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Monthly Archives: August 2013

Oh arr oh arr aay.

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I feel slightly aware of the fact that nearly every post on this blog begins with a short tale of how busy we are. I’m loathe to do it again, but I shall merely hint at the fact that we have been bee-like in our activity.

So… Glastonbury has been and gone, and what a lovely show it was.

Sadly, last year I was unable to attend due to the aforementioned bee tendencies, but this year I was up bright and early and even managed to drag my boy along with me. Surprisingly, he was keen to experience a wool show, and I thought Glastonbury was a nice one to ease him in.

A rather lovely Victorian sampler that captured our imaginations.

A rather lovely Victorian sampler that captured our imaginations.

We started out the day at the Museum of Rural Life. And when I say that, of course, I mean that we kicked off the day with a lovely cup of tea in the café. I mean, that’s what shows are all about –right?! We then pottered around the lovely museum which is free in case you were wondering. We learnt a lot about what things were like in Somerset in yesteryear, and, in a nutshell, people died in awful ways. Sad, but true. Oh, and they drank a LOT of cider. Seriously. They used to get paid in cider.

Please ring for cider I-Am-A-Cider-Drinker

Anyway, I digress.


The calibre of stallholders was marvellous, and I had great fun explaining to boy the difference between tops, roving, batts, art yarn, handspun etc. I don’t think he was listening intently, but hey, he permitted me to go and squish and sniff to my heart’s content.

It was the first time he had seen the JB stand, and needless to say, he was very impressed.  I was too, I have to admit. The colours this season are really striking, and every time we’re at a show I have to restrain myself to only one or two [or four or ten] skeins.

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It was a wonderful day out, full of the classic sights and sounds of the south west. The perfect way to spend a weekend.

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Yep... These are Somerset's FINEST strawberries. Devon, read 'em and WEEP.

Yep… These are Somerset’s FINEST strawberries. Devon, read ’em and WEEP.

First Impressions.

We all know that first impressions count for a lot. So what happens when first impressions have been and gone? Without the knowledge that this was a first impression opportunity!? I find myself in a position (yet again) where this has happened. In fact this seems to be the ground rule of my life. I make a first impression without the knowledge of doing so. Then I have to set about redeeming this impression which frequently seems to be persistent with longevity.

My father often asks ‘what are we going as today?’! Unfair! This phrase has often been asked at my places of work too… Repetition.


So I am promoted to the state of normality (??). Hesitation.

I get to wonder what to wear at a non interview interview type thing with some very important people. I think it may have started at my suggestion.


I may have mentioned a costume.


So. What to go as?

Slightly quirky?

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Completely quirky?

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To give a good impression?

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In control?

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Street theatre?

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Ready for anything?

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As someone else?

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In disguise?

photo 4Myself twenty years ago?

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Myself now? Daughters say research the people first. Then a resounding ‘NO’.

Should I ask advice? What do you guys think? Advice MOST welcome.

What happens if the event is also attended by people with the qualities listed above? I think this opportunity is best dealt with creatively. After all the people concerned are probable on the scale of loopy somewhere. So lets make it fun, count, real, creative, quirky, business like, honest and open.

And I will wear the colour of the day when it gets there!

Thought processed and filed. Tick off list.

How much is that doggy in the window?


Some summer.

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This morning I dressed for winter.

The skies were overcast, and rain was drizzling down, unrelenting. It was as if the weather had no regard for the fact that it is mid-August, and thus, on all counts, the middle of summer.

Alas, I pulled on jeans and a jumper and ambled off to work.

The day passed, and I gave no more thought to Britain’s cruel and taunting weather systems. I stepped out of work none the wiser, but ho, BLUE SKIES were there to meet me.

I dashed back out to our rural abode, and we did what we always do, and took the pack out for a walk.

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The only interruption to the tranquillity of the Somerset countryside was the determined parping of my mother’s wellies. With every second step, the most almighty farting noise would escape from what she claimed were her aged rain boots.

Birds were singing, grasses rustling, and lo, the trump of rubber on rubber.


The perfect way to unwind from work, no?