Purbeck perfection personified

I don’t know about you, but when I go away on holiday, it takes me about 5 days to wind down. To relax. To let go. So, if we’re going on a 7 day holiday, according to my mathematics, thats 2 days of pure relaxation and 5 days of de-stressing. And this frustrates me beyond belief. It frustrates me for two reasons. 1) I know its happening and I don’t seem to be able to control it. 2) It only leaves me with 2 days of proper holiday hours. Our holiday last week was no different to the last few. Man, I was horrible. Snappy. Grumpy. Highly strung. Indeed not a nice person to be around. And my delightful Sven was so patient with me. I don’t know how he does it. He probably knows me better than I know myself and simply came to expect it. Yes. I think that might be the answer.

One day, we visited Tyneham. And this little visit gave me a little metaphorical slap around the chops. This is the third time we’ve been here. And I could probably keep coming back again and again and again. It so peaceful, and comforting. But in a bittersweet way, an unhappy place.

Let’t go back to 1943.

Tyneham was a little village, nestled into the hills not far away from Worbarrow Bay. The village was made up of a school house, a church, a post office and small houses – the rectory cottages, the gardeners cottages, and labourers cottages. According to local history records, just before Christmas in 1943, the village was approached by the Ministry Of Defence, requesting they leave the village prior to the beginning of the Second World War. They were paid a small amount of money to move, however it was barely enough to justify sacrificing their community. They were also promised it would be a temporary absence, which turned out to be untrue. They were forbidden to move back to their village after the war had ended.

Tyneham is now a shell of its former self, yet there are enough remnants to see the community it once was.

In all of the cottages, a local artist (or someone creative) has put together information on the people who lived here. They’re a nice tribute.

Not all of Tyneham is derelict. The school house and the church have been beautifully preserved.

All the original desks showed hand painted wildlife detail.

My favourite of all the houses in Tyneham are the gardeners cottages. They’re set away slightly from the rest of the village, just behind the church and away from the road. They seem so serene when you wander around them, slowing you down as you go. And there is absolutely no noise, apart from the sound of the country that the gentle sea breeze brings along.

Even thinking back to our afternoon at Tyneham whilst I write this makes me feel calm. Maybe I should take myself away there in my head more often. Hmm…I might just do that.

What’s In My Holiday Travel Bag?

Tomorrow, we’re heading to Dorset in the camper van. We only just decided to go away yesterday. One week or two? Not sure yet, but its more likely to be one. I can’t wait. I love our family holidays. They’re always in England. We always go in the camper van. And we always create the best memories together. When you know you can get on away on holiday, you just know its right.

(Image courtesy of Emma Case Photography)

The last holiday we had, was in April earlier this year. We stayed at a hilltop campsite in Polruan. At the bottom of the steepest hill I’ve ever walked down (the locals claim holiday makers return home after meeting this hill) is a little pedestrian ferry which takes you over the estuary into Fowey, the prettiest hilly Cornish town, busy with old fashioned life. This holiday was as close to perfect as it could be. The weather was notably amazing. We didn’t have to drive everywhere. There was a lonely little swing on a hill at the campsite, which looked out to sea. If you sat on the swing quietly enough, you could hear nothing. If you sat still enough, you could see the top of the world. When I think about this holiday, I feel like my husband is winking at me across a crowded room. And if I could give the holiday a colour, it would be turquoise. Fresh, happy and clean.

The holiday we’re embarking on tomorrow takes us near Studland. A-mazing beach. Have you been? No? Well, get yourself down there. It’s like being in the mediterranean. The first time we drove through Studland, we were going out in our first trip in our 1965 VW camper van. It was a shell. The only thing in there, apart from 7/8ths of the contents of our house, were the front seats, where three of us squidged together. This drive was the first time I drove the bus and the roads, I remember, were particuarly windy. Not windy, as in the wind was blowing. But windy, as in oooh, a bit more left, and noooo, bear right more, Victoria. My knuckles were a shade of..hmm…let me think. Oh yes. White. My eyes strained. My tummy turned. My head ached with concentration. But I loved every second. And for a girl, I did alright. That was another precious holiday. Our first as a family.

When we go away, as well as packing a hefty amount for everyone else, I also pack a little satchel of stuff for me. Its pretty rare I’ve used any of what I’ve taken up to now and I have started to wonder why I bother. But I can’t not take anything. I know I’d be upset if I had a rare moment to myself and couldn’t do something like draw or write or read. So, its more of a bag of comfort. A comfort bag. Yes, I like that. A comfort bag.

I normally take a book of fiction. A book of something that I’m interested in at present, like letterpress printing techniques. Or fonts. Weird, I know. Some of you may get it, some definitely won’t. A magazine. A load of pens and pencils. The bags diminish in size each time, and I think this trips is going to be the smallest. Here is what I’m taking:

• Fine line coloured pens
• Pencil case (my mum bought me this years ago. It’s my fave.)
• My new book, Drawing Lab by Carla Sonheim. Its brilliant.
• Computer Arts Magazine. I’m a nerd but I’m ok with that.
• A new exercise book I received in the post today from Present & Correct
• My Moleskine sketch book
• My Mokeskine diary, all bundled up with my book band, also from Present & Correct.

Do I need anything else? Most definitely. Will I take anything else? No. That would be madness. Let’s see how much of this I use. I’ll let you know when I come back, shall I? Ok.

P.S If you haven’t done already, don’t forget to vote for me if you like my blog….you can vote by clicking here to go to the Dorset Cereals Little Blog Awards Nomination page. Scroll down a bit and you’ll see me on the right side of the screen as Lovebird.

Show & Tell

In the run up to leaving my job, I became even more lost in my world of thoughts and fears. I was exhilarated, excited, weightless yet slightly fearful. Eight years at the same place, at the age of 31 is a fair amount of time to have worked in one place. A huge amount of change had happened to me in that time. One husband. Two children. Three houses.

The end of a chapter was closing and I felt the urge to record this via the old fashioned medium of pen and paper. I got scribbling. Half way through, I decided I wanted to donate my sketch to some of my work friends, as a little token of something to remember me by. Or rip up.

It was a page of doodles. Little sayings. Little thoughts. Some things I already do. Some things I would like to do. Y’know, rules to live my life by, life’s little instructions. I think the people I gave them to liked them. They said they did. Secretly, they probably think I’m a right weirdy.  A try-hard hippie.

And for the second part of today’s Show & Tell, I also picked up a flyer from the nursery the children go to, advertising the Magical Menagerie, as part of the IF: Milton Keynes International Festival.  Originally commissioned in 2008 by the French newtown of Sénart, The Magical Menagerie – or Le Manège Carré Sénart - has toured through Europe including Spain, Portugal and Belgium, charming visitors with its mechanical herds of strange beasts from exotic fish and brightly coloured insects to oversized buffalos.

The flyer caught my eye, not only because it winked at me, but also because of the style of illustration. Its the epitomy of French Art-Nouveau, so nicely created. It’s even got an old grainy tea-stained back drop.

Stumbling upon treasure & where are you, my friend?

I am addicted to surfing the internet. I know I’m not on my own, people. I love it but sometimes I resent it. Purely for the reason that I don’t get anything done. Like tonight, for example. I sat down, to write a post about asking you to let me know where you are in the world. That post hasn’t been written, because I’ve just been trawling through an eclectic mixture of  sweet, sweet websites. And now I’m writing about something totally unintended. But that’s ok.

Plus, I should be in bed. I promised myself I would finish my book tonight, so that I can start my new book club book, A Gate At The Stairs by  Lorrie Moore. ( I know. I am actually, like, in a book club. Made up of two whole people. Ahem.)

Anyways, one new diamond in the rough I in particular, which I wanted to mention is Cathe Holden’s Just Something I Made. What a clever, clever lady. There are so many thing to look at on her site, I think I’ll be here till Monday.  Her studio is my studio in 2 years. It is exactly as I see it. The stuff she collects is the stuff I collect and want to collect more of. Its quite uncanny. (Or is it?)

It’s one of those kinds of studios where everything collected has a special memory, a romantic connection. It’s what you would see if you could delve into the depths of the left side of this ladys brain. That’s not supposed to be freaky. Right now, I’m a five year old in an old fashioned sweet shop. I can’t believe my luck.

Ok, so I may aswell combine this post with the one I was actually supposed to be writing, which was to encourage you to leave me a comment on this site, letting me know where you’re checking in from. I’m really curious to know. And even more curious, because I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I have a little map thingy to the bottom right of the screen, called MapClustr, which tells you and I where my web hits are coming from. I’m 1) surprised 2) totally flattered to see that I have visitors as far away as Japan. How cool is that? Thank you whoever you are for visiting. It truly excites me when I login to my little stats screen. I don’t know who you are, I don’t know exactly where you are, its all very vague right now. But if you have a spare second, I’d love it if you dropped me a line using the comment box at the end of this post, telling me your town, county and country where you live. Maybe even how you came across my site if you like. If not, no sweat. It’s just a bit of fun. (I’m smiling)

Ok, well, I’ll hopefully see you soon. Nighty night.

Dear Lovebird Blog

Dear Blog.

I was just doing a leeeeetle bit of random half-past-ten-I-should-be-thinking-about-going-to-bed interweb surfing, and I went on one of my favourite blog sites, Gennine’s Art Blog. From there, I searched for a book on quite a popular site of the name of a major river running through Brazil, by Carla Sonheim about drawing, but came across another of her books about journalling. What I read made me want to tear off the page and deliver it right to you here:

‘Because it just feels good to doodle and write some things down. It’s a release of sorts. Because I love pens and playing with them. To figure out what I want to bring into my life and dream about how it could come about. To organise my thoughts, especially of things I need to do – a pretty to-do list. Because its an ongoing way to play in art. Playing in a way that doesn’t focus on results.’

That’s it. C’est moi. La-bas. Just wanted to let you know.

Best,

Present-Day-Lovebird

Sun-Worshipping.

Two weeks ago, I had just returned from Mallorca. It was the fourth time I had been invited by my lovely friend, and this time I was able to gleefully accept, rather than morosely yet graciously refuse. I was leaving my job. I had no excuses. Not that I ever made any up. I just never had enough holiday. So, feet first, I was determined I would not miss out on a major opportunity to let myself go. To just be. To read. To think. To swim. To worship some sun. My charming husband and our two tinkers were left to fend for themselves for five days. They did a pretty good job (although my husband lost weight while I was gone. Huh?). They went camping, to the beach, to stay with my mother-in-law and basically just have, like, a tonne of fun. Nice style.

The thing with me is that I don’t think about things enough beforehand. It’s a fault, but it’s also a bit of a positive. If you don’t over analyse, then you can’t worry too much. But then when something occurs, which you may have already considered may happen, it wouldn’t be such a shock. My husband is the opposite to me. He’s a massive forward thinker. I am not. Perhaps thats why it works so well. Although, it’s also another reason for me to beat myself up, thinking I should be something I’m not. Not that I need any more reasons.

Another thing about me, is that I struggle in large groups of girls/ladies/females. I feel self conscious. Every one looks better than me. Every one speaks better than me. Every one knows more than me. Every one seems so much more grown up than 14-year-old-inside-my-head me. It’s always been this way.It’s a very unattractive trait, and hopefully, I hide it well. I don’t really go out with larger groups of people so much these days. If I do, they’re pretty much balanced with husbands, which somehow seems to make it easier.

These lovely people I went away with provided me with absolutely no reason to feel the way I felt on a couple of occasions. They’re genuine, honest, thoughtful people. So, its obviously me and my deep rooted issues. I feel kind of sad when these feelings start welling up. I can feel them coming. And then I fill with dread. I almost feel like I want to swallow them away, like you would with inappropriate hot tears. “Go away. This is not the time or the place. And anyway, I thought you’d gone for good.”  I’d love to know where this silly little itch came from. I’m sure one day, I’ll work it out.

But you know what? We did laugh. We really did. About allioli. About sangria o’clock.About football. About skin and the clouds. About nothing. And not once did we struggle to find something to talk about. I think that’s something to be proud of. I also think its a sign that you’ve found true friends. It takes a while, but its worth it. Its like a good song is rarely one you love when you hear it for the first time. It grows. And then it grows some more. And then you know you’ll always love it, no matter how much you hear it.

I came home feeling refreshed inside and out. Time, as much as we all discuss it, moan and curse it, is massively underrated. It sorts all kinds of things out. It puts things in perspective. It purges and cleanses. It allows an unhurried reflection. It may seem like it was ‘only a holiday’, but for me, it was alot more. And I loved every second.

And now I need another one.

I’m trying to focus.

I really am. It’s tricky though. Everything else takes over. I’m sure you get that, right? The daily drone. Washing, ironing, clearing the dishes (at least 3 times a day). Children constantly treading on my toes whilst I’m buttering toast. ‘Mummy, can I do this?’ ‘Mummy, can I go there?’ ‘Why?’ ‘But, why?’ ‘But pleeeeeeease’. It’s not always easy. And its alot easier when you have a full nights sleep. So I’ve heard. Missed calls on my phone. Oh, I’ll call back later. Another text arrives. Beep beep. Oh, must remember to text back later. A week passes. The guilt cloud is by my knees. Chest is tight. Smiles are rare. Laughter even rarer. Must learn how to cope better. I mean, every day’s a school day. It’s not that hard, is it?

A new post is cooking in the oven that is my brain box. It’s been brewing a while, and is actually well over due. I simply need to make more time, or I shall burst. I really will. So, may I ask you to hold your breath?

Dear Bella

Dear Bella-In-Ten-Years,

Do you remember when you were 31? Do you? Or shall I remind you? Ok. Here goes.

You went back to work at Christmas, just before you moved out of your house for building work. Is it becoming clear yet? So, you went back to work. Then a month later, work announced that they were making everyone redundant. Yeeeeeees. You remember now, don’t you! Do you remember how you felt? To begin with, you were indifferent. You wanted to help your friends around you, by cheering them up with your baking. You even baked gluten free for the only person in the office! (Despite them being disGUSTing) And then one night, you went to the cinema to see Avatar with Sven. You fell asleep an hour into the film, fidgeted about a bit and then when you decided you couldn’t doze anymore, you sat up to find big, fat, warm tears plonking themselves down my fat cheeks. You didn’t know why – how could you be crying when you have disliked your job for so long? They’re doing you a favour, right? But you weren’t crying because you were upset. You were crying because the decision had been made for you. You were out of control.

Gradually, as the months went by, you turned into a bitter, resentful, unhappy mess. And then one day, the light shone from above, you heard a chorus of singers crooning from behind you, except whenever you turned around to look at them, they weren’t there. You were so wise to realise that it was what they call ‘an epiphany’. Why don’t you just leave? Amazing.

So you did. And it all worked out for the best.

I bet you’re reading this thinking ‘What on earth? How pathetic!’. My, you’ve come so far.

See you soon Bella-In-Ten-Years,

Love Bella-In-The-Present-Twenty-Ten x

Wakey wakey!

“Maaaaa-mmmeeeee.”

“Maa-mee.”

My left eye struggles to open. It snaps shut. I’m able to prize it open to pick up my overturned phone from on top of the book I’m not reading on my bedside table, to check that it really isn’t the ungodly hour I think it might be. It is. I sigh out loud, through my nose, but groan on the inside. I’m frustrated, my ears hurt pathetically with the not so loud noises I can hear coming from his cot. I check again, and muster the energy to speak. “It’s half. past. five.”

“I know” my husband says, like I’ve said the same thing to him for the fifth time.

The bedroom door gently opens and Rosa peeks around it, as quiet as a mouse. “Mummy” She whispers. “I’m thirsty.” Displeased, I sit up. My brow is furrowed, for a few reasons. My left ankle is weak and slightly aching from a 10k run the evening before. I am frustrated that children don’t understand time. I’m annoyed at myself for feeling frustrated that children don’t understand time. It’s not their fault. I feel mean. And, I’m just trying to wake up from a very deep sleep, my eyes aren’t adjusting to the dawn light as well as they should. I hobble downstairs, to fetch drinks for the children. On my return, I put the drinks in the childrens’ bedroom, that they’re currently sharing, the reason for not just one child being awake at this time. As I walk back to our bedroom to try to steal a few more seconds in bed, I see Rosa in front of me. “Your drink is in your bedroom”.

I left her drink in there when I took her brother out of his cot, and put him on the floor, hoping he would want to play.

“Why?” she asks me. I think for a few seconds.

“Because that’s where I put it” I say, irritatingly. I immediately feel dreadful for my answer and for the way in which I said it. Especially when she replies,

“Mummy, I’ll play with Jackson” in her sweetest, loveliest tone. “Look, Jackson. This is what you do with this” and she drops an oversized, moulded, plastic coin into a toy piggy-bank.

Despite feeling engulfed in guilt, I steal away, in the hope I won’t be followed by my little ducklings, so that I can crawl back into bed.

With all the noise I’m sure he can make, Jackson runs into our bedroom. He stands by the edge of the bed, near my face and makes a noise, which means ‘Let me up, let me up’.

I lift him up whilst I’m still lying down, and put him on the bed. He sits on me, like he’s on a horse and bumps up and down on my tummy, with a perfect chubby smile, stretched across his face. Its incredible how children can smile so happily so soon after waking up. I should learn something from this. He lurches across me, onto his daddy, to routinely slap his daddy’s shaven head. Steve lifts and turns his head to Jackson and smiles unconditionally at him with his eyes shut.

He gets up with the children, with an unequivocal energy I admire, and takes them downstairs for breakfast, as I bury my head under three pillows, still swamped with self-condemnation for being so abrupt.

Inspire. Motivate. Stimulate. Push. Propel. Or stagnate.

Following on from my last post (where I ranted a little. Again. I really didn’t want to have to do that but selfishly, it helped. It really did), the next step of getting myself back in the game is to stick a bit of tinder on the flame. Y’know. I have the spark, its there, but nothing’s smoking yet. So where do I get me some dry, mossy, combustibles from? The question I really want to ask is how do you stay motivated without burning out? (I’m dropping the fire analogies now.)

For the past few weeks, my creative spark has gone astray. I can get it back, I know its not dissolved completely, like a sugar cube suspended in hot, milky coffee. Or. Oh yea, I know. Or, or, or like a McVities Digestive held too long in a cup of tea. (Good one, Vic. Hi-5 atcha). The problem lies in having the motivation to start doing something again. I mean, I’ve had other stuff to focus on. Leaving my job, being one of them. The other kind of major thing is our house renovation. We moved out of our home six months ago and its nearly time to go back. Its not been easy. Oh, and one more thing, my two babies. Yeeeeeah. They kind of wear me out, if I’m honest. So, there, on a plate, are my excuses. Do you buy them? I don’t. I don’t think there are any excuses really. If you’re creative, you’re creative. There’s no getting away from it. I’ve just been lazy. But then, even that doesn’t make sense. If you’re intrinsically creative, you still find ways of expressing yourself, right? Someone out there help me, cos I’m really beating myself up about this. I call myself a creative person, but I feel like a fraud. I started this blog a few months ago on the right foot. I maintained it, I managed to post reguarly. I thought I was past the novelty stage, and as it turns out, maybe I wasn’t. Or maybe, I should just shut up, and move on. I mean, this isn’t my full time job. This isn’t  how I make my living. Its something I do when I have a little bit of spare time. Writing it out like this, makes me realise that I crave for this to be my full time job. I mean, I kind of knew that already. (I can hear my husband in my ear now ‘Its a hobby. If you turn it into your job, it’ll take the enjoyment out of it). I don’t have time for it to be my full time job right now, but eventually, it will be. You know that already, right? Because I wrote about it a few months ago. I know. I’m boring. I talk about the same old thing. Blah Blah Blah.

One other preoccupation I would like to share, is that I would probably describe myself as a person of extremes. When I focus on something, I can’t give it up. I can’t go to bed at night, without dreaming about it. And the extreme at the moment is fitness. When I do make time for myself right now, its to run. Or do yoga. Or some lunges. I mean, its a perfect time of year to do that, and if I’m honest, I think I’d rather be outside enjoying our long evenings, saying hi to all the birdies in the hedges as I wallop past like the BFG in flippers, than sat under the dark stairs at a warm-buzzing-electrical fun box. Its refreshing, mind-clearing and truly liberating. I don’t have to talk to anyone, justify myself, or even think if I don’t want to. Its just me and the beats of the BEP’s.

Back to the point I was trying to make, or rather the question I wanted to ask you. I’m going to open it up to you, my fellow blog friends. How do you stay motivated and consistent without experiencing burnout? I am genuinely curious to find out if I’m on my own here. You can send me your tips or just comment by filling in the comments box at the end of this post. Go on, help an old girl out.

Questions. Answers. Decisions.

My blog isn’t a flash in a pan, I promise. Its more of a slow-roasting leg of lamb. Very. Slow. Roasting. Like a slow-burning candle. It will grow, it will follow a journey. And journeys take time, right?

Ok, I need to tell you something. I need to share. Is that ok? Can I do that? Thanks. You’re the best. The last few months have been strange. Sometimes hard, sometimes bonkers, some tears, some low moments and some high, rewarding moments. I came back to work full time at Christmas, to a job. For me, it was just a job.  To earn money to keep my daughter in a lovely little pre-school, where she’s learning to read. Since she’s there, so is my son. So he can have the same priceless experiences that she has had. That has been the only reason that I have gone through this process. Its my responsibility. And now, I’m leaving this job. In four weeks. I simply can’t do it anymore. I don’t have the will, the determination or the energy. My time is precious, and so is my childrens time. And gaining some perspective on this situation was undeniably vital. Deciding to leave this job after over eight years wasn’t a difficult decision. My heart didn’t even need a split second to decide. My head did, of course, because I’m an adult. No, really. I am. Oi cheeky, I can see you raising your right eyebrow, questioning my adulthood. Leave that questioning to me and my conscience. Staying here has been making me ill. Not seriously ill, but enough to affect my life, my husbands life and my childrens lives. I lack patience. I don’t laugh. I don’t smile enough. My sense of humour has been replaced with a cynical, dark paranoia. And all because of where I work and the decisions of those greedy monkeys at the top. And thats not right, I can’t afford to carry on like this. For the sake of what? Money? Hmm, no thankyou.

And what has riled me the most, is the lack of understanding people seem to display. I think of myself as a fairly, grounded, sensible, compassionate person. Kind of naive sometimes, but not in a detrimental way. If someone has a problem they’re sharing with me, I listen and I empathise. Perhaps I ask too much of others to share the same compassion as myself, perhaps thats my downfall, but sometimes I think, it’s not too much to ask, is it?  I can honestly say I have never felt so patronised by another human being until recently. I asked for help, and was turned away. ‘I’m not going to debate this with you’, I was instructed. Like you would talk to a four year old child. I’m thirty one. I don’t need to be spoken to like that. Why do you even need to speak to me like that?  Their response says alot more about them than my request said about me. Power-hungry-controlling-puppet-string-pulling person. My point is, that I don’t feel like the person I think I am is reflected on the outside. Or is it that people just don’t understand or know me? Is that my fault? Do I hide away? I feel so frustrated. I can do this, I can do that. But no-one knows or no one wants to listen. ‘I had to really fight for this project for you’, I was told. ‘There were a few people who didn’t believe you could do it’. Ah, yeah, thats sweet. Hit me baby, one more time.

I’m moving on from this subject. I have totally wound myself up writing this. And its unnecessary and unhealthy for me to feel this way. Its not important, and its not going to control my life. Any. More. I am moving on, I shall not forget those people I met in this chapter. They have stayed with me through some life-changing years. And to those of you who I no longer respect. Eat. My. Dust. You will be easily forgotten.

Phew. I needed to do that. I needed to purge somewhere. Its definitely helped. Thanks ever so much for listening. I owe you.

Eyjafjallajokull – The Big Picture

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It’s been a while…

Hello? Is there anyone still there? Oh. There you are. Its me. I’m back. I’m sorry for disappearing without explanation. So very irresponsible and reckless of me. Will you forgive me? I hope, over time, you will. Let me explain.

Two weeks ago, I came down with a virus. I wasn’t at deaths door, no. However, I did feel a teensy bit sorry for myself. I was wiped out, my sprightliness had dissolved. By the end of the week, Easter bank holiday, I was recovering well. Just in time, I might add, for our spontaneous vacation to Cornwall. Phew. BUT THEN. I caught a sickness (and the other – yuck. sorry. but i’m looking for maximum sympathy here) bug. The first night away, camping, in a campervan. I know. It wasn’t much fun. Twenty-four hours later, I was alright. A little nauseous still, but able to enjoy The Eden Project. What happens next? Can you guess? Yep. You got it. Husband got the bug. Then baby boy came down with ‘something’ – who knows what. He wasn’t happy either. Baby girl sailed through. Hard as nails, she is.

Ok, yes, I’m really pushing the drama now, but to be honest, it was dramatic. It was really hard (both my eyebrows are raised and my hands are open, palms up, moving up and down in front of me).

Time to move on. We went on a little trip down to Polruan, Fowey, (pronounced ‘FOY’) for a week of lushness. The weather made it into a heavenly kingdom of sparkling bays and gently bobbing yachts. My nose was transformed from a pasty, protruding white iceberg into a golden, freckled pyramid. My feet have white V’s stencilled onto them, evidence that the mighty flip flop was ritually unveiled for the summer months. And just to make you a little bit more envious, here is the view from our campsite. I know. Lucky, weren’t we?

So, there we have it. I was off sick. Then I was off on holiday (Now do you see why I padded out this post with theatre?) But now I’m BACK…..the wheels are set in motion once again, for bigger and better. (Have I been listening to too many Party Political Broadcasts?)

Hasta luego.

Can I share a moment of pride?

Can I do the proud parent thing? Is that ok? Here are my baby girls first words she can read. My heart is bursting.

My Ray Of Sunshine.

A little treat popped into my Inbox yesterday. An email from the little ray of sunshine we like to call Badger. She’s not had it easy lately. I won’t go into details – its not my place. Despite this, she still manages to display a sunny disposition. I truly admire people who have this quality. There’s nothing worse than wallowing in self-pity, for the person doing it and for those who surround them. So, she wrote me this lovely mail, of the electronic variety, filled with snippets of news and wondering if there was something up astronomically on Wednesday. I can wholeheartedly confirm that, yes, there was something up because like Badger, I too, lost something on eBay I was chasing. Isn’t it, like, a monumental anti-climax? The adrenalin is pumping. Your heart is beating. FAST. HEAVY. You’re thinking ‘Its gonna be me. I’m going to beat anonymous bidder S*****10′. 3 seconds. 2 seconds. 1 second. Big. Fat. Red. Cross. ‘You have been outbid’. Harumph. Whatever, I didn’t want it anyway.

Back to Badger. She’s done me proud. She’s no longer chasing her dreams, but actually fulfilling them, as we speak. Isn’t that great? I think so. Aaaaand, she says things like ‘bad ju-ju’, which guarantees miles of smiles from the Lovebird, making me realise how much I loves her and how I never tell her. So, Badger, if you’re reading, get the message? *Nod *Nod *Wink *Wink. I dedicate this post to you.

Its a bit early, but since I may not be blogg-a-raming on Sunday, the award for The Lovebird Mummy Of The Year goes to……*awkwardly opening envelope….BADGER! *Global applause. The End.

Image courtesy of Forest Wander. Sketch via Trees For Life

P.S I realise I’m making a big statement dedicating a post to someone, but sometimes, you just have to do these things, otherwise how will anyone know what you think?

P.P.S If my own Mummy is reading, I love you too, I know you know that already x

P.P.P.S My apologies to you for the schmaltzy tone to this blog. I hope I haven’t put you off your sandwiches.

I’m most excited.

For nearly two whole long weeks, I have, yet again, been excited about seeing the Postman. It was his task to bring me my first piece of Lovebird merchandise.

Today, he passed. May I proudly two sheets of Lovebird stickers. Ta-da!

Thank goodness the waiting is over. It was becoming too much.

Go on….let it all out, dear.

Ok. I’ve just sat my little self down, with a cup of coffee and a slice of homemade banana cake. Yum. First of all, I just need to say, the coffee I’m drinking is a free sample of Starbucks VIA® Ready Brew . Its revolutionary, let me tell you. As they state on their website:

“This is not instant coffee as you know it. This is rich, flavorful Starbucks® coffee in an instant.”

And, y’know what? I agree with them. I excitedly tore the top of the sachet off, poured it into my favourite cavernous polka-dotty mug and thought curiously. “It looks like filter coffee”. I wondered if I was going to be sampling a mouth full off coffee grains, as I was drowning the pungently scented powder with boiling water. With a little squirt of Agave Nectar to sweeten my cup, I guzzled down my cup of comforting, steaming, sweet coffee like a builder (sorry to all builders out there, can’t imagine any reading my blog, but this is the 21st century). It was delicious. I almost forgot about my warm, spongy slice of banana cake. Crazy.

Moving on. Lately, I’ve been feeling a little low. I don’t really have any reason to, when you look at the bigger picture. I’m healthy, my family are healthy, I have a job, my husband is working (very) hard for us all, we have food on the table. I mean, really, what else do you need? Oh, central heating. Yes, of course. But what else? Sometimes, even when I reflect on how fortunate  I am, doesn’t help lift my spirit. I’m tired, my skin and my diet are suffering, there are hardly moments to breathe. I know my job right now is to bring up my children. I know my job is to look after my family, to make sure they have everything they need. And all those things, naturally, come before my needs. Thats how it is when you’re a mum, right? Please. Correct me if I’m wrong. Every so often, I struggle. What about me? What about what I need? I know. Change the record. Yawn. Believe me, I bore myself with this arguement. I try not to talk about this particular dilemma, because I’m conscious that everyone has similar feelings, and that our circumstances and feelings are relative to our own lives. For example. Haiti. I can’t begin to imagine. The Thailand Tsunami…..again, for me, its incomprehensible. If I do decide to try to chew over how I’m feeling with people, I imagine them rolling their eyes. So I try not to even take that breath. But then sooner or later, it explodes. Because it has to escape eventually. So I guess its a good job I have this blog.

Time to re-focus. What’s my point? I’m frustrated. I have so much going on in my head, so much so, that I can’t concentrate, I can’t focus. So much I want to do. So many patterns, and ideas and fabrications. I want to sit down at my computer all day, every day and let it all seamlessly pour out. But I can’t. I have a full time job, and I have two children and a husband. And I have to prioritise the most important tasks over  my needs. Don’t get me wrong, I love looking after my family, I wouldn’t change a thing. This particular feeling won’t last forever, I’ll probably be all thrown off balance when I have no one to look after, I realise that. Its just sometimes the juggling act has too many balls.

This post isn’t one I would normally be inclined to publish. I relish all the fluffy, pretty, far-away thoughts I have like a kitten bathing in the warmth of the afternoon sunshine. But I also want to relay that I have down days, and I get annoyed, just like everyone else, by…well…..life, y’know? People, the news I hear on the radio, selfishness, incompetent human beings. Stuff you’d normally share with your Gran. But I can’t because she’s no longer with us.

Anyway, rant over. Next stop: Positive Street.

My aversion to Luddism

I don’t know about you, but I get a feeling of happy satisfaction from writing with a pen. I almost feel, now don’t laugh, like I go into slow motion the moment I lift up my faithful cartridge pen. Its quite a modest pen. A plastic blue one I relied heavily on at school. I actually think its my sisters, but sssh, don’t tell her. She might want it back. When the black ink starts flowing steadily from the nib, all I hear is the smooth movement of the sound of words being written. There’s no scratchy noise of the paper being dragged under the pen tip. There’s no shaking my pen furiously in an effort to release more ink. Its very cathartic. And especially satisfying  when the words just keep oozing out of my seemingly idle imagination. Before I know it, I’ve scribbled out a whole page of my notebook and I see more black than cream. And these words are all mine, just for me. As a general rule, anyway.

But hold on a minute. I digress. I also abso-freakin-lutely LOVE technology. Thats the reason for this post, thats my point. I’m totally torn between the art of writing versus the simplicity of signing up to a new form of social media. Twitter. Facebook. Blah Blah Blah. Its all hurriedly thrown at us and I just can’t say NO. For the simple reason there’s always a good arguement to come up with a new Username or a new mail or messenger account.

I have notebooks coming out of my ears. Not literally, no, but I’m trying to paint a picture here, so please, just work with me. I love making lists. I love buying new notebooks. I love having the same size notebooks lined up in a drawer, primed ready for filling with more drivel. And bring back letter writing! Hands up who likes getting handwritten letters or cards in the mail. Exactly. You’ve all got your hands up.

But I also love my Apple iPhone. The amount of Apps I seem to be able to download because I convince myself there’s a valid reason for another one. The fact that I can do so many things in one place. I’m so totally impressed that we just keep improving. Of course there are negative points, but I’m taking a positive spin on this today.

So, before Mr Sandman catches you out, lets move on. What this is really all about is Twitter. Yes, I’ve done it. I’ve signed up. Big deal, I hear you say. Well, actually I agree with you. I mean, who knows if I’ll keep it up. We’ll see. I have good intentions. Isn’t that something? I’ve heard its going to be around for a while, so I thought I’d jump on and experience the ride. You can come with me if you like.

If you don’t try, you won’t know.

If at first you don’t succeed, try, try and try again. Take the bull by the horns.

Ok. Enough of the old chestnuts. Let’s get on with what I’m trying to say.

I’m new to this game. Its something I’ve been over-thinking lately. And when it comes to the point where you can’t get to sleep at night, because the brain-cogs are whirring in overtime, its time to take the bull by the horns.

Hmm, I can’t seem to shake those old chestnuts off the tree. If you’re not into stock phrases, look away now.

For a while, I’ve had a dream. Quite a romantic one, in fact, where I’ve wanted to throw in the executive towel, and paint, draw, make then sell. Life gets in the way, it takes over and these dreams are filed away for a rainy, empty day. But then, something life-changing happens. It makes me think is this my silver lining? What the heck am I waiting for? So, here I am, writing my first blog entry. It could be the first, it could be the last.

I’m hoping this blog is going to be a personal visual history. I see things I love, I store them away in the dusty retreat of my brain, never knowing if I will see them again. So, instead of storing them away somewhere, I will store them here, and they will form a pattern, a story. A story of me.

On that note, it’s onwards and upwards.

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