the murder of 5 Norwegian citizens and British MP Sir David Amess.  I'm sure I'm not alone in wanting to push a big button marked RESET or REWIND.

We also watched - and abandoned - the widely publicised Squid Games.  I'm no shrinking violet, but even I felt that the violence was gratuitous, even allowing for the subtext (which somehow felt a little patronising and something of an excuse to me).  Life's too short for such stark TV viewing.  

We've been recovering still from the so called "super cold" in circulation and my back has been playing up, so, aside from a couple of walks, my extra curricular activities this week would be best summarised as "pottering" often at a 70 degree angle.

As an antidote to the last 7 days, this post is going to be about light and colour.

I purchased next year's tulips from Ashwood Nurseries. 

First up, the beautiful peony flower, two tone, rhubarb and custard variety Wirosa.

Next, the rather exotic sounding and looking Ali Baba to complement the Wirosa tulips.

And finally, Spring Green, the same variety of tulips I planted last year.  I foolishly threw away the packaging, so promptly forgot their name.  I had also failed to notice that they were a late flowering variety, only to be reminded of this possibility in a desperate phone call I made to Ashwood Nurseries, enquiring why my tulips weren't blooming (the shame!).

I've also been foraging - not for food, but for Autumn foliage.  I love the transitioning colours and am quite partial to dead flowers and seed heads for their architectural properties.  I haven't contravened any laws as no plants were dug up in the production of these creations.  I just selected the odd bent flower, seed head or sprig taken by the wind.

This year's fig crop has been a huge success.  Usually I count at least 20 figs, only to discover at the optimum time of ripening, that they have been stolen by some as yet unidentified thief.  Our chief suspects:-

1.  The grey squirrel (my winter nemesis, as he can overcome literally any obstacle to gorge himself on bird seed from the feeder).

2.  The humble wood pigeon.  

Whoever is responsible, we believe that Lotte has taken on fig defending duties and repeatedly given chase this year as I have enjoyed feasting on numerous ripe figs.  (I can also forgive Lotte her nocturnal shenanigans this week, the triple hairball offering and her inexplicable abseiling of my clothes airer).

Funnily enough, I thought I didn't like figs (flashbacks to early 80s fig roll biscuits), but I have acquired a taste for them now and they look so beautiful when sliced into quarters.  I'm the only one in our household too, so get to eat them all!

I decided to jump on the food photography bandwagon (apparently it's very now) - something I've never really tried.

Also, check out this aptly named Zombie F1 hybrid pumpkin Gareth picked up from Morrisons.  It's warty enough for Halloween but definitely too beautiful to carve.  It's a keeper!

Back in the garden, the ladybirds are out in force.  I have a small, bright yellow garden table and this seems to have attracted the little beauties in spades, offering up a wonderful ready made outdoor studio setting with Autumn leaves as props.

Finally, on our walk yesterday, we encountered not one, but a flight of doves.  This is very current.  The John Lewis home insurance ad has attracted numerous complaints, forcing the company to put out a statement defending their decision to feature a boy in a dress.  I couldn't give a fig about this.  I think the advert is infectious, theatrical and exuberant and when the soundtrack is Stevie Nicks' White Winged Dove, what's not to like?  

Let life happen - John Lewis Home Insurance - YouTube

Peace all.

You can't have your cake or eat it!

Last weekend we finally made it to Chastleton House in rural Oxfordshire after being forced to abandon a recent planned excursion courtesy of a Covid isolation period.

I was happy to be venturing to pastures new and even happier about the mix of warm sunshine and interesting cloud formations which always make for better photographs.  Heads up, this is a photo heavy post.  

I'd read Vicky's informative and engaging description of the property following her visit to this National Trust managed property earlier in the summer (Vintage Vixen: The Distancing Diaries - 9th & 10th June, 2021 (vintagevixon.blogspot.com) Inspired to visit and armed with some pre-existing knowledge of the place, we were able to relax and just soak up the atmosphere. Below was our first tantalising glimpse of the honeyed facade.

The pathway to the property passes a wonderful dovecote and the neighbouring St Mary's Church (built in the 12th Century).  

We were encouraged by the volunteer on the gate to take advantage of tea and cakes on offer inside the church before our timed entry slot.  The quintessentially English scene that greeted us outside the church appealed to my dark sense of humour.  A church hall cake sale with proceeds going to charity was set up inside, with visitors seated at various plastic garden tables and chairs dotted amongst the gravestones.  The volunteer's cake sale schtick obviously worked.  As we arrived, an orderly queue was already forming on the path through the centre of the graveyard.  Talk about God's Waiting Room!

Given that they had sold out of ginger and rum cake (I was only interested in the boozy cake), we opted to have a wonder around the graveyard instead.

I loved this alternative view of the house from the back of the graveyard.   Apologies for this black and white interlude, but some places - particularly graveyards - demand it.

At the far end of the churchyard, just in front of a low stone wall, with breathtaking views across the Oxfordshire countryside, I spotted this much more recent gravestone.  

It is the final resting place of former Eton student, scholar and Bletchley Park codebreaker (recruited straight from University), Stephen Freer, who died in 2017 at the impressive age of 97.  In press cuttings, he was described as "a kind and gentle soul."  Where better to rest a while?

Moving onto the main event, this stunning example of a Jacobean country house was built around the time that Shakespeare was toiling over The Tempest and MacBeth. 

Stunning from every angle...

...it immediately had me wanting to up sticks and relocate to the Cotswolds.  With residents including Jeremy Clarkson, Alex James and Kate Moss, we all know that house prices are through the roof in these parts.  Every wealthy London type and gentleman farmer wants a piece of England's green and pleasant land.  

That said, I'm realistic in my expectations.  I definitely see myself moving into Chastleton House, but would be quite content to occupy just about any corner of the property...here for example.  This redundant space was a bit of a mystery to the volunteers working at the house, so I posed the question on Twitter.  The Brickworks Museum suggested it would have been a good place for naughty children.  I'm going with puppet show stage.

As with houses of this size, the windows were numerous...  

... although there wasn't a puff of wind that day.  Strange.

The gardens were relatively small but perfectly formed...

...with a croquet lawn,

kitchen garden and greenhouse,

beehives...

...and resident snoozing cat.

There were other garden delights of course, but you might want to discover them for yourself!

Inside, the hallway was a time capsule - relatively untouched by the 21st century.  The large windows and deep sills were a house plant gardener's dream.

As usual, I was drawn to the little details; light play,

decorative plasterwork,

windows...

...and woodworm.  This isn't just any woodworm.  This is Jacobean, National Trust woodworm.

I could happily wake up to a morning cuppa in this room.

The uppermost floor was dedicated to "the Long Gallery" a grandiose space used variously for female exercise, childhood games and dances.

You could fit several children or adults on this hobby horse!

Rather than asking about the panelling or plasterwork, we asked whether the floorboards creak at night on their own -  a way more pressing question.  The answer?  Yes of course.  Curiously, the guide also told us that on stormy days, the entire space creaks and groans like the bowels of a Spanish galleon.  I would pay good money to spend a night here with a sleeping bag and a torch.  I think the National Trust are missing a trick.  

Back down to the kitchen - those of a sensitive disposition may wish to scroll on.  Apparently, back in the day, it was viewed as bad luck to clean the ceiling of a kitchen, so here you go - feast your eyes on centuries of soot and grime!

Buoyed up by our day out, we've decided to squeeze in another short trip before the end of the summer holidays.  After wrangling with the problematic ID procedure of Airbnb, we finally received confirmation of our booking. An island destination awaits. 

To more domestic issues, the remainder of my spare time this week has been spent tackling bamboo.  I may be a nature lover but as the enormity of this task dawned on me (after we'd gone too far to change our minds), I can reach only one conclusion.  It. Must. Die.  Either that, or we dig for Britain, pot them up and make a small fortune from other suckers daft enough to plant this invasive, leaf shedding, allergy-provoking monster.  

In the midst of my battle with the bamboo, I discovered this beauty.  It's long since served its purpose, but it has been crafted from all manner of things by a blackbird with infinitely more patience than me.  So far I've spotted some oak leaves, one of my discarded anti snag hair bands and a section of our garden twine.  The presence of sweet peas is my artistic flourish.

 

And so we reach the end of the week.  The temperature has dropped a little, clouds are gathering and the first Autumnal arachnid has made an appearance, so I've decided to try on my latest acquisition - a vintage Anokhi co-ord outfit, paired with Lotta from Stockholm unmade socks (it's chilly) and gold clogs. I hadn't yet found an outfit that these socks worked with, until now.  I had thought that the co-ord was black, but, as is sometimes the way with Ebay photos, the reality is quite different.  It actually a really lovely shade of chocolate brown.

Lotta From Stockholm - Clogs, Clogs Boots, Jewellery, Pappelina

As for TV viewing, we're dipping into Truth Seekers, starring Simon Pegg and Nick Frost (who also share writing credits) on Amazon Prime.  It's like the love child of X-Files and the budget-busting episodes of Dr Who, with a light sprinkling of the classic humour and humanity of a Pegg/Frost collaboration. 

What are you up to?

Fashion, Fumes, Mills and Molluscs

As the world opens up, ours came crashing down on Friday.  We have a stray cat who visits us regularly.  She was a neighbourhood companion of our dear departed Mowzer and we have endeavoured to keep her alive for the past 5 years; leaving food out for her and nursing her through a nasty bout of cat flu.  I am using the word "stray" for the purposes of this blog, but those who know me, know that the situation is complicated.  Suffice to say, there are people in this world that shouldn't be caretakers of animals.  

After formally adopting Lotte the Tortie, the situation became ever more challenging, as Lotte does not tolerate other cats and can be extremely territorial.  However, with careful management, we managed.  Timing was key.  

Recently, we noticed that the little stray's (Oreo as we once decided to call her) breathing has been worryingly audible.  A vet once told me that she had probably had cat flu as a kitten, which hadn't been treated and that this could resurface periodically during times of stress.  For a time, we assumed that that was the case, until we noticed she was losing weight.  To my shame, I began to dread her visits, as I couldn't bear to hear her increasingly audible breathing and yet, she didn't appear to be distressed and always managed to eat some food.  

One day, I noticed that Lotte, from her lookout on top of the car, failed to react or make any attempt to send her off.  This simple observation was a light bulb moment.  Animals have empathy I believe and this uncharacteristic display of charity on Lotte's part, made us realise that something was very wrong.  We immediately grabbed the pet carrier and spent some considerable time coaxing Oreo from beneath the van.  We primed the vets who were expecting her, explained the situation to the best of our knowledge and were relieved when they agreed to take her in and examine her, promising an update later that evening.  On previous occasions, my enquiries have met with the usual suggestion of contacting the RSPCA, an institution that is nigh on impossible to reach by phone and with limited resources, they only tend to pay visits to those desperately in need and sadly not as urgently as the situation might demand.

As promised by Amelia, the kindly vet's assistant, Friday's update was that Oreo appeared to have an upper respiratory infection, but on Saturday morning, we received the sad news that further investigations had revealed a tumour on her larynx and she had been put to sleep.  We were assured that she had a peaceful Friday night in a proper bed and was given lots of attention.  We were shocked beyond belief, never suspecting anything quite so sinister.  It hurts like hell.

On a brighter note, I received a parcel through the post - unsolicited mail of the very best kind.  I had mentioned to my friend Vicky at our recent get together, that I needed a belt for a particular dress, but was not expecting her to raid her precious stock and send me one as a gift.  To demonstrate my gratitude and showcase the belt's versatility, here are a few photos of recent outfits, utilising said piece of vintage leather loveliness.  

Below, it's teamed with a 1960s handmade dress and vintage beads.

For those of you who read my last post, will recall my eagerly awaited Ebay purchase of a pink 1970s Mina of England Carnaby Street dress.  Here it is; in excellent working order and with some adorable gold trim on the cuffs and bib.  This one was made in India.

It was perfect for Saturday's overcast photographic excursion to Stourbridge to capture a biker gathering in memory of TikTok star, Fr3sh10.  We were unaware of this man, who lost his life in a motorcycle accident, but, anticipating a spectacle, we headed to The River Rooms, a Stourbridge music venue just off the ring road.

The 200 bikers that made it to the event under leaden skies, were encouraged to rev their engines before the police temporarily stopped traffic to allow them to ride in convoy around the ring road.  

The sound was deafening.  I can't even begin to imagine the decibel levels if the originally anticipated 2000 bikers had turned up.  I think the lower number was probably only due to the weather warnings that never materialised in the wild West Midlands. 

Love a bit of motion blur!

In stark contrast to Saturday, Sunday's adventure was way more sedate.  We headed deep into the Wyre Forest near Bewdley to seek out Knowles Mill, a derelict 18th century corn mill now under National Trust ownership.  It's an unusual National Trust property because it's mentioned in the guide book and there are some directions, but the route to the nearest car park is strangely absent of the usual brown National Trust tourist road signs.  With no phone signal or sat nav (we're old school), we had to stop in Bewdley to ask for directions and then again when the road became a single track road with barely any passing places.  Finally, we reached the car park and the mill was clearly referenced on one of the numerous walking routes through the heart of the forest, although the footpath along an old railway line, was still pretty vague.  We had been warned not to expect any scones at this property.

Armed with a little knowledge and instinct, we took the correct path and located the mill, situated next to the most idyllic country cottage on the banks of the Dowles Brook.

Now photographers always say that the best lens is the one you have with you.  Ordinarily I would agree with this, but the unfortunate combination of a 50 mm lens and a seriously steep, tree shrouded approach, would not allow me to capture the mill on camera.  The best view of Knowles mill was only revealed when we had truly arrived and I was therefore unable to frame the tall building at such close proximity.  However, it's the details I look for.  Below, was a stone tablet mounted on the wall next to the cottage.

I loved the patina on this old horseshoe mounted above the mill's entrance.

A lone exterior shot of a hatch half way up the side of the mill.

Inside, the mill had an atmosphere of a working environment, the occupants of which had left only moments before.

I was drawn to the windows.

Gareth was pleased to discover from a notice on the interior wall, that James frontman, Tim Booth, is apparently the man to go to with membership enquiries for the Midland Wind & Watermills Group.  When he's not performing on the UK festival circuit, he's now living in Halesowen apparently.

We spent a pleasant hour or so, walking along the meandering stream, but failed to locate the old graveyard and other promised hidden gems picked up from local Instagrammers.  This is unsurprising, given that I lose my phone, reading glasses and car keys on a daily basis.

In other news this week and in stark contrast to the peace and quiet of the forest, we combined a work related trip with a visit to Dudley's charity shops.  Dudley is a Black Country town steeped in history, but systematically ignored by successive councils.  It has some beautiful architecture but feels neglected and sadly violent crime in the town is on the increase.  I came away with a vintage necklace... 

...and a large piece of sari material for £1.00 which turned out to be entirely the wrong size and shape for its intended purpose!  The posh lady behind the counter was in a jubilant mood because she had just sold £75.00 worth of clothing to one customer.  On occasions, my shop visits felt hurried because I continue to feel unnerved by unmasked people in shops.  I will never understand the controversy over wearing a face covering.  It's apparently not uncommon now for people to be challenged in public in certain areas for wearing one; accused of "virtue signalling" and being labelled "sheep."   As for the Anti-Vax march in London at the weekend and the horrendous accusations levelled at NHS staff, I have no words.  Instead, I will express my feelings on this through the medium of Jenny Eclair.  Her tweets appeal to my sense of humour in this crazy world we're living in.  Scroll past if you are not a fan of Anglo Saxon language.

As an aside, I took a quick selfie the other day, to record for posterity my Van Tam t-shirt.  I meant to buy one ages ago, but finally got around to it last week.  In my eyes, the man can do no wrong and throughout the waves of Covid and mixed messaging, he is the voice of reason.  Only on reviewing the image, did I realise I was still wearing my reading glasses and I have derived great amusement from this photo, as I appear to be emulating the man himself.  Jeans and of course, vintage belt, are just out of shot.

Returning to Dudley.  On the way back to the car, we purchased some Teddy Grays Herbal Tablets (standard fare in these parts) from the Dudley-based confectioners founded in 1826 and still in the same family.  We also stumbled across an Irish pub called The Dubliners.  It was only mid afternoon, but they were already sweeping up glass just inside the entrance by the bar.  The revellers seated outside had fully embraced facial tattoos.  We continued on our way, heckled by the clientele, who for some reason, were interested to hear all about our purchases.  All life is here.

Our last, but probably most important purchase this week, is this....the Bee Thirst Aid Kit.  We've tried, with mixed results, to save a few bees recently, but don't always have the ability to give these exhausted little creatures what they need (sugar water to re-hydrate and re-energise), when out on a walk.  

The Bee Thirst Aid Kit comprises a small metal container of sugar water on a handy keyring, attached to seed paper containing Black-eyed Susan and Sesame seeds, flowers beloved by bees.  A QR code links to the company website where full instructions can be found.  I think it's a genius idea!

Back at home, the bees seem pretty happy in our garden at the moment, with the lavatera and sweet peas now in bloom.

Note the lesser spotted raindrops on the sweet peas?  Finally, we had a downpour yesterday and the garden was so grateful....as were the snails, who were out in droves within minutes of the first drop hitting the parched earth.  They have since set about consuming the honeysuckle and in fact everything in their path.  It only seems fair that they pose for a few photos in return.  

In their own way, they're quite beautiful aren't they?  Only me?  Just lost your prize hostas?  Too soon?  

I have read that snails do not like ferns, euphorbia or rosemary, so I'm planning to surround anything precious with one or more of these plants.

Slugs the size of Bratwurst sausages are also gathering in ominously large numbers.  Don't worry, I'm not planning on trying to convince you of their aesthetic attributes any time soon.

Looking towards the weekend, we have plans to BBQ.  We're eschewing the usual sausages and burgers in favour of halloumi, king prawns and sardine fillets; partially inspired by memories of wood smoke and grilled sardines on the Portuguese coast.  A long awaited meeting to assist with the screenplay idea is scheduled for Saturday and on Sunday we're planning a trip to Oxfordshire.  The forecast is still unsettled and changeable, so what to wear?  I think I might wear rubber soled shoes for the lightning, a crash helmet for the golf ball hailstones, a waterproof coat (naturally) and perhaps, as extra protection in case of biblical rain, some Withnail & I style plastic bags - Sainsbury's of course.  I have standards!

What are you up to this weekend?