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.

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.

Wafting aromas of Lemon Chicken Flan & Wisteria

On a raw, icy morning in January, our mini-tribe trundled across the village, leaving our rickety old home, to hibernate, for the rest of the gloomy season, in a rented house.

We moved into our humble Victorian nest back in July 2007, and were to be married two months later. In theory, moving and marrying in a very short space of time, could have been fraught with angst and apprehension. But the moment the key slipped into the tatty old lock, it turned and clunked solidly, the door creaked open, echoing gently through the opening of the empty house, I was absolutely certain that this was all I had ever dreamed of. That feeling was simply confirmed the following morning, when I opened my eyes to find myself looking out of the window onto the village church. The morning sunlight flooded onto the creamy, intricately embroidered bed sheets and in turn, reflected onto my face, which slowly unfurled a warm, comforted smile. I will never forget that moment.

After some sense was made of unpacking our new lives from what felt like hundreds of multi-sized brown parcels, we ventured out into the garden. What a sight we were met with! Flowering jasmine clambered its way clumsily over our heads, above the back door. Over grown conifers shadowed the courtyard garden, swaying slowly and ominously back and forth beside the path around the back of the house. Ivy had sneakily crept its way slowly but surely over the red brickwork, edging towards the wooden sash window frames, in an effort to prize its green spindly fingers into the building. Some of it had to go. It had to be ripped and torn off the fascia. It had to be churned up within a noisy, disruptive, log-cutting machine. But when the silence returned, the true beauty of our new home was unhurriedly being discovered. We stumbled across a twisted, mature pear tree, heavy with miniature growing fruits. Another old fruit tree tucked away, down the steps at the bottom garden, which after a little bit of research and identification, revealed itself as a greengage tree. And underneath that diamond in the rough, some fuchsia pink rhubarb stems poked out from beneath the undergrowth. My mind was bursting with thoughts of jam making, cake baking, steamed rhubarb and rosewater.  A ready-made mini orchard of soft treats – what luck!

As a balmy autumn drew closer, plans for expanding our nest grew from small seedlings into ideas of grandeur, and a year on, along with a little seedling of our own flourishing in my tummy, those visions were put onto large cumbersome pieces paper in the form of bewildering architects drawings.

And today, we are only a heartbeat away from taking that walk back through the village to our brand new old house, which we will, once again, make into our home. Just two short weeks away. My heart flutters when I think about it. I think about that first morning I woke up to find myself overlooking a view to hold onto tightly. I think about making a house a home for those who I nurture and care for, creating memories that hopefully they will recollect fondly, the way I do when I think of wisteria and lemon chicken flan, creating homely cooking smells and leave-the-door-open-on-a-summers-evening smells. These times are precious. These times are here with us now, they’re here for a reason.

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.